When I pondered it further, my reaction reminded me a bit of the temptation sometimes felt by those who are employed by religious groups or churches to let the work become your spiritual life.
That is- you are tempted to let all sorts of things fall by the wayside in your personal life because those things are a part of work. They fall to the wayside either because you decide that since these things somehow characterize your work or make up part of your workday...been there, done that..scratch that off the list for today.
So perhaps because you led a bunch of kids in prayer several times in school or you (yes) said Mass or because you led a prayer service before a meeting or even participated in a prayer service before a meeting...you neglect personal prayer time.
Or because you do Scripture study or instruction with students, you almost never sit with the Word of God yourself anymore, by yourself, just listening.
Or because your paycheck is so small and your hours are so long and the problems never really end you figure....well, that's my almsgiving.
The other, slightly more negative reason that the spiritual lives of church workers goes to pot is that work sometimes goes to pot and worst of all, "ministry" becomes a job, then a job that is endured and even disliked and when you can finally get away from it, the last thing you want to do is think about religion. Or even, you know, God.
It happens. It's pretty commonly accepted that one of the quickest ways to lose your faith is to go work for a church. The most frequent context in which people say this is in regard to the humanness of church structures -
( I was talking to someone who works in Rome about this. This person doesn't work for the Church, but with various official persons and offices. I remarked on how I thought Rome was the perfect place to lose one's faith - well, a certain type of faith - you know what I mean - and she agreed, but then said, "Once you get it back though...it's back.")
- but I actually believe the dynamic of religion-as-work-replacing-spirituality has just as much to do with it.
So anyway, I was thinking about all of this. I was thinking that I probably should be excused from any and all Lenten disciplines this year because of the loss I am living with and how much it hurts. I'm suffering already. Just a bit. I presume you have noticed, God. Isn't this enough?
Ah, but then.
Then, I am sort of embarrassed to admit, I was reading one of my husband's books - The Power of the Cross - which I am doing over Lent, and I read this, in a chapter called, "The Cross of Christ Teaches Us How to Love:"
Where will the Cross of Christ take you and me? What will the love of God, revealed by the Cross, empower us to do? Am I willing to allow myself to receive the love of God to such an extent that I cannot contain it? Am I willing to see, despite all appearances, that the stranger before me is the Lord? Before I can answer any of these questions, however, I must ask myself one that is even more important: Am I willing to die, so that all these things might transpire?
Asking if "I" am willing to do any of these things misses the point. All of us have tried to love God and neighbor with greater fervor, and limited degrees of success. But the "I" must die in order to allow God's Spirit to love through us...
How do we die to ourselves?....Our death on the Cross with Christ -- something that our Baptism signified but we must daily reclaim --gives us the power to love as Christ did because Christ is within us, when we allow him to be all in all...
And this, part of the suggestions at the end of the chapter:
Put God first in your life. Realize that you can love your spouse, your children, your friends and your enemies only to the degree that you keep God first. We tend not to expect others to be perfect if we worship the only One who is perfect.
And finally this, from St. Ambrose in today's Office of Readings:
We have died with Christ. We carry about in our bodies the sign of his death, so that the living Christ may also be revealed in us. The life we live is not now our ordinary life but the life of Christ: a life of sinlessness, of chastity, of simplicity and every other virtue. We have risen with Christ. Let us live in Christ, let us ascend in Christ, so that the serpent may not have the power here below to wound us in the heel.
( I was talking to someone who works in Rome about this. This person doesn't work for the Church, but with various official persons and offices. I remarked on how I thought Rome was the perfect place to lose one's faith - well, a certain type of faith - you know what I mean - and she agreed, but then said, "Once you get it back though...it's back.")
- but I actually believe the dynamic of religion-as-work-replacing-spirituality has just as much to do with it.
So anyway, I was thinking about all of this. I was thinking that I probably should be excused from any and all Lenten disciplines this year because of the loss I am living with and how much it hurts. I'm suffering already. Just a bit. I presume you have noticed, God. Isn't this enough?
Ah, but then.
Then, I am sort of embarrassed to admit, I was reading one of my husband's books - The Power of the Cross - which I am doing over Lent, and I read this, in a chapter called, "The Cross of Christ Teaches Us How to Love:"
Where will the Cross of Christ take you and me? What will the love of God, revealed by the Cross, empower us to do? Am I willing to allow myself to receive the love of God to such an extent that I cannot contain it? Am I willing to see, despite all appearances, that the stranger before me is the Lord? Before I can answer any of these questions, however, I must ask myself one that is even more important: Am I willing to die, so that all these things might transpire?
Asking if "I" am willing to do any of these things misses the point. All of us have tried to love God and neighbor with greater fervor, and limited degrees of success. But the "I" must die in order to allow God's Spirit to love through us...
How do we die to ourselves?....Our death on the Cross with Christ -- something that our Baptism signified but we must daily reclaim --gives us the power to love as Christ did because Christ is within us, when we allow him to be all in all...
And this, part of the suggestions at the end of the chapter:
Put God first in your life. Realize that you can love your spouse, your children, your friends and your enemies only to the degree that you keep God first. We tend not to expect others to be perfect if we worship the only One who is perfect.
And finally this, from St. Ambrose in today's Office of Readings:
We have died with Christ. We carry about in our bodies the sign of his death, so that the living Christ may also be revealed in us. The life we live is not now our ordinary life but the life of Christ: a life of sinlessness, of chastity, of simplicity and every other virtue. We have risen with Christ. Let us live in Christ, let us ascend in Christ, so that the serpent may not have the power here below to wound us in the heel.
Let us take refuge from this world. You can do this
in spirit, even if you are kept here in the body. You can at the same
time be here and present to the Lord. Your soul must hold fast to him,
you must follow after him in your thoughts, you must tread his ways by
faith, not in outward show. You must take refuge in him. He is your
refuge and your strength. David addresses him in these words: I fled to
you for refuge, and I was not disappointed.
And I realized...not quite. It is not that I have not "suffered" enough or about how much I have lost, but the life of Christ within me. I saw clearly how much I am still all about me - I know, I know...it's natural. But I refuse to let myself excuse myself, even as I understand my limitations...even accept them.
I have to ask the fundamental question: on whom do my eyes rest now..what is the journey about now? Is may be about recovery, acceptance, grieving and honor..but if it is only about that - about feeling okay again, about figuring out what the next stage looks like for me - what is the point with signing myself with a Cross if I live as though simply having a loss in my life, no matter how great, is all that this is about. Lent - and everything it means - isn't about the death of another person and how it impacts me, even if I feel as if part of myself did die then...and then just swimming around in that, endlessly.
I'm not trying to be noble here. Or unrealistic. I'm simply trying to figure out how to live what I so blithely profess, "It is no longer I, but Christ who lives in me..."
Is it?
And I realized...not quite. It is not that I have not "suffered" enough or about how much I have lost, but the life of Christ within me. I saw clearly how much I am still all about me - I know, I know...it's natural. But I refuse to let myself excuse myself, even as I understand my limitations...even accept them.
I have to ask the fundamental question: on whom do my eyes rest now..what is the journey about now? Is may be about recovery, acceptance, grieving and honor..but if it is only about that - about feeling okay again, about figuring out what the next stage looks like for me - what is the point with signing myself with a Cross if I live as though simply having a loss in my life, no matter how great, is all that this is about. Lent - and everything it means - isn't about the death of another person and how it impacts me, even if I feel as if part of myself did die then...and then just swimming around in that, endlessly.
I'm not trying to be noble here. Or unrealistic. I'm simply trying to figure out how to live what I so blithely profess, "It is no longer I, but Christ who lives in me..."
Is it?
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Julie said:
“Really? First I've heard of it. I don't work for a church but I do work for a (major) Catholic organization. Most of my co-workers are deeply religious. I can't speak to their "personal" lives, I don't go home with them, but I have no reason to believe they have lost their faith. If they have, they sure keep it hidden. Just my thoughts on the matter.”
I teach RCIA among many other things. I am the wife of a Deacon. What, I think, that Amy is saying is that those of us who are involved in teaching, for example, find it easy to justify the poverty of our prayer life. Very often this happens because we are stretched so thin.
So I can say to myself;” I read scripture, studied the Catechism, read the Fathers in preparation for the class. I give my Sunday to God. I start at 8:30 am and I end with the Youth Group at 9:oopm.
It is not about losing faith—belief in God. Still have that, but God I am so tired. So the rationalization begins.
Is it really so bad that I neglected to spend time with God in Prayer? Is it so bad that I did not prayerfully meditate on Holy Scripture? Gosh I am so tired. I am an unpaid Deacons wife. Doesn’t that get me a free pass?
Umm no. Study is important, but I can’t study myself or anyone else into heaven. If I am not meeting Jesus on a one to one basis; how can I really teach? How can I witness effectively? I am supposed to be getting out of the way and letting Jesus teach through me. If I don’t have a intimate relationship with Jesus Christ, how can I allow that to happen?
Well I am tired. Youth Group awaits.
Dear Amy,
Thank you for this simple, but so essentially important, reminder:
"Realize that you can love your spouse, your children, your friends and your enemies only to the degree that you keep God first"
It is the only way home.
You and your children remain in my prayers.
Thanks for being brave and weak and strong and timid and human and real.
As someone who worked in Rome for the Church for years (and still does stateside), I really appreciate this post. I've seen the truth of it in many, and I personally need to make this self-examination more often.
But maybe you've heard the joke: Why is Rome said to have the deposit of faith? Because so many people leave theirs there.
Amen.
Thank you for this gentle reminder.
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