I'll Never Be Saint Monica

I have a problem with persistent prayer. 

I don't mean constant prayer, or even making time for prayer, although I find both of those difficult. I mean perseverance in prayer. Despite turmoil and distraction, despite droves of prayer requests and passing time, I want to be persistent in asking the Lord to move hearts. 

Most long-term illnesses are not suddenly relieved by some miracle. Financial struggles rarely end in a windfall. People do not convert to Catholicism overnight. Few make complete turnovers when they do convert or come home to the Church. For most of us, it is a daily struggle to pursue the way of the Lord amidst trial. As Catholic author Colleen Carroll Campbell wrote in her novel My Sisters the Saints: "The waiting is the cross."

Fortunately, the saints in Heaven have already run the race, to borrow the words of St. Paul. One particular saint heroically endured years of seemingly unanswered prayers before calmly and graciously receiving immeasurable blessings from God. She inspires me to grow in sanctity myself by praying for others. 

That heroic woman is St. Monica, mother of St. Augustine (and patron saint of patience). 

St. Augustine, now a giant among saints and a Doctor of the Church, once led a life of sin and heresy. For years, he traveled around northern Africa and southern Europe partying, pursuing worldly ambitions, studying, actively promoting heretical beliefs, and eventually converting to Christianity and becoming a priest, then bishop. 

St. Monica prayed vigilantly during the many years that her son was gallivanting around the Mediterranean. She even followed her son during his travels and advocated on his behalf. How was she able to trust wholeheartedly in the Lord while watching her son stray farther and farther from the Church?

She was confident in the Lord. She never despaired. She knew that God would prevail in her son's heart. After sharing with her that he had turned from the Manichean heresy, St. Augustine said of Monica's disposition that 

"[h]er heart was not shaken with some tumultuous exultation when she heard that what she had sought of the Lord daily with so many tears was in so great a part already accomplished...she was confident that you [God], who had promised the whole, would one day give the rest, she replied to me most calmly and with a heart full of faith, that she believed in Christ that before she departed this life she would see me a Catholic believer." 

And she did. 

She sought help from other Christians. St. Ambrose, for one. Monica knew she couldn't do this alone. A mother grieving for her son's eternal soul, Monica wept "copious tears," according to Augustine. It was for this reason that St. Ambrose spoke to her his iconic words: 

"The child of those tears shall never perish." 

She kept her request at the forefront of her mind. She was physically close to her son during his trials and struggles to embrace the faith. Augustine wrote of this time in his Confessions, addressed to the Lord: 

"I sought you outside myself and did not find the God of my heart. I had come into the depths of the sea, and distrusted and despaired of ever discovering the truth. By this time my mother had come to me, strengthened by her piety, following me over sea and land, and trusting you through all danger."

In her lifetime, Monica saw her son through a hundred evils before she saw him turn from them to sacrifice his life in priestly service. Shortly after Augustine's conversion and baptism, she said to him: "Son, nothing in this world now affords me delight. I do not know what there is now left for me to do or why I am still here, all my hopes in this world being now fulfilled." 

I draw strength from St. Monica, whose infinite patience and hope came to fruition in St. Augustine's conversion and priesthood. Someday she and I will be great friends. I encourage anyone struggling with a long-term trial, especially the lack of faith in family members, to ask St. Monica for her intercession. 

And, as always, ask for the Blessed Virgin Mary's intercession. She, another model of hope, trust, and patience, awaits the pleas of her children. Unite yourself to Mary, from whom "we learn to trust even when all hope seems gone," says St. John Paul II. 

-R

Let Me Go Back to Bed, Lord: Reflections on Today's Readings

I was struck by the readings at Mass this morning. If you have not had a chance to read them or hear them at Mass, you can find them here; I will be pulling excerpts below. 

In the first reading, we hear of the calling of Samuel. Samuel is studying under Eli, who has grown old and whose "eyes had lately grown so weak that he could not see." Thrice in one night, the Lord calls to Samuel. However, Samuel, being unfamiliar with the Lord, and living in a time when "a revelation of the LORD was uncommon and vision infrequent," thinks that the one calling to him is Eli. Three times, Samuel rises from his bed and answers at his name. 

Then, we hear the Gospel. Jesus cures Simon's mother-in-law; that evening, the disciples bring "the whole town" to the home of Simon and Andrew so that Jesus can cure their sick. The next morning, Jesus wakes to pray:

Rising very early before dawn, he left and went off to a deserted place, where he prayed. Simon and those who were with him pursued him and on finding him said, “Everyone is looking for you.”

Jesus' prayer is cut short by his persistent followers. The disciples spent the previous night bringing dozens of sick and possessed to Jesus for healing; Jesus likely had little sleep between the healings and "rising very early"; Jesus intentionally goes off to a deserted place to be away from everyone. Jesus is probably exhausted and in need of some private time. But here are his disciples, urging him on. Jesus could tell them to go away, but instead he recognizes that he needs to do the Father's will and, at this point, His will is that Jesus evangelize the surrounding towns. So Jesus does. 

I understand that Jesus is Lord, but he is also human, and humans become tired. In the first reading, Samuel awakes three times at his name. How do we feel after a night of restless sleep? Or, as in the Gospel, a night of little sleep? Certainly not refreshed and prepared to do the Lord's will! Both of these readings sing to me, a tired soul. The Christian life can be downright tiring. To do God's will is rarely the easiest path. This morning, as I dressed for a busy day of preparing for my return to school, I listened to the song Worn by Tenth Avenue North, which speaks of tired and heavy hearts:

My prayers are wearing thin/Yeah, I’m worn/Even before the day begins/Yeah, I’m worn/I’ve lost my will to fight/I’m worn/So, heaven come and flood my eyes  

The most important part of this song is not the lament of exhaustion, but rather the decision to look to Heaven in our tiredness. Samuel is shaken from sleep by Heaven's call; Jesus must relinquish his precious alone time, prayer time, to do his Father's will. I have a lot to learn from these two readings. I am tired, but I must find rest in the Lord. 

Worn // Tenth Avenue North

Prayer Is a Battle

For years, my parents had this worksheet from my younger sister's religious education class hanging in the house's upstairs hallway:

Growing up, this little poster reminded me that living a Catholic life meant "praying without ceasing" (1 Thess. 5:17). As I grew older, however, I found it more difficult to do just that. Surely the Christian life is not meant to be easy, but to pray constantly often seems inconvenient or even impossible. 

Why do we receive this impression of prayer? 

Because prayer is a battle. I did not make that up; that's an exact quote from the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Take a look:

The great figures of prayer of the Old Covenant before Christ, as well as the Mother of God, the saints, and he himself, all teach us this: prayer is a battle. Against whom? Against ourselves and against the wiles of the tempter who does all he can to turn man away from prayer, away from union with God. (CCC 2725)

I've alluded to the battle of prayer in several earlier posts (like this one). Now, I would like to share with you some practical strategies for keeping prayer a priority. Obviously, most of us pray at "chrich" and maybe even "befor" we eat. But how often do we pray "in the car" or "at the movies"? Do we make prayer a priority in our lives, or do we feel as though we don't have time to pray? Here are some ways I set aside time for personal prayer even when I'm swamped with responsibility:

Pray in the car or on your way to class. When I'm home for breaks from school, it's difficult to have a quiet space to myself. I take advantage of those quiet times I have while driving alone. Sometimes I'd prefer to listen to the radio, but I have to remind myself that prayer takes precedence and that these few minutes in the car might be the only quiet time I have that day. When I'm at school, I might pray while walking to class (although I must admit that I don't do this as often as I should). As I drive/walk somewhere, I'm preparing for the next event of my day. What better way to begin than in prayer? Even a few minutes of prayer can change my disposition for the day.

Pray in the shower. This one might seem strange, but we all need to shower! Instead of letting your thoughts wander or singing at the top of your lungs, use that time to pray. (Of course, don't forget that St. Augustine said: "He who sings prays twice.") Once, a priest suggested that I pray every time I go to the bathroom. After I got over the initial shock that an elderly male had acknowledged my restroom habits, I decided his idea wasn't half-bad. Whether it's showering or brushing your teeth, we all need to complete certain tasks on a regular basis; why not turn them into moments of prayer? 

Pray while completing household chores. I hate doing the dishes. It may be my least favorite chore. However, it gives me an excuse to pray even when I have a thousand other tasks to complete. Pray while vacuuming, dusting, or making dinner. If I am not praying while cleaning or cooking, I'm usually worrying or indulging in wandering thoughts. Prayer is more productive. 

Stop thinking about it. Just pray. Do I have time to go to the chapel? It doesn't matter; I can pray right here. While there is something indescribable about sitting in the physical presence of Jesus Christ, sometimes all we can manage is a two-minute-long teeth-brushing prayer. God appreciates both forms of prayer. 

The Catechism instructs us thus:

It is always possible to pray: The time of the Christian is that of the risen Christ who is with us always, no matter what tempests may arise. 

The time of the Christian is now. Pray! 

•••••

Stay tuned to one more catholic for updates on the Marian Virtue Project during this month of profound humility. 

My Nagging Mother

I love my mom. I always have. But when she quit dyeing her hair while I was in high school, letting it grow out to gray, I was mortified. Selfishly, I couldn't see why she would give up dyeing her hair other than to embarrass me. Mom had other reasons, of course, but I thought she existed solely to ruin my life. Throughout my high school years, she drove me to school in a large white delivery-type van, unashamedly conversed with cute boys my age without consulting me, wore hideous frameless glasses and ankle-length skirts, and sang opera-style at church. I used to hide and blush and cry "Mooooom!" at her embarrassing antics. 

All Who Are Weak

As I rushed from the library to my dorm, I remembered I still had an unfinished Rosary hanging over my head. Still, I galloped past the chapel, mentally turning over the half-dozen tasks I needed to complete. Later, I told myself, stifling my desire to pray with a reminder of the long to-do list awaiting me. But then I slowed my pace.