Why Do We Sin?

So Moses went and summoned the elders of the people.  When he set before them all that the Lord had ordered him to tell them, the people all answered together, “Everything the Lord has said, we will do.”  (Then) the Lord added, “Go to the people and have them sanctify themselves today and tomorrow … for on the third day the Lord will come down on Mount Sinai before the eyes of all the people.  Set limits for the people all around the mountain, and tell them: Take care not to go up the mountain, or even to touch its base.  If anyone touches the mountain he must be put to death.”

On the morning of the third day there were peals of thunder and lightning, and a heavy cloud over the mountain, and a very loud trumpet blast, so that all the people in the camp trembled.  … When the people witnessed the thunder and lightning, the trumpet blast and the mountain smoking, they feared and trembled. … Moses (said) to the people: “Do not be afraid, for God has come to you only to test you and put his fear upon you, lest you should sin.”  (Ex 19:1 – 20:21)

And yet, they sinned anyway.

The above events happened only three months after the Israelites had left Egypt.  They were witness to a cloud of fire, the Red Sea parting, an entire army wiped out, and now they heard the voice of God so clearly that “they feared and trembled.”  God spoke to them, but I hear only whispers.  These people had every incentive NOT to sin, because God told them to obey or “be put to death,” and yet shortly after these events, they sinned anyway.  So how am I to resist?

My belief in God comes from the words of others, and I feel hints and mists of His presence in my life, and sin seems so easy to me.  Does He expect me to be stronger against sin than the Israelites in the desert who saw and heard His mighty works?  I wrote previously that sometimes I think on the fact that “He expects me to sin,” and all that implies.  It implies He expects me to be weak.  It implies I need Him, and His Mercy and Forgiveness.  And not said in those words, but which I EXPECT, is that I love Him enough to not want to sin. 

I don’t see the proof of God with my eyes or with my ears, as the Israelites did.  I don’t see great miracles before me.  I haven’t feared Him so much that I’ve trembled.  But I have read and pondered my whole life the actions of my namesake, Thomas, and the words the Lord spoke to him: “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have believed.”  And with a belief grows faith and charity.  I believe, I trust, I love; they go together.  And the feeling: that I am loved.

And although His love came to me first, it was something I was slow to realize.

I follow the blog of a young mother, a woman with many children, few of which are of her own body.  She has adopted many children from around the world, but not just any children.  She has chosen those unwanted by anyone else.  Her children are of every color, of every handicap.  She chose them, and gives them so much love.  She and her husband adopted them all, and they so much love her.  They love her, who they know so very well, did not have to love them.  She chose them.

I follow that blog just to read the example there, of unconditional love.  She rarely writes of any problems with her children, and certainly not the “woe is me” type of complaints I am sometimes prone to write.  She writes what a gift they are.

Her words remind me how blessed I am to be loved by Someone that way also, Someone who chooses to love me, who certainly did not have to.  He chose to love me.  Knowing that, how I wish to be His adopted son. And yet with all the gifts He so freely gives me, I know He expects me to sin.  I am like the Israelites in this one way: I fear to fail Him.  Oh, I don’t fear that lightning bolts will strike me, but I fear like the children of the woman whose blog I read: Even though I have been told the love will never stop, I fear losing it.

And as the fear fades, love grows, our love.      

Why do we sin?  I believe it’s because we still have too much fear, and not enough love.

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It was quiet in the house, and I decided to arrange the pile of videos and DVDs laying in the cabinet, when I came across one I had forgotten about: The 50^th Anniversary mass of the priesthood of Fr. John R. Hogan, July 14, 1991.

I can’t say for sure that I’ve ever met a saint, but I think I did when I met this man.  Only four years after my conversion experience a work friend, Barb, asked me to attend a holy hour with her one Sunday, about a two hours’ drive across town, and that’s where I first met Fr. Hogan.  At that first meeting, he seemed a crusty old man, but I quickly saw and heard the love beneath that exterior.  And buses came from all around to attend that holy hour, with him, and with the God he so obviously loved.

I remember that first Sunday, his talk, his prayers, and his praying over me --- and over each person in church, one by one, as we knelt on the altar steps.  Holding the host, he blessed me and prayed for me.  He invoked the intercession of saints, and for me in particular invoked the protection of St. Rita, the saint of lost causes.  I know, because I went to St. Rita high school ---- and I noticed he invoked her name for no one else.  I didn’t have to see, later on that day, that my rosary chain had turned to gold; I knew this was a most special man of God.  I was told many claimed miracles occurred after his prayers over them.

Back then, God gave me many miracles and consolations; I felt His presence in so many ways, and in so many people around me.  It was all so new and felt so wonderful.  Called to conversion and called through so many open doors, into so much beauty – and love – I felt like this was the happiness promised by God.  But watching the video of Fr. Hogan’s anniversary mass, and even myself greeting him, I realized how wrong I was.  This was not the happiness promised by God.

I had felt that my conversion to knowing and loving God, and committing my life to His will, was like entering a new world.  It was like touring all the shrines and cathedrals of Europe, and all the holy places of the Middle East --- like being in a holy place.  Looking back, I can see that was wrong.  I thought I had entered a new world; little did I know that I merely had bought a ticket to get there.  A commitment, whether giving your life to Christ or giving it to a new spouse in marriage, is only the start of a journey ---- so many new spouses don’t realize that (I know I didn’t).  And so many new converts don’t realize it either.  A new life with Christ or a new life with a spouse; we think two things as we proceed:  1) We don’t want this to end, and 2) We fear it will.

The Israelites felt that way about their new covenant with God.  They saw all the advantages, even if things were not always pleasant along the way.  They pledged commitment to God, for the advantages, yes, but also out of fear.  If asked, they may have said they loved God, as do many who undergo conversions or marriages.  But with their pledge came an underlying fear, and not nearly enough love to make it last forever.  The fear needs to fade, as the love needs to grow.  And the love DOES need to grow.

As I watched myself greet Fr. Hogan on the video, I noticed that I smiled, and I chatted.  And I saw in my heart my feelings at the time: this was a blessing from God, my seeing and knowing this holy man.  And God was blessing me so much then.  Looking back, I knew I had some trembling then, about it possibly ending, growing old, or growing cold.  I treasured the moments, but I had a little fear, and I now must admit, only a little love.  I thought I was in the land of a blessed life, but I had just got my ticket, and hadn’t even got off the plane yet.  I wasn’t in the land of any blessings yet, because I had so much love to grow.

I so easily educate my mind, to almost anything I commit to, and so it was hard to perceive that I couldn’t as easily educate my soul.  Since those days, I’ve read many words about calls to grow in holiness, to grow in love --- to change my heart.  That is one thing it has taken me many years to realize, that you can’t change your heart as easily or as fast as you can change your mind.  Jesus calls us to have a heart that burns for Him, that yearns for His presence.  We’ll not achieve pure holiness in this life, but our hearts can burn for it.  And that burning is shown in our love, our unconditional love.  The early Christians heard about this from all those around them: “See how much they love one another.”

On the video, the mass for Father Hogan was very pleasant to watch: Bishop Moses Malone was there, and he sang in his beautiful voice, like no other, and Father Hogan spoke his words of love that touched your heart.  But it was the end of the mass which I will always remember. 

The bishop led the recession down from the altar and the center aisle, exiting the church.  And at the end of the line of dignitaries and important people, there came Fr. Hogan.  And he smiled as the recessional hymn began: When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.  The line of priests moved quickly down the aisle, but Fr. Hogan was much slower, and so he easily stood out clearly from the rest crowd as the camera followed his movement.  But he had only reached the first row of pews, when he paused.  Where the others had rushed by to exit, he stopped and bent over with a smile, to bless the young woman in the wheel chair there.  And in the camera’s rearview eye, you could see her arms reach up from the chair to hug him, and he bent lower still, to hug her. 

And in those actions, I could see what a life of growing in love really looks like. 

I have so far to go.

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

There's a tear in your eye,

And I'm wondering why,

For it never should be there at all.

With such pow'r in your smile,

Sure a stone you'd beguile,

So there's never a teardrop should fall.

When your sweet lilting laughter's

Like some fairy song,

And your eyes twinkle bright as can be;

You should laugh all the while

And all other times smile,

And now, smile a smile for me.

Chorus

When Irish eyes are smiling,

Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring.

In the lilt of Irish laughter

You can hear the angels sing.

When Irish hearts are happy,

All the world seems bright and gay.

And when Irish eyes are smiling,

Sure, they steal your heart away.

   

Conversations With The Bartender

Mom’s live-in caregiver was to leave town on Sunday, to visit her mother and sister in Indiana, but as is her way, she suddenly changed her mind.  “I’ll leave tomorrow,” she said.  This caused no major disruptions to my plans to stay at mom’s house for the week, except one:  I could go home to my own bed on Sunday night; one less night on mom’s couch.

Blessings often come in small ways, but they are still blessings.

As her normal bedtime approached Sunday night, mom was in a contrary mood: “I don’t want to go to bed yet!”  And so, as I sat there next to her, I began to say my nightly rosary.  By the time the last Hail Mary’s were being said mom’s eyes had closed, and she softly snored.  “It’s time,” I said, putting my hands to the side of my head to indicate sleeping a sleeping position.  She looked up at me and nodded.

Heading toward my usual stop at the chapel on my way home, I said the last of the rosary prayers and saw the Box Bar in downtown Plymouth.  And I decided to stop.

All but one barstool was taken when I walked in.  “Good enough,” I thought as I sat down, ordered a glass of wine, and began to watch the Seattle football team humiliating the San Francisco team.  And then before that first glass of wine was emptied, I looked up and noticed:  so were all the other stools at the small bar.  “Another?” asked the young bartender, pointing at my glass.  “Sure,” I said.  No need to hurry home; nothing on my mind; all was at peace this December 23^rd night.

After a bit the bartender returned to me, his only customer.  “Food tonight?” he asked.  “Hmmm, maybe some fries, if you’ll share some with me,” and he went off to place my order with the kitchen.  Returning, we chatted about the non-game on the big-screen television, and then turned to thoughts of Christmas.  “I don’t get to church much anymore,” he suddenly volunteered.  And he quickly switched to talking about some of the disappointing things in his life --- not connecting the two topics.  He mentioned in passing that he once had attended Catholic elementary schools. 

“You know, at one point I was away from church for seven years,” I said.  “I know what it’s like to be a good person, but not really value going to church.  But that changed for me one night, …”

And so I began to tell him of my call by God, back to church --- my conversion story.

When I told him how, in the far-away country, I had watched nuns climbing a steep rocky path on their knees, he stopped leaning on the bar, stood up straight and stepped back away: “You’re kidding me.”  I told him how God had shocked me at that moment too, and suddenly I knew, I KNEW, everything I had been taught and forgotten about God was true.  He did exist; He was in the Eucharist on the altar; He did love me.  “And I cried,” I said.

He stood there silently, looking at me.

A conversation in a bar about faith and miracles:  How did that happen?

We chatted a while longer when I noticed that time had slipped away, and my glass was empty for a third time.  “Well, that’s enough,” I said.  “I think it’s time for me to go home,” as I dropped my credit card on the bar.  I expected the tab to be about $20, and I planned to add $20 as a tip.  The “Merry Christmas” I planned to say to him was on my mind, as he pushed the credit card back to me.

“This one’s on me,” he said, “Merry Christmas.” 

“But how can I give you a Christmas gift, then,” I asked him.

“You have, my friend,” he replied. 

“You have.”

“Thank you,” I said in return, getting up to leave, “And Merry Christmas to you.”  And then I paused.  “I’ll be going to midnight mass on Christmas Eve at Our Lady of Good Counsel tomorrow night.  Maybe I’ll see you there.”

He smiled.

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As I sat reading my morning prayers today, I thought on all the people who might be going to midnight mass tonight.  For how many would this be their only mass of the year?  For how many would this be their first mass IN years?  Would they feel ashamed at being gone for so long? 

And then I read my morning prayers:

There is no time with God; a thousand years, a single day, it is all one.  (2 Peter 3:8)

Make us know the shortness of our life
That we may gain wisdom of heart.  (Psalm 90)

He has won you for Himself … and you must proclaim what He has done for you; He has called you out of darkness into His own wonderful light.  (1 Peter 2:9) 

My Conversion Story (II.)

(Continued from I.)

At breakfast that first day in Medjugorje, sis and I met the others staying at our guesthouse.   They included a priest (Fr. Pat), two farm boys, a couple of women who had been there before, a few older women, Mario my roommate who seemed “curious” like me, and Vincent, who quickly told us: “I don’t believe any of this stuff.  But I am newly retired and was getting in my wife’s hair, and so she insisted I take this trip.”  Ah!  A man of my own heart, a skeptic.  In all, there were seven men and six women in our group.

The village itself was very hilly.  Except for the church and its courtyard, everything else was up and down.  Sis was out of shape, and as we walked the hills she stopped often to rest.  That first night we went to evening mass in the church of St. James, and found it was a standing room only event.  We arrived early enough to be in a pew that first evening, but I was embarrassed at all the elderly people and villagers who had to stand.  I don’t recall what exactly was special about that first night, but sis and I never did do the “tourist thing” we had planned on the way over.  (There weren’t any cabs to be had in the village anyway.)  But we did go to that three-hour evening service, the one we had planned to attend only once, each and every night of the eight days we were there, and I knelt the three hours each night on the church’s concrete floor.

The children (then in their teens) were in the church choir loft away from the tourists, and Mary was said to be appearing to them there each night as we prayed the rosary after mass.  I can’t adequately describe those nights; the whole place just felt so holy, and we felt so blessed to be there.  The nightly mass had many concelebrants --- there were priests from around the world there.  We went to a couple of the afternoon English masses, and Fr. Pat celebrated a private mass for our house one day.

During the day, we were led to the homes of the children who were seeing Mary, and through a translator they patiently answered all our questions --- which they must have heard hundreds of times before.  We walked through grape and tobacco fields and on day 1 we climbed the hill where the apparitions first occurred.  At the half way point up was a small cross with a legend: “Adhere to the words of Our Lady or face the wrath of Christ.”  Sis had to stop at this point as did her more elderly roommate, but I went on to the top.  There was a cross there also, to mark the spot where it all started.  Comments in my picture book from then note: “Mary promises a major miracle, at this site, that will convert atheists and stand for all time.”

We climbed “Cross Hill” on the 4^th day there.  A narrow, steep rocky path wound its way up; it was very slow going.  There were rest points along the way, at which were erected small markers for the 14 Stations of the Cross.  Sis only made it to the 5^th Station, and only 7 of the 19 who started out made it all the way to the top.  Vincent, the total non-believer (like me) made it:  “My doctor is going to say THIS was a miracle.”  The huge concrete cross there had this engraving:  “To Jesus Christ, Savior of Mankind.  As a sign of their faith, love, and hope.  Was built by the parish of the people of Medjogorje 9/14/33.  Save us from every evil, Oh Jesus.”

Standing by the cross, I took in the sight of the tiny village far below, and I looked at my tired (now) friends.  And although awestruck by the downward view, I was more awestruck looking up at the huge cross.  Who were these people in 1933, who could haul tons of concrete and water up here, a very hard two-hour climb, to create this monument?  My analytical mind took all this in; it didn’t make sense.  This was insane.  It was all insane, I thought, including those slow-climbing women we were passing (again) on our way down.  It was around noon.  Dressed all in black, they had begun their slow climb up the steep rocky path at daybreak --- on their knees.  I stopped, and looking at them and very their visible faith, something came over me, and for the first time I cried, and I didn’t know why.  Something was happening here, and to me. 

I was to shed many more tears that week.

We heard much talk of miracles at Medjugorje, beyond the apparitions.  There were reported medical cures and the pile of crutches left there, other people who said they also had seen Mary, and many others had witnessed the “miracle of the sun,” where it grew larger and radiated lights in all colors, as people stared directly at it with no damage to their eyesight.  One afternoon, after I had spent time alone praying in the church, I met sis and her roommate outside.  They told me that they had looked up toward the huge concrete cross overlooking the village and had seen a large halo around it.  Kneeling down, they saw lights of many colors radiate from the halo, and the vision went on for a number of minutes.  They began praying the rosary aloud, and were surprised to hear others, kneeling around them, respond.  Many were seeing the same sight.  Sis was so happy!  And so was I.

I personally never did see a miracle while I was there.  I prayed in the church that I would not.  I now believed in the events, the apparitions, which were occurring there, but I wanted to see no miracles to prove it to me.  I didn’t want to be like my namesake, a “doubting Thomas,” who had to see to believe.  And then one afternoon, overcome by all these events, I knelt in the church and prayed that God would change my life.  I accepted that I was not correctly using the many talents He had given me; my life was yielding no fruit.  And so I gave my life, my will, to Him.  “Not my will, but Thy will be done in me.”  And I promised if He would show me what He wished me to do, I would do it.  My life had begun to change.

Everyone of the group of thirteen who stayed in our guesthouse in 1987 felt their life had changed during our visit.  Vincent, the reluctant traveler, couldn’t contain his amazement: “We have to tell everyone about this place.”  On the last night before flying home we discussed that living our faith would be more important than talking about this place.  And that last morning in Medjugorje, as we walked for the final time the half mile to church, we passed Duane, the farm boy who once confided to me what a great sinner he was.  Duane was proceeding to church much more slowly than us, on his knees.

I never went back to Medjugorje.  I always thought of it as a turning point in my life.  I’d like to think I’ve grown in holiness since then, although the Lord --- and Mary --- know I’ve much more growing to do.  I’ve been blessed to see and feel many miracles since then --- including the changing of a silver rosary to gold, something my wife wanted to rush to the jewelers to verify.  We’re divorced now.  But maybe this was part of a plan also. 

On one of the last days at Medjugorje, I insisted that sis and her roommate, Jean, climb the “smaller” hill of the original apparitions which I had climbed that first day.  Both begged: “No, we can’t,” but I insisted they could do it, “no matter how long it took.”  It was a long climb, a very slow climb, and we made many rest stops along the way.  But sis and Jean did make it to the top.  And they stopped and prayed, they cried and hugged one another, and me.  I’ve given many gifts to people and causes in my life, but I never felt so appreciated as I did that day.  I corresponded with Jean for many years afterward, until I received the letter from her children that said they were now caring for her, as her mind and body were failing.

Sis is gone now, and so is Jean.  I’m sure they pray for me.  I talk to sis sometimes, perhaps even more now than when she was alive.  She’s saving a place for me.  I know it.  And so is my Mother, Mary.  I still say three Hail Mary’s to her each night.

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God and His Mother have been very good to me.  They dragged me to a place and events where I could not avoid admitting that, despite my best efforts, I wasn’t leading such a good life.  And I agreed to change, if they’d help me.  If you should ever feel them asking you to change, my friends, don’t be afraid to get down on your knees also and ask: “What would you have me do?  Show me, and I promise I will do it.”  And I’m sure they will show you the way also --- and you will find joy and purpose in your travels through this world.  Travels to home, where they --- and all our loved ones --- will be waiting.

I hope to see you there.