Archive for the ‘Religion’ Category
[We'll call the author of this guest post Stuff. She's a long-time friend of mine and contributor at my previous blog. This is a re-post from that blog.]
I know this is a few days late, but this meditation has been brewing all weekend through my busy, hectic workdays and my dear husband’s slow ones. But this is not for him – he already got the Star Wars trilogy for Father’s Day and one custom card complete with a hand-drawn Darth Vader from our six-year-old.
No, this is for the Fathers that probably don’t get many chances to go fishing or get pancakes in bed or have grand cookouts for Father’s Day. This is for priests.
[Let's call the author of this post Stuff. She's a long-time friend and contributor to my previous blog. This is a re-post from that blog. I'm re-posting it here because thought it would be a good post for Mother's Day. Since it's original publication, Stuff's family has grown to include a total of four children, two boys and two girls.]
I am not one of those baby-crazy women whose biological clock ticks so loudly that her husband smacks her in the morning when the alarm goes off. In fact, I never really pictured myself as a mother at all when I was growing up – I shelved dolls in place of snuggly, cuddly stuffed animals and dreamed of being a veterinarian. In high school, my career choice shifted, but not my interest in children – I rarely babysat and wasn’t sure I’d ever really marry. After a relationship with a really bad-for-me boyfriend, I felt sure I’d either be a single missionary or a cloistered nun. Sometimes I thought I’d be a concert pianist. The only thing I was sure about was that I wanted to serve God. Of course, if, by some act of God, I ever did get married, I knew I would want to bear my husband’s children.
Enter Squat. The man who turned my world upside-down, taught me what love was and that yes, men were really capable of it, and eventually took me as his bride. We did NOT conceive on our honeymoon, contrary to popular belief. It was the week after we got home.
[This is a slightly edited re-post from my previous blog. It seemed appropriate in light of a post I recently wrote here.]
While visiting with my in-laws outside of Erie a couple years ago I went to their parish for the Epiphany. I noticed something there that I’ve noticed at other parishes, and it drives me nuts: slovenly attire worn by those attending mass, in particular those serving at the altar.
How can people serve at the altar in the Divine Presence wearing blue jeans and sneakers? How can parents allow their children to dress so poorly for such a high office? More importantly, I wonder how priests can allow children to serve like that? I’ve even seen it at weddings!
At last night’s Easter vigil, I realized something. While I believe what we wear to church matters and reflects the dignity and solemnity of the liturgy, my dress clothes aren’t the most important things I wear to worship. It’s not the nice shirt, pressed pants, or tie that completes my ensemble.
This is so beautiful and inspirational. It’s a must see, but have some tissues handy.