MEL

Raw expression of the Catholic faith

Author: Julie Lotarski Page 10 of 11

The Rewards of Heaven

For the Son of Man will come with his angels in his Father’s glory, and then he will repay everyone according to his conduct.

Matthew 16:27

There is no doubt that some of us lead more privileged lives than others.  Read any nonfiction work about war or genocide and that becomes abundantly apparent.  So, at what point will atonement take place for these discrepancies?  Some would say Heaven, but the same people might tell you that Heaven is an equal opportunity employer, regardless of your resume.         

The teacher in me wants to walk into church and see the objective written in big, bold letters on a whiteboard.  The pesky student in me want to ask, “Is this for a grade? How many points is this worth?  What will happen if I don’t do it?” 

Is the bare minimum to get into Heaven really as simple as accepting Jesus Christ as your Savior?  If so, what kind of extra credit do the saints receive in comparison to all those 59.5 percenters that barely squeaked by?  Asking for a friend…

No, but in all seriousness, the parameters of Heaven are currently living rent free in my mind these days.  Not because I want to do the bare minimum, but because I want others to be encouraged NOT to.    Since we live in a society based on extrinsic rewards, I really want us all to get on the same page about the sales pitch. 

I have been reading and reflecting on this topic today and this is what resonates with me.  I do believe that all believers will be granted the gift of eternal life in Heaven, regardless of what they did in this lifetime.  However, I cannot believe that the rewards will be equal.  I believe our levels of joy will differ based on the suffering we endured on earth, and the effort we put forth in living God’s word.   

My child, you will be able to enter into me to the extent that you go out of yourself.

The Imitation of Christ, Book 3, Chapter 56, Section 1

I view it as the harder we work to live like Jesus, the closer we become to Jesus.  In turn, the more we connect to Jesus and the more joyous Heaven will be when we enter. 

Throughout history, there have been acts of evil so horrific in this world that we can barely bring ourselves to acknowledge there existence.  So, what does that say about the degree of suffering for those that lived them?  For some of us, following God’s word is relatively easy because we do not face any opposition in doing so.  For others, standing up for what is right is met with tragic consequences.        

For no one can lay a foundation other than the one that is there, namely Jesus Christ.  If anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay or straw, the work of each will come to light, for the Day, will disclose it.  It will be revealed with fire, and the fire [itself] will test the quality of each one’s work.  If the work stands that someone built upon the foundation, that person will receive a wage.  But is someone’s work is burned up, that one will suffer loss; the person will be saved, but only as through fire

1 Corinthians 3:11-15

So, here’s the motivation.  Our salvation is a gift from God, we need do very little to earn it other than accept our Savior Jesus Christ. However, if we continually work to become the best versions of ourselves, living God’s word, even when it is hard, our Heavenly rewards can be unimaginable.  What’s the downside if I’m wrong?  There is no downside.  The more we look to God in leading us in our earthly lives, the more gracious they will become. 

Maybe you don’t buy into the varying levels of the celestial experience, but if Heaven is like a free concert, do you really want to risk sitting up in the nosebleed section? 

St. Anthony

Feast Day: June 13

Should my husband ever divorce me, you can guarantee it will be caused by my inability to keep track of my personal belongings.  Here I was again this afternoon, in a panic, tearing apart the house trying to find my wallet.  Forget the sacraments, are you even a Catholic until St. Anthony’s grace helps you retrieve something that is lost?    

Now for as many times as I have prayed to St. Anthony, I am ashamed to admit I don’t know much about him.  So, let’s review. 

St. Anthony of Padua is Patron of the Poor, born in 1195, just 13 years after St. Francis and the two seem to parallel each other in many ways.  St. Anthony was idolized for his preaching, to the point where he needed a bodyguard to protect him from followers trying to cut off part of his habit as a relic.  Just imagine what his views on TED Talk would be today! 

So how does Patron Saint of the Poor become famous for finding lost things?  In short, St. Anthony’s psalter (book of psalms) was stolen by a novice exiting the community.  St. Anthony prayed for its recovery and the thief was moved to take back the psalter and return to the order.

There is also a term for the offerings made in thanksgiving to God for St. Anthony’s blessings: “St. Anthony’s Bread.”  In the 13th century you would have given actual bread to the poor in thanks, but in modern times it is seen as money for the poor to buy food.  I am also just learning that parents can also make a gift to the poor after placing a newborn under the protection of St. Anthony.

So, it looks like I will be writing some checks for homeless shelters tomorrow, as St. Anthony obviously led me to find my wallet.  Also, let’s face it, with my track record, I will most likely be praying to St. Anthony quite a bit in the future.

Thanks again Tony!    

Ulterior Motives

In John 16:24, Jesus stated, “Ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete”.

Frankly, I don’t want to tell you this story but it’s late and I’m tired and I don’t really have anything else left in my arsenal to write about tonight, so here we go.    

I confided in my bestie that I secretly hope this blog leads to more than my faith, but a career.  If only you knew how slowly I typed that sentence.  The past few years I have discovered the joy that writing brings me and have often thought about how I could make a career out of it, but never really knew the path.  When I had the idea to write for 40 days for Lent, I started thinking maybe I could have it all.  A dream job as well as a dream relationship with God.  If nothing else I expect that having a better relationship with God will lead to a happier, more productive life in general. 

My friend and I will often use the phrase, “Put it out in the Universe,” as a way of encouraging each other’s positive imagery.  I also believe that our biggest obstacle in achieving our dreams, is simply believing in ourselves.  Nonetheless, more on the concepts of shame, vulnerability, and guilt later.      

If I can be as bold as to believe that God is leading me in achieving my dream, it is the following passage my mind keeps repeating. 

“But I came to learn that God never shows us something we aren’t ready to understand. Instead, He lets us see what we need to see, when we need to see it. He’ll wait until our eyes and hearts are open to Him, and then when we’re ready, He will plant our feet on the path that’s best for us…but it’s up to us to do the walking.”
― Immaculee Ilibagiza, Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust

Kind of a “Help me, help you,” proposition from God.

So there, now you know my dirty little secret, my ulterior motive in all of this.  Let me showcase my clever writing under the guise of religious purity. 

But still, if you never ask, the answer will always be no.  So therefore, I will be bold, put it out in the universe, risk embarrassing myself and see what happens. 

Go ahead, plant my feet Lord, I promise I’ll do the walking. 

Gratitude, Guilt & Fear

These days I seem to be trapped in a vicious cycle of gratitude, guilt and fear.  There’s a reason I have watched all six seasons of Schitt’s Creek at least three times.  Sitcoms are my sweet spot.  Where I can unplug without having to worry about the stress of viewing anything sad.  I typically won’t watch or read anything if it has a R-A-P-E scene.  Yes, I spell the word because it is too horrible a concept to even speak freely.  I have never liked hearing tales of misfortune (not like anyone really does) but especially after London died, I have taken extra caution to shield my heart from exposure to sadness. 

When my shelter is broken and I am awoken to the realities of the utmost suffering, I of course feel a surge of gratitude.  Yes, my daughters died, but at least it was of natural causes.  At least my children were afforded medical care.  At least they weren’t victim to savage violence.  Not all mothers are so lucky.    

After my gratitude comes a wave of guilt.  My heart breaks for the mothers who cannot meet their children’s basic needs of food, medicine, and safety, through no fault of their own.  The mothers whose children are living in unsafe neighborhoods or war-torn countries.  Why them and not me? 

After the guilt comes the fear.  Is my turn coming?  What other suffering is waiting for me in my lifetime?  Will I meet an even worse fate?  The unknown is terrifying.  It makes me feel like sprinting as fast as I can through life, until I am safely in the end zone and can be assured the worst is over. 

For me it doesn’t matter.  I have no fear of dying, for 50% of my children are already on the other side waiting for me.  I fear what every mother fears, her children’s suffering.  I do believe that when it is our time, the angels come and take our hand before we feel any pain.  But what about before that moment?  The journey to death is not always quick and the suffering and fear can set in long before. 

I had a student who asked me once if I had a nice childhood.  I hesitantly told her yes knowing she didn’t.  She responded, “What’s that like?”  A girl who was dealt such an unfair hand in life, yet somehow fought to remain kind and good.  I will never forget her. 

Again, why her and not me? 

I look at my sons and how blessed with love and security they are.  Then my heart breaks thinking of all the children in the world who do not have a safe, loving home.  In pours the guilt and then the fear. 

So how do we do it?  How do we enjoy our blessings and fortunes knowing we live in a world filled with murder and corruption?  It is not a rhetorical question I really want to know.  Sometimes I feel like I need to suffer for a sense of solidarity.  I used to be comforted by the endgame, Heaven.  The notion that Heaven and Hell made everything equal, gave everyone the atonement they deserved.  My biggest fear is that’s not true. 

All any of us are trying to do is make it through this crazy thing called life.  For me, I need it to make sense, if only to me, if only in my head.  That is part of my goal in my writing daily for the 40 days of Lent.  To push myself to explore my faith, to understand, to ask the uncomfortable questions.  For some of us will have a long time to wait until we learn the answers on the other side, and personally I’d like to break the cycle before then.              

How to Pray

This week’s Sunday Reflection on the Hallow App focused on learning how to pray.

As a little girl I remember laying in bed at night and saying the Our Father, Hail Mary and Guardian Angel prayer, (always in that order).  I remember talking to God, and that the last thing I said was always, “help me fall asleep quickly.”  What I also remember is not being able to fall asleep if I didn’t pray.  If I were tired and told myself I would skip my prayers, it just didn’t work.  I always ended up saying them before I fell asleep.  I’m not sure when this phenomenon faded in my life, but I can tell you that at some point growing up, I lost it.   

Father Jeff spoke today about how as Catholics we are often not taught how to pray but how to repeat.  We memorize many prayers but that doesn’t necessarily mean we know how to pray.  He tells us the three pillars of prayer are to be consistent, persistent, and personal.    

I can tell you since London died, I have really struggled with how to pray.  Like I have been searching for clarity to pray in a way that made sense to me.  I prayed for London to live, and she did not, therefore I felt like I could never pray in a way that was asking God for something ever again.  That leaves out a lot.  The only powers of prayer I believed in for a long time were that of comfort and peace. 

I felt like while listening to Immaculée Ilibagiza pray in her book, Left to Tell, I was learning how to pray again.  Immaculée was definitely consistent, persistent and personal in her prayers.  I took note of how she talked to God throughout the day, asking him for specific guidance.  She didn’t just ask God to save her, she asked Him to blind the killers, put an idea in her head, use her as His instrument.  She was an active participant in her conversations with God.    

What she said at the end is what resonates with me the most, “The love of a single heart can make a world of difference.  I believe that we can heal Rwanda and our world, by healing one heart at a time.” 

Suddenly it all made sense to me: Love.  Praying for love is something I can passionately believe in.  I now believe that in praying for love we can lessen the hatred in people’s hearts.  We can productively change the world for the better. 

While reading about the Rwandan genocide I kept thinking about the apparitions of the Virgin Mary to the children at Fatima in Portugal 1917.  The Our Lady of Fatima Miracle prophesied many crimes against humanity.  Mary called on us for acts of prayer and sacrifice to save souls, emphasizing praying the rosary. 

Thinking of the awful atrocities of humanity throughout the world are what would defeat me the most.  Now I realize I should take that as my calling of what to pray for.  Sometimes when I watch the news it seems like this world never learns and we just continue to hurt each other.  Although someone told me once that he studied a timeline trajectory of humanity and we are in fact getting kinder, even if it doesn’t always seem so.  Perhaps if we can all learn to pray a little better we could use our love to drive out the hate a little faster.

Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust (Part 3)

“Forgive the Unforgivable”

The third part of Immaculée Ilibagiza’s Left to Tell focuses on her unlikely escape into safety and her legacy of forgiveness. 

The number of undeniable miracles that lead Immaculée into security is beyond amazing.  Wayne Dyer promised this book to be life changing.  He did not overpromise, he did not underdeliver. 

“Rwanda can be a paradise again, but it will take the love of the entire world to heal my homeland.  And that’s as it should be.  For what happened in Rwanda happened to us all.  Humanity was wounded by the genocide.  The love of a single heart can make a world of difference.  I believe that we can heal Rwanda and our world, by healing one heart at a time.  I hope my story helps.

Fitting as her name means “brightness” as she has sparked a light in me.  Love, so simple yet so brilliant.  As horrific the content of this book, it also warmed my heart.        

Immaculée witnessed arguably the worst crimes of humankind yet lives with her heart at peace.  She saw, heard, even smelled things we don’t even want to think about, yet she lived it.  Not only is it a miracle that she survived the genocide physically, but mentally as well.  Others had gone insane from witnessing the holocaust. 

It took Immaculée two years of distance from Rwanda to heal her heart enough to come face to face with her family’s killer.  After seeing her family and speaking with her brother in a dream, she knows what she must do.  She is brought to the man who murdered her mother and brother, who looted her house, robbed their farm, and then hunted for her so he could take over their property.  Looking at him though she can feel only pity and simply says, “I forgive you.” 

Something I thought about a lot during this book is that my biggest fear is not being a victim of such horror, but of being the perpetrator.  We all like to think that we would remain good-hearted people in all situations, but war can do crazy things to people.  What if we were being fed murderous propaganda, what if we were fearing for our lives, what could we be capable of?  The devil will ruin your life if given the opportunity and I definitely believe the devil was hard at work during this time.  In the aftermath though Immaculée describes how the Hutus actually hurt themselves more than anything.  She reminds us that if we cannot forgive history will continue to repeat itself. 

I want to take this book and read it again and again to let it feed my soul.  I’m not saying all my questions have been answered and I will never waiver again, but something clicked inside me while reading this book.  Immaculée Ilibagiza was not left to tell, she was left to inspire.             

In case you missed Part 2 of my review you can find it here.   

Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust (Part 2)

The second part of Immaculée Ilibagiza’s Left to Tell focuses on her 91 days spent in the 3’ by 4’ bathroom of a local pastor’s house along 7 other women.  She utilizes this time to pray.  She prays like her life depends on it and quite literally, it does. 

Unable to speak, move or even sleep really, fervent prayers create a gateway to God which I truly believe helped end the genocide.  During Immaculée’s 15-20 hours of daily prayer, she hears the voices of Satan and Jesus. 

It starts with taunting voices from Satan, shaming Immaculée for trusting in God.  Attempting to plague her with self-doubt, trying to convince her to give up, to stop praying.  She pushes through and continues to pray with a heart so pure, she can even pray for “the killers,” acknowledging that they are still children of God. 

After the killers raid the Pastor’s house the first time Immaculée knows they are bound to find the women hiding in the bathroom.  When she asks God for help the idea is given to her, to use the Pastor’s large wardrobe to cover the door.  Then, when Immaculée hears that the French are setting up “safe haven” camps for surviving Tutsis, God planted the seed in her mind for what she was to do next.  She realized she was to learn English to communicate with the UN soldiers and eventually work for the UN.  She knew God was leading her, telling her leave the bathroom and navigate towards the UN camps.  To prepare the women before venturing out, the Pastor brings them out from the bathroom for the first time in 3 months to watch a silent movie and stretch their bodies.  In doing so a houseboy sees the bluescreen and relays his suspicions to a group of killers who come to raid the house, chanting her name as they hunt for Immaculée.  It is here in her final desperation she witnesses an apparition of Jesus.  She hears his voice telling her to trust Him, and that He will save her.  “I shall put my cross upon this door and they shall not reach you.” She sees a white glowing cross above the door and cannot contain her excitement when she realizes they will be safe. 

Now I read books after London died about divine intervention, ranging from sole survivor stories to near death experiences.  To be completely frank, they did not comfort me, if anything they pissed me off.  Partly because I didn’t believe the receivers typically deserved it, and mostly because I was bitterly jealous.  That whole, “Oh you think you’re special?” syndrome we talked about.  However, let me tell you, Immaculée Ilibagiza deserved it!  Immaculée Ilibagiza IS special.  Trust me, one day we will see a canonized Saint Immaculée in the Roman Catholic church.

Even while reading about the unspeakable brutalities of the genocide, listening to Immaculée talk about God brings about a sense of peace.  Listening to her story is unlike anything I have ever experienced.  Now we all know she survives and does wonderful things post-Holocaust, but I am on the edge of my seat to find out how.     

In case you missed it, read Part I of my review here.

Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust (Part I)

After listening to Immaculée Ilibagiza’s scripture reading on the Hallow App this week, I decided to read her book, Left to Tell, for a deeper understanding of her story.  She is a survivor of the Rwandan Holocaust and is known to have an unwavering love for God and an unbelievable capacity for forgiveness. 

First, let me start by telling you that the writer of the Forward, Wayne Dyer, deserves an award for his narrative.  Never in my life has a Forward made me more excited to read a book, let alone one about genocide.  Frankly, I try to avoid books and movies of such tragic topics because let’s face it, being sad isn’t exactly fun, but his promise of what this book will teach me has given me the strength to power through it.   

Immaculée Ilibagiza was born in what she describes as paradise.  A country so beautiful you would gladly cope with the third world hardships just for the view.  Her parents, Leonard and Rose, so pious and selfless, they would give Mary and Joseph a run for their money.  Immaculée and her three brothers grew up with an unsurpassed amount of love in their household.  Her brother Damascene, her self-declared soulmate.  They sounded like the model family in their village, if not for being of the minority Tutsi class. 

What I found so interesting was to hear Immaculée explain how similar the Tutsi and Hutu classes were.  The Tutsis were supposed to be taller with narrower noses but since so many Hutus and Tutsis had married and mixed genes the differences were hard to tell.  In fact, it was not until in school when weekly ethnic roll call began that she even knew what the different classes were.  Eventually death lists were created to help the Hutu extremists identify and annihilate the “cockroach” Tutsi class.  The first part of this book sets the stage for what hatred’s propaganda can destroy. 

When I heard that a genocide survivor would be praying with us on the Hallow App I was intrigued.  I told my husband; “I need to learn how she kept her faith because if she can do it then there’s hope for me.” 

Tomorrow I will continue reading through humans’ inhumane treatment of each other.  I will reluctantly immerse myself in the horror, because as Wayne Dyer promised, “it will change the way you view the power of faith forever.”  Let the transcendent experience begin.    

Weekday Mass

I fell in love with weekday Mass the summer my son MJ was born.  It has a completely different energy than a Sunday mass.  More somber and serious than joyful and celebratory, but in a good way.  At least in a way that matched my spirit towards prayer. 

Honestly, the idea of going to a Sunday service makes me cringe.  I truly believe I have PTSD when it comes to that.  I think I pushed myself too hard to go to church after my daughter London died.  If there was a little girl close by or the priest said a homily that made me feel neglected, I would burst into tears.  I just felt so lonely, so unseen.  Still, I fought through it and continued to force myself to go.  Mainly to light a candle for London.  Then the pandemic hit, and I delivered my stillborn daughter.  Since then, I have used Covid as my excuse but ultimately, I just cannot bring myself to go.  Too much pomp and circumstance, too many people.

Part of the reason I fell in love with weekday Mass was because my father and I made a habit of taking my son once a week.  At the end of Mass, we would light a candle for my daughter and go grab a cup of coffee.  Those quiet morning spent together have been one of my happiest memories with my dad.    

Then there were the days when I walked to that 7:00 am Mass.  The simple pleasure of being out in nature in the early morning before the hustle and bustle begins its almost a religious experience in itself.  The world so quiet, so easy to clear your mind, so many opportunities for God to find a connection to you. 

However early, back then it was relatively easy for me to make it to 7:00 am Mass.  My infant son was awake early in the morning anyways so I would simply get ready after he woke me up.  Since then, it has been more of a challenge with his sleep schedule changing.

Recently though I decided to bring MJ to church with me on my daughter’s birthday.  He impressed me with how well he sat through the Mass being not quite four-years-old.  After Mass I thanked him for going with me and he said, “Thank-you for taking me Mommy.”  Be still my heart!  So now I have made it a point to try to take him to weekday Mass once a week.  It can be our special mommy and me time.  Hopefully, as he grows up, he’ll look back at these weekday Mass memories with the same fondness I do.  Then who knows, maybe he will be taking his little one to weekday Mass one day.      

An Angel to Watch Over Me

Approximately 25 years ago I read this book as part of my summer reading list for school.  I remember I loved it back then, so I decided to reread it now.  As the cover indicates it is a compilation of true stories of children’s encounters with angels.  Essentially it is a feel good, Chicken Soup for the Soul kind of book. 

In some stories children in peril shout out to God or their guardian angel and protection immediately arrives.  In other narratives children are rescued before they even realize they are in danger.  I remember reading these stories and loving this concept.  I believed so heartedly in it too.  Which is why I would repeatedly pray to my guardian angel anytime I was afraid.  Whether I awoke from a bad dream or had to walk to my car alone in the dark, and for everything in between, I’d recite the Guardian Angel prayer.    

Reading this book now as an adult with much more life experience, the words struck me a little differently.  I though it was “cute,” but the skeptic in me constantly questioned its validity.  Who were the authors of these stories and how much may they have been embellished?  Afterall, I did not come across a fact-checking chapter. 

One encounter involved a young girl drowning who was saved by an angel.  My heart immediately hurt for the mothers I know of who have lost a child to drowning.  How do you explain to them why their child wasn’t saved by a mystical boy on a surfboard?  That is an injustice I will never understand and will never be okay with. 

I remember my younger self reading this book and wanting so badly to experience an angel encounter of my own.  One as clear cut and significant as the ones I had read about it.  The thing is we’ve probably all experienced hundreds of angel intercessions throughout our lives.  We just have different names for them such as “close calls” or “lucky escapes.”  Those moments driving in your car when your adrenaline is pumping because you were almost in an accident. 

Sometimes I also think angels simply help us get through our day, just like St. Anthony helps us find our car keys!  It may be a parking spot, the right place at the right time, or any seemingly little but much needed serendipitous transaction that leaves us saying, “What a charmed life I lead!”  I know whenever I get nervous making a left turn onto a busy street, I always ask my daughters for help and before I know it there is a break in traffic.   

The end of the book is compiled of angel trivia, legends, poems, and songs.  This is where I learned that October 2 is the feast day of guardian angels.  I find this special because my still-born daughter Mary Ella was delivered October 3, but the night before was when we learned she had passed.  I know my daughters serve as guardian angels for their brothers and this is a special reminder of that for me. 

I know that praying to your guardian angel is no guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen to you, but I like to think that by doing so, you are keeping the lines of communication open.  Hopefully the more I pray and talk to my guardian angel, the easier I make their job in protecting me.  More importantly the more I teach my sons to do the same, hopefully the safer they will be.  Who knows, maybe my special angel encounter will be seen through their eyes.  Don’t worry, should that happen, I will be sure to write it down.    

Page 10 of 11

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén