A weekly curation of quotations I come across in my reading life (or on random condiment jars) — from the inspirational to the miscellaneous. Perhaps one inspires you or catches your fancy too…
The mark of book lovers…
“Rereading books, we [he and C. S. Lewis] said with immense agreement, was the mark of the real lover of books.” (Sheldon Vanauken, A Severe Mercy)
A woman who reads…
“A woman who reads is a rebel, defying the pace of the instant at which the modern world gallops from dawn until dusk. Her mind is her own, formed not by a scroll down the social media feed or the frantic scurry of too much to do but by her daily decision to walk in company with the wise, those authors who help her to step back, to listen, to pray, and to ponder.” (Sarah Clarkson, Book Girl)
“Living the Christian life is not a matter of repressing our desires, but of redeeming them.” (Christopher West)
Those are three words that we usually only hear spoken in moments of high frustration, when someone has reached the max, the breaking point, or is totally overwhelmed. In fact, when I write those three words I immediately think of them punctuated by an exclamation mark. I don’t imagine them as I have written them above, with a nice calm period at the end.
If the words are spoken in a conversation, aren’t they often admitted with a sigh? With a heavy resignation that feels like surrender to defeat? Do you think of someone saying those three words – “I need help” – with a joyful tone and a smile upon her face? Probably not.
Why is it that needing help, not being fully autonomous, fills us with frustration rather than joy? Why is needed assistance an indication of something lacking in us? Why do so many women want to juggle, multi-task, and power through all by themselves? The truth is that we don’t really know ourselves or we aren’t really honest with ourselves.
Think about the last time that someone helped you out in a way that was life-changing. How would it have felt to ask for that help? How did it feel after it was given? In answer to the first, probably dread; in answer to the last, probably relief. We fight so hard to be self-sustaining; but, in the end, we welcome the arm that lifts the heavy burden off our backs.
I wonder if we realize that we have been so formed by a culture of individualism and self-reliance that we find ourselves in bondage to it. We see ourselves as our own individual boats, not part of a fleet. All of our endeavors, and the various tasks that go along with completing them, must be accomplished solo. With things big or small there is the drive for the self-satisfying completion of a goal. I folded four loads of laundry today…I wrote a blog post…I got to all of the most important disciplines…I ran all of my errands and handled everyone’s schedule changes with perfect execution.
We want to check-off all our boxes, and we act as if the checkmark only counts if we did the thing entirely ourselves. Even the idea of task lists is completely individualistic. This is what I am in charge of here; that is on this person’s list over there. I think we realize this mindset doesn’t work on a small scale. Perhaps with various jobs or projects we value the idea of working together to get the job done. But in our personal and overall perspective, we take on tasks and the job of living this life as “mine.”
Why this individualistic perspective that prizes personal achievement over collective effort? I think that, ultimately, we have created the wrong narrative in our heads. We view ourselves as the hero of the story, the leading lady, the main character; and all of the people in our lives are supporting roles to our overall narrative. Within this perspective, they quickly become accessories to us…objects in our story, rather than persons with their own.
It’s not that we don’t all have our own stories; it’s just that we have taken our own stories to be central. We have failed to realize that the grand narrative is God’s, and we are all supporting characters in His story.
We have started our hectic adults lives from the premise that we are people who must become something and make something of ourselves, that we have our stories to write and we better get started. We constantly hear this narrative spoken to us in the self-help genre: are you living the life that you want to live?
We have missed the point that we are already part of the best story. We have been invited into it, and no one is excluded from it. It’s a collective narrative that celebrates the communal nature of the gospel. Will we accept the invitation? Will we open ourselves to the joy of needing others and the blessing of being needed by them? There is immense freedom in recognizing that we are living – alongside of others – in God’s story.
It’s the octave of Christmas – “the most wonderful time of the year.” I’m taking some moments these days to consider why this time of year is full of wonder…and also why the wonder is often overlooked.
The thing about seeing the world with wondering eyes is that it has to be a habit for it to happen with any consistency. If we want to be people awake to the miracle and extravagant love of the Incarnation, then we have to be people who practice seeing evidence of it throughout the “ordinary time” of the year…and even in the midst of the less wonderful times in life.
In fact, if we don’t know what we are looking for, if we mistake the flashy impersonators for the true beauty and goodness, then we will indeed have trouble spotting the wonder of the gospel message in the ups and downs of ordinary life, and possibly even at Christmastime. The joyful anticipation of Emmanuel — “God with us” — is written throughout history, is written on our hearts. He came to make us fully alive (John 10:10) and wonder-filled, to see the world with new eyes, to recognize truth, beauty, and goodness where it is present.
But think what might happen if we haven’t spent the months before December actively remembering and reflecting on the story of redemption history. We might very well — and often do — miss the most wonderful truth revealed to us in our nativity scenes. And even if we suddenly awaken at Christmas and our hearts grasp what we are celebrating most of all — God becoming man to be with us, to stoop low, to share our lot and raise us up in his glory — will we quickly fall asleep again to the wonder of the Christmas message as soon as the decorations are returned to the attic?
I truly believe that we can’t live in the wonder of Christmas if we don’t practice having wondering eyes all the year through. That is why I count the rhythms of our Catholic liturgical year to be such a gift. When we participate in the 365-day cycle of the Church — from Advent to Advent — we are practicing seeing wonder and the wonderful message each day. We are walking through our salvation story and the life of Christ over and over again, year in and year out.
The often mistaken perception of repetition and ritual is that they breed contempt. Oh, no my friend; they breed wonder. Humans never get it all on the first go ’round; we should know that about ourselves by now. But every year in the life of the Church anchors our hearts a little deeper; every return to each liturgical season cleans a little bit more mud from our eyes. So this year, if the hope and wonder of the Christmas season seems to disappear with the festive window displays, I encourage you to enter in more fully to the rhythms of the liturgical year. Mother Church — her feasts, prayers, sacraments, and traditions — will help you see with wondering eyes the evidence of the Incarnation through all of the other seasons.