More on Appeals

I've still been pondering on the post I wrote last week (wrote it a few days before I posted it, actually) called Appeals to Love. And today at Mass, a new perspective jumped out at me.

Well, ok, not a "new" perspective, but one I just wasn't thinking of when I wrote the other post.

When I contemplate my interactions with "people," you know, the "they" who are the ones somehow appealing to my love, I think of "them" as a breed that has nothing in particular to do with me. I mean, "they" are not "me." The appeals I get are rarely people who are standing in front of me, directing their words to me, and asking me to do something. The appeals I speak of are people that I see going about their lives in their unique ways. Or people who write of various ideas. Here's an example: I sometimes visit a blog of a woman who writes about modest, feminine clothing for women. Inspired by her example, and perhaps even her advocacy, for a time I decided I would only wear skirts. (For the record, that wasn't the extent of her particular choice, but given my life situation, I thought it would be a nice thing for me to do, and something I was keen on after having spent the latter part of my pregnancy wearing the same few pair of polyester pants. I could not WAIT to wear a skirt again. What I now know I really wanted was maternity dresses, but that's another post.) Ok, so I took this woman's appeal to love to heart, tried it, and eventually fitzed out. It was nice, it was ok, but it wasn't a conviction, it was just sort of a passing fancy in my life. It probably is much more to her, and more power to her. I feel no inner compulsion that I am being immodest in my current shorts and t-shirt outfit.

Something in today's gospel prompted me to try the appeal shoe on the other foot, so to speak. Jesus tells the disciples to go out and make a proclamation: "The kingdom of heaven is at hand."

So I thought to myself, what appeals do I make? What appeals to others' love should I be making? Jesus gave the disciples a script. Oh, he also tacked on "cure the sick, raise the dead,
cleanse the lepers, drive out demons. And by the way, don't take any extra cash along." In other words, Jesus told the disciples to go out and do exactly what they had seen Him doing.

But wait a second here, Jesus. I'm.... not you! And who are you, anyway, that you do this stuff, and then figure we can, too?

So, lest the disciples get too heady about the message, Jesus assured them it wasn't supposed to be just in words, but in actions. Now I can just hear someone translating these lines in their minds to "smile to people on the street, hand out sandwiches, and play games with children." No, the things Jesus told the disciples to do were not things they could muster in natural power. He sent them out to do humanly impossible, miraculous things. And I agree that sometimes a smile offered is a miracle, but, let's not emasculate Jesus' intent. Jesus wanted them relying 100% on His life working through them, in 100% imitation of Him. As we know from other gospel accounts, sometimes the disciples were effective in ministry, and sometimes they only blew hot air.

Ok, but back to what I am to offer as an appeal. There are lots of things I'd like to tell people to do. Most of them would be with their own good in mind, but most of them would also have this double edge of making me feel powerful, important and validated. Now, I don't think those three things are wrong or bad, but they are pretty dangerous. Pyrotechnicians can safely shoot off fireworks and dynamite, because they have experience and training and they know what they are doing. I wouldn't trust myself with the task. Paul tells us that not many of us should presume to be teachers, because teachers will be judged more severely. Now, I have this constant training I am undergoing about how to tell people what to do, and it is called being married with children. And this tells me that humility is absolutely the beginning of ever effectively saying anything to another human being. I don't have "pure" humility; I journey in its general direction. So I tell my kids (and my husband) to do things sometimes for those dangerous reasons.

So, what of the appeals I make to others outside my family then? On the one hand, I know I'm neither the Holy Spirit nor the Savior. I only repeat the call, follow Christ. I must say this with my life; I should, as it is said, use words when necessary. On the other hand, I wonder to what degree my hesitance to make appeals to others (outside my family) is based on protecting those same dangerous elements (feeling powerful, important, and validated). And I wonder -- what if I had no family where my heart could freely fly. What if I had no family where I felt my stumbles and failings and sins and obnoxiousness would not be at least tolerated, if not accepted as part of the package that is me? Would I not (I should say, did I not, when this was me) be pretty heavily obnoxious to everyone, constantly telling them (or wanting to, but lacking the courage) how their lives could be so much better if they just did what I advised?

So, isn't it really love, people, family, community, the Church -- CHRIST -- who saves us and makes it possible for us to not be obnoxious boars with one another? I think this brings me back full circle to my first post. If someone is appealing to me about something -- I'll be bold and pick a nice controversial something -- wearing a mantilla at Mass. If I see someone wearing one, I think in my heart: she appeals to me to love Jesus in the Eucharist and to be reverent. Beautiful. Thank you. If she comes to me and says: "don't you want to wear a mantilla?" I might say (I really have no idea how I would respond, but I might say) "That's beautiful. Tell me about why you wear it." If she (my apologies in advance, she is a purely fictitious character!) brashly whips out her 1917 copy of canon law and complains that the Novus Ordo Mass is corrupt and that all non-veiled women show too much skin anyway at Mass, and three other assertions that will only dig me in deeper if I characterize them, I must still embrace her with love as my sister in Christ, affirm that reverence for the Blessed Sacrament is beautiful, be completely with her, probably not get in a argument over canon law or history, and then probably go on about my merry way, taking the time to study the issue a bit more closely from a theological and liturgical viewpoint. To honestly weigh and separate the practice from the emotion. I think that's what open hearted love would look like for me.

I think that drastic appeals like the one I've characterized are more of a cry for my love for the person than anything else. What I face is a needy, frightened person who desperately wants more of the precious love of God they have tasted.

At least, that's how I remember it.