Lately the days have been…full. Lots of things: time in the canoe, time away with friends, school schedules, harvesting treats from the garden, (still) working on our patio renovation, harvesting honey. I feel like Ma Ingalls with all the action my kitchen has seen this past week. (Especially the at-home honey harvest; at which point I learned how to render bees wax. Adding to the list of exciting talents I have and can talk about at a cocktail party if I ever I should get invited to one).

If you’re curious, rendering wax consists of creating a wad of used up honeycomb that has been emptied of its sugary contents. This waxy wad gets wrapped in cheesecloth and heated in water until the solid wax liquefies. The pot is then removed from the heat to cool, at which point the wax floats to the top and solidifies, producing a round and bright yellow slab of filtered beeswax (along with one really messy pot, and cheesecloth full of bug bits).

As with this particular season’s change, I have found myself with full hands—attempting to harness the beauty and the bounty–which has been so helpful because lately I feel like my hands need things to do.

Something tangible

I can feel my hands nearly twitching in search of something beautiful to create—something concrete, and tangible in the wake of dark and ugly news.

I am slow to the table this time. Many folks have shared their reactions and opinions on matters of the Catholic Church with much more clarity and succinct thought than I’ve been able to muster. For me, the news of (another) scandal in the Church has taken some time to digest. I spent yesterday morning writing letters to our priests, Bishop, United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, and Pope Francis. It meant sitting down to constructively articulate my frustration, anger, worry, and the embarrassment I’ve felt in the wake of these dark times that have overshadowed the beauty of the place that is my refuge. It was a real, constructive, and prayerful effort.

Maybe more now than at other junctures in my life, I have given myself time to listen, read, talk, pray, and try to know what this means for me—how to respond when someone asks if/why I’m (still) Catholic; how and what to say when our littles ask why we keep praying to alleviate the hurt that some  in our Church have caused. I am a firm believer that we are more than our worst act—and that holds true for the Church. No human institution can exist apart from selfishness and corruption. This is not an excuse, only a reality that keeps staring me in the face as I squirm under the evidence of exactly that–corrupt leadership and, even deliberate harm done to others.

Sustaining Force

Thirty-four years ago this week, I was Baptized. The significance of that act and its uncanny day of remembrance is not lost on me. I was Baptized Priest, Prophet and King—the words spoken over every new Christian in the Catholic rite. I was spoken for that day, and have come to claim and re-claim that identity for myself many times since. And yet, the stakes feel higher somehow for those who continue to seek nourishment in the Sacraments,  Liturgy, and body of Christ. I’m not sure why. At my core, I know that it is a sustaining force for me.

There is a very real tenacity among those of us hangers-on, who feel in their bones the rightness, sustenance, and beauty that are to be found within the Mystical body. I also get a palpable sense of stubbornness (dare I say, leadership?) in the sense that many of those who have called the Catholic Church home, are unwilling to walk away because of the depiction of Church being generously provided by the media—that church is not the home we know, nor is it the church Christ established. For me, there is no reason to leave. Those who have been playing at a church of their own creation, left us long ago, and I imagine will formally leave us soon.

What then?

Two things are saving me right now—rending and rendering.

One idea that has resonated with me deeply is the #sackclothandashes campaign that is encouraging the faithful to offer prayer and fasting in reparation for the harm that has been done by leaders in the church we love. This is a take on an old and penitential act that included humbling oneself by the wearing of rags and being covered in ashes (think Ash Wednesday) that has received little attention in recent decades, but it is as pertinent now as it ever was. The effort began August 22 and will continue through the month of September (the month dedicated to Our Lady of Sorrows). This invitation reminded me of one of the readings we hear during Lent from the prophet, Joel:

Rend your heart and not your garments. Return to the LORD your God, for he is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love, and he relents from sending calamity.             

–Joel 2:13

Rendering: cause to be or become; make.

What I imagine this means is that I must begin by acknowledging that my heart has indeed been broken (and that’s really only collateral damage in the wake of these events), and I’ve got to nurture that in healthy, healing ways. Next, I think that means that I am called to create, to continue to become part of what the church needs. The honey harvest and apple sauce have been a productive beginning, but busy work in the same way that I would suddenly remember that I needed to re-organize my desk when it was time to cram for a final.

Now it’s time for the real work. The rendering I imagine in this place is that of continuing to show up, allowing myself to be grown and to help shape the future Church in the ways I have the gifts to do so. Perhaps this chapter will serve as a call to return to the Lord in a new way—an invitation by default. It’s possible that like beeswax, our collective time in hot water will bring the Church to a place of new beginning, and that only the essentials that Christ intended for us to be nourished by, remain.

This is my prayer.