column

LIFT Links: The Pro-Santa, Eve-of-Christmas-Eve Edition

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

Blogger’s Note: I am a big fan of Santa Claus. You do not have to be…but if you’d like to be, and still hope to keep Christ as the focus of your Christmas season, here are some thoughts on how to do so. (Elf on the Shelf is not one of them, because I find him too tangible and a bit too creepy — but to each his or her own!)

Trevor visiting with St. Nicholas

This Is No Way to Save a People

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment
Brawn would serve better in dark days. A warrior-king, fierce and just, with a gleaming sword to rally the oppressed, and perhaps a little gold in the treasury. But no. A common child, born in a barn, for mothers everywhere to chide. A wriggling newborn, helpless and purple, soiling the straw of a feeding trough, bloodying the stainless white of his mother’s peasant shift and the hard unkingly hands of his carpenter stepfather. Joseph, right? All trade and no talents, that one—David’s line has grown thin indeed. And no place to call home. Bound for Egypt, on an ass.
I wrote the words above three Christmases ago, shaking my head in wonder at the unearned gifts we had received in the previous few years. We had miscarried in November 2010, and even in our heartache, had been pressed by our older children to try again. We then had Lily and watched as our family reformed around this tiny monsterpiece. After more than a decade of married life, we had finally brought our marriage into conformity with all of the Church’s teachings and had been dismantled and rebuilt in God’s image: a life-giving communion of love.
I hadn’t seen that coming…but then, who does when it comes to God? Who would have imagined that the Lord of the Universe would enflesh Himself and be born under questionable circumstances to an unknown Jewish girl and her working-class husband? Who would have expected that the promised king would show us how to die in this world that we may live forever with Him in the next?
We know these stories by heart—so when they fail to surprise us, we must make a concerted effort to listen with new ears and a renewed spirit. To that end, let’s open one early gift together: the gift of God’s forgiveness. Next Monday, Dec. 22, at 7 p.m., we will host our annual Advent penance service here at the church. This is a great opportunity to go to confession as a family and to pray for, and be lifted up in prayer by, our parish community. Let’s unburden ourselves of all those times in the past year in which we’ve failed to look with joy and wonder at the blessings in our lives and the mystery of our salvation; of all the times we’ve failed to love others as God does or doubted His mercy for us; of all the times we’ve watched the world unfolding and despaired, if only for a moment.
We wander this world, like Joseph and Mary, as unlikely saints. But God is real. Christ is real, and He’s present in the Church and in the sacraments. Let us take a step toward the holiness He desires and open ourselves fully to His joy, grace, and mercy in time for Christmas. 


Blogger’s Note: This article appears in the Sunday, Dec. 21, church bulletin .

Wear Your Faith Lightly

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

“Seriousness is not a virtue. …[S]olemnity flows out of men naturally; but laughter is a leap. It is easy to be heavy: hard to be light. Satan fell by the force of gravity. 

– G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

About the time I graduated high school, I remember a conversation with my dad about a friend of mine. You know the guy—great fun to be around, but always on the edge of trouble, and one could never be sure he’d stick around if things went south. “But someday,” said Dad, “he’s going to grow up, raise a family, and be an upstanding citizen. And he’s going to look back on his high-school days and think, ‘Man, I had fun.’”

He looked at me and said, “Sometimes I wonder if you’ll be able to say the same.”

I have always been a serious soul—earnestly wanting to do the right thing, to avoid the mistakes I could and learn from the ones I couldn’t. I was the kind of kid who felt so badly for things I did wrong that I ratted on myself. Even today, I am an emotional sort who avoids the news to keep from raging or sorrowing over the terrible things that happen to people I don’t know.

This serious streak has also manifested itself in my faith life. I am so abundantly blessed, both at home and at work, but you wouldn’t always know it. The weight of my faults and earthly concerns drag my gaze downward until all I see is dust and grime. At times I dwell on past sins that have already been forgiven, and against my own advice to others, I worry about things that have not, and may never, come to pass.

This is not what God desires for us. In the parable of the talents from last weekend’s gospel, the master bids his two worthy servants, “Come, share your master’s joy.” Earlier in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus reassures his disciples, “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. … For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” Though Jesus tells us we should expect to suffer for our faith, these are not the words of a Lord who wishes for us to suffer needlessly. God wants us to be happy.

A friend recently gave me a collection of C.S. Lewis speeches entitled The Weight of Glory. Lewis opens with a reflection on the idea that Unselfishness has replaced Love as the highest virtue in modern society, and insists that this shift is a mistake, because it put the emphasis on denying ourselves and not on helping others. The focus has shifted inward, but in a stoic, joyless sort of way that fails to acknowledge the extravagant promises to us who live a holy life. Lewis writes, “We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us.”

Imagine: infinite joy! Should that not put a spring in our step and a laugh in our throat, and raise our gaze toward heaven? And won’t that light-hearted faith be far more attractive and illuminating to those lost souls circling like moths in the darkness, trying to find their way?

Blogger’s Note: This article appears in the Sunday, Nov. 23, church bulletin .

Same Blog; New Purpose: Learning From Life In “The Bubble”

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Blogger’s Note: The article below will appear in the Sunday, Oct. 26, church bulletin .

Last Sunday, my wife Jodi and I once again experienced the deep faith, honest fellowship, and resounding joy that attracted us to this parish when we moved here in 2003. We began the day with 8:30 Mass and breakfast with our family, then met three other couples for lunch and a book study/discussion about raising Catholic kids. We returned home in mid-afternoon, then loaded the family in the minivan to visit another family here in the community. A lasagna dinner, great conversation, and family games rounded out the evening. We were on the go from the time the alarm sounded, but ended the day rejuvenated.

That’s why life in “The Bubble” of St. Michael’s and St. Albert’s parishes is so appealing to us. Here, we are surrounded by families who can related to our struggles and our goals, culminating (we hope) in eternity in heaven. We feel at home here, secure, and at least somewhat sheltered from the storms of the outside world. 

It is right and good that we should feel this way. Church is meant to be community. This is why, in our first month of LIFT classes this year, we tried to emphasize the importance of getting comfortable with the people around you, with praying and sharing together. It’s why our sacramental programs involve parent meetings, peer discussions, and group activities, and why, in general, we try to draw families in to our programs rather than simply letting folks “go it alone.”

We aren’t meant to be alone. We are adopted sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father, and we are called to be family. 

To that end, I hope to share more of myself and my family with all of you, as well as ideas and resources for sharing our Catholic faith among your own friends and family, on the Faith Formation page of the parish website and through my blog at archangelstomp.blogspot.com. I’ve been writing on this site on and off for years now, but with Father’s blessing, I’m refocusing my efforts around this new role in the parish, as well as the challenges of being a good Catholic husband and father.

It is important to note that life in The Bubble can also lure us to stagnation. We can become so comfortable with our lives here, so secure in the like-mindedness of our friends and community, that we can be tempted to circle the wagons and watch the world burn. We sometimes forget our mission to win souls for Christ and become inwardly focused, seeking to preserve what is dear to us here on earth rather than spend ourselves and all we have for God. It can seem like an appealing thought – but anyone who has ever blown soap bubbles as a child knows what happens when a bubble in motion comes to rest. It glistens briefly, shudders, and POP!…it vanishes.

We are many parts, but one body in Christ—and when all the parts pull together, the body is strong, and can do the work it’s called to do. Blessed Mother, pray that your children learn to share with each other, care for each other, and work well together for the Kingdom of God. Amen.

Past posts on The Bubble:

Preparing for Baby Boggles the Mind

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

[Blogger’s Note: This is a classic Pooh mural my sister painted in the baby’s room in Michigan when Brendan was a toddler, just before Gabe came along. There was a plaque alongside with the following inscription: “Getting Tigger down,” said Eeyore, “and Not hurting anybody. Keep those two ideas in your head, Piglet, and you’ll be alright.” The rest of this post originally appeared in the Friday, Oct. 14, 1997, edition of The Pioneer daily newspaper, Big Rapids, Mich. The first third is a bit much, but I was excited at the time that people would pay to read this sort of thing. It is the column referenced in yesterday’s Almost There post.]

It’s Friday, and this is a Friday kind of column.

For those who looked in Tuesday’s paper to find my column, thank you. I appreciate those people in the community who have said that they enjoy my columns. (I would say “my work,” but do you realize what O’m paid to do? I get to write.) I appreciate those who enjoy them and do not say so. I appreciate those people who read my columns and don’t like them — tell me what you don’t like, and we’ll discuss it.

It might make fodder for another column.

It’s Friday. Not my usual day for a column — I would say that too much work kept me from writing Tuesday’s column, except that my column is part of that “too much work,” and so is no real excuse. I got my other work done…

I could tell you that other people’s columns took precedence, except that a day or two ago I was accused of writing with honesty, and to be honest, everyone including me expected I’d have a column in for Tuesday. I can’t even blame a lack of ideas — I’ve got no less than a dozen columns started right now. No ends in sight, though.

I have slowly discovered that I have a readership. (A readership!) It’s a good feeling, and a source of pressure. I like to write columns, and now I feel I have a responsibility to turn out quality material every Tuesday so as not to disappoint my readership. Several weeks back I ran a piece out of my college journal — I drove from Big Rapids to Remus and back in the middle of the night to deliver that piece to the paper because I hadn’t written my column and didn’t want to let the Taylors down.

Crazy, yes, but dedicated.

But, as our night editor used to say (at least once), “{People don’t want to see how the sausage is made.”

They want the product.

What follows is this week’s morsel.

October 8, Jodi and I signed our names and purchased a home — three bedrooms, a bath and a half, brick halfway up and a two-car garage. It’s on Maple Street. (Sounds homey, doesn’t in? A friend of mine, Ed Quon, lives on Micheltorena Street — which of us is married and expecting?)

We haven’t actually taken possession yet, and out baby is due Nov. 19, which means any day now. [Blogger’s Note: Too funny. Brendan was born what, 40 or so days later?] At this point, the baby has more stuff than his or her parents, and we’re anxious to get in, repaint the baby’s room, and decorate. We have to repaint the room — its current color just isn’t Classic Pooh.

Classic Pooh is that subtle, old-fashioned Pooh based on E.H. Shepard’s illustrations — very nice; cute and pricey. Will the baby like Classic Pooh? I don’t know.

All decorating and kidding aside, we need to make sure we’re ready for this child. Crib? Check. Carseat? Check. Stroller? Check — but not the one we registered for. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a very nice stroller, but the one we registered for had a reversible handle so the baby could ride facing toward you or away from you.

“Babies like to see their parents,” I’ve been told, by parents who wish they would have gotten the reversible handle.

I suspect parents like to see their babies. Even so, will the baby like the stroller we have?

Snugglie? [Blogger’s Note: Sic. Snugli, not Snuggie…] Not yet. Wedge-shaped pillow to keep baby sleeping on his or her side or back? Nope. Outlet covers? In a couple months, probably — we don’t know yet how many outlets we’ll need covered/

How about corner and door pads — have you seen these? The package proclaims, “Give your child the safety of a padded room,” or something like that.

My kids ought to be in a padded room — is that what they’re telling me?

With millions of products on the market that new parents “need,” how does any baby survive to age one in a family with average income?

Baby wipe warmers?

The retailers and manufacturers have expectant and anxious parents right where they want us. At the beginning of life, just as at the end, people are made to feel guilty unless they spare no expense.

How did babies survive before crib monitors and motion-sensitive night light/musical crib mobiles? How did parents survive before Diaper Genie? [Blogger’s Note: This is the one product about which we were both excited and sorely disappointed. Yes, it makes disposal of diapers relatively odor-free; the magically disappear and are locked away, sealed in scentless plastic…where they ferment for days until you are forced, gagging, to empty the “Genie.” Apparently the pail/bag in combination is somehow scentless, but a bag full of rotting waste on its own reeks regardless…]

What about names? We have two in mind for a boy — Brendan James (middle-named after me) or Zachary Venjohn (middle-named after Jodi, whose maiden name is Venjohn). We like Brendan James, because our oldest boy will be named after his dad. On the other hand, we like Zachary Venjohn because it’s unique, it would mean a lot to Jodi and her family, and he’ll still be named Thorp after his father and his father’s fathers.

For baby girls, it’s either Emily Rose or Rachel Elizabeth. Probably Emily, but will she like it? Is it too old-fashioned? Too cute? Will it serve her well in her profession?

Can you yell it out the back door?

We need to save enough money to cover Jodi’s time away from work and our bills. We need to find day care for when she goes back to work. I need to get a cell phone or a pager [Blogger’s Note: Remember pagers? I wound up with a “bag-phone,” which I lugged everywhere and dubbed Baby-Com.] — what if I miss the birth? Will Jodi remember to breathe? Will I?

With all these questions flitting around my head, how do you expect me to concentrate on a column?