First week of Advent (point not included)

I read most of Peggy Noonan's book about Pope John Paul II on the flight to Italy, and the rest of it on the flight home. (In between I read John Grisham's The Broker, in which the title character is smuggled out of the country via the military base where my parents are stationed. Coincidence!) Anyway, I wasn't planning on reading the book or anything, I'd never even heard of it, I just saw it in the airport bookstore. It was short and I would read a book about growing mold if Peggy Noonan was the author.

So I bought it and cried all the way there. Well, that was when I wasn't crying about my iminent inevitable death by turbulence.

It's not an amazing book so much as the Pope was an amazing man and Peggy Noonan writes the way I would like to write sometimes. It's not a biography so much as Peggy Noonan's personal observations and experiences and reactions over the course of his papacy. So. If you're interested.

Towards the end of the book she talks about being in Rome for the beatification of Mother Teresa. Then she goes off on a Mother Teresa tangent and I learned something very interesting- in the later part of her life, Mother Teresa felt distant from God, what all the websites I'm looking at call her "Dark Night." Maybe this is well known, I don't know, I'm not up on these things. This is willfully stolen from First Things:

The Dark Night. Throughout 1946 and 1947, Mother Teresa experienced a profound union with Christ. But soon after she left the convent and began her work among the destitute and dying on the street, the visions and locutions ceased, and she experienced a spiritual darkness that would remain with her until her death. It is hard to know what is more to be marveled at: that this twentieth-century commander of a worldwide apostolate and army of charity should have been a visionary contemplative at heart; or that she should have persisted in radiating invincible faith and love while suffering inwardly from the loss of spiritual consolation. In letters written during the 1950s and 1960s to Fr. Van Exem, Archbishop Périer, and to later spiritual directors, Fr. L. T. Picachy, S.J., and Fr. J. Neuner, S.J., she disclosed feelings of doubt, loneliness, and abandonment. God seemed absent, heaven empty, and bitterest of all, her own suffering seemed to count for nothing, “. . . just that terrible pain of loss, of God not wanting me, of God not being God, of God not really existing.”

My thoughts upon reading Peggy Noonan's description of Mother Teresa's Dark Night was: Oh hell. If Mother Teresa felt this way, what hope is there for ME?

Not that I am experiencing my own Dark Night. Most of the time I'm in sort of a Gray Foggy Late Afternoon. I can't even be bothered to have a dark night, or wonder about a sunny morning. I'd rather watch TV or surf the internet or go shopping.

I talk to God a lot. In my car (mostly in my car), before I fall asleep, when I go for walks by myself, when I see something beautiful, when I hear good or bad news. But rarely do I sit down with the intention of talking prayerfully to God. I used to do this quite often, when the Non-Denominational College Fellowship was structuring it for me, but I'm a grown up now, with a job and a husband and I'm tired when I get home and we all know how much I love my television. Who knows what my time will be like when this baby comes.

I do churchy stuff. Tonight, for example, I'll be heading out for my first 'training' session for this home visit thing. I'm involved. I put in some time at my church. I'm trying to be a good steward.

I read a blog post a couple weeks ago, I can't even remember where, about praying the Rosary for the first time. So I decided: I should pray the rosary. I went on a hunt for one of the dozen rosaries I know I have lying around my house, but I couldn't find one. I forgot about it. A few weeks later I was at a church thing and saw a 'How To Pray The Rosary' pamphlet and I picked it up, because gosh I've been meaning to start that, and I've never prayed it by myself so it'd be good to have a guide. The pamphlet got lost in the heap of papers on the dining room table. Last night I came home with a slight burst of energy, and cleaned it all up. I found the pamphlet and laid it aside, because I would still like to try it, if I ever come across one of those rosaries. I'll get around to it eventually.

Isn't that sad?

A lot of people need proof of God. I am not one of those people. I've never worried very much about the details or the hard questions or the absurdity or any of those things people throw up to stump a Christian. God has always made sense to me. That said, I often feel like God is existing in a place far away from me. I go through the motions and fulfill my churchy duties, but I don't necessarily feel close to God because of it. I tell myself I should stop everything and pray, really BE with God. But... yeah. Instead I made dinner. I'm supposed to make dinner. I blame the distance on myself as I, obviously, am the laziest girl on earth. I will choose any number of things over God.   

Mother Teresa? OPPOSITE OF ME. And she still felt distant.

You're supposed to be in this waiting thinking place for Advent, and I confess this is the kind of thinking I'm doing. And yes, this post has no point. I'm attempting to think about other things than the fact that my breakfast seems to want to part ways.

Comments

[susan]

hey, i really appreciated your post. it was lovely.

[Maureen]

Excellent post, Maggie. Right after Katrina happened I cried my way home from work every day while listening to the news. I decided that I had to do SOMETHING and all I could do was pray, so I decided to pray the rosary every day. Easy enough to do while stuck in the car anyway.

So I did it, and it was great because I thought about God and Jesus every day and it made me feel so refreshed. Then I started to skip a day here and there, and the next thing I knew, I wasn't praying the rosary anymore. Why? Lazy. So, so lazy. Because you know what? It only takes about 20 minutes to pray the rosary. But you have inspired me, and I will try again to pray a daily rosary. (For the record, I never use beads. Not on principle, but because they are not usually at hand. But I always figured Mary designed it to be 10 Hail Marys because we have 10 fingers.)