humility

Choosing My Label

November 11, 2010 By Sarah Reinhard Leave a Comment

The recent #IamProLife campaign on Twitter has had me thinking about labels this week. Earlier this week, Danielle Bean tweeted, “Speak out for the unborn. Use #IAmProLife & tell us why. Please RT.” (She explains more in her post at Faith & Family Live.)

I’ve been pro-life for a while, but I have avoided that label. It’s not that I don’t like it; it’s what it used to mean to me. The fault is mine, I think, not the label’s, but it’s still stuck on me around the edges. I picture crazy, militant people, out to blow up clinics filled with innocent people. I see red-faced, screaming women, arguing about rights and who’s more important.

I am pro-life, though, as much for women and their unborn babies as for the elderly. I’m pro-life because I have caught a glimpse of the beauty that the physically handicapped bring to the world. I’m pro-life because, well, at the heart of it, I can’t be otherwise.

But…those don’t seem like reasons, not to my NT brain. Those seem like feelings.

I want to have a clearly articulated set of thoughts like Jen does, outlined and bulleted. What I have, instead, is a small white casket. What I have is a heart that is moved and a scar that was narrowly avoided. I’ve carried three children (the third still being “in process”) within me, and though that has changed me immensely and continues to change me, it doesn’t define why I’m pro-life, not entirely.

Pro-life is a label that has become twisted somehow. Pro-lifers aren’t a bunch of crazies — or the ones I know in real life aren’t. They are, by and large, men and women who are struggling through their lives, the same as I am. I see them on the sidewalks during the 40 Days for Life, praying silently. I know they come weekly to Eucharistic Adoration at our parish, because I see their intentions in the prayer book. I met them when I volunteered at a pregnancy center, and I continue to run into them whenever I wear my precious feet on my lapel.

If I have to pick a label — and in this arena, I think I do — I think pro-life expresses how I feel. It encompasses the babies and the women, the elderly and the unborn, the weak and the disenfranchised. I’m in favor of life.

Life’s not necessarily the easier choice. It’s not going to always be the beneficial approach. There might not be a positive bottom line to life, financially or otherwise. But I think it’s a larger discussion than bottom lines and who’s the one who has the “right” to decide.

It’s not a conversation that has to take place, but a conversion that needs to happen…and it happens, I think, one heart at a time. I have to start, as I do with all things, with that person who stares back at me as I brush my teeth. I can control exactly one person’s actions, precisely one person’s thoughts. So, instead of setting out to change the world, I’ll embrace the call to be pro-life in all the little arenas of my life — from how I deal with my kids to how I live my life in public to the way I treat the people I love.

Is there more I can do? Yes. Always. I’ll keep praying that I can cooperate with His grace and do whatever is next for me in this arena.

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Filed Under: Faith Tagged With: Faith, humility, in real life, life in the present moment

Guest Post: Reflecting the Light of the Son, by Peggy Bowes

May 11, 2010 By Sarah Reinhard 4 Comments

Peggy Bowes graciously offered to share her thoughts on Mary with us this month, and I was so excited. I just loved the wisdom she shared last time she was here. You’ll find her blog at Don’t Know Much About the Rosary? She’s the author of The Rosary Workout (which I loved), which has recently been published in hard copy (yay!).

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Humility is not something I do well. I always seem to get it wrong, either resorting to self-serving practices or cowering meekly under the cover of false humility. I came across a lovely prayer for divine assistance in the “Litany of Humility,” but it’s not exactly a “how to” manual. I want to learn how to curtail my pride while using my God-given talents for the benefit of others.

I look to the Blessed Mother, the personification of true humility, as the perfect example. She is the “woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet.” (Rev 12:1) Like the moon, she does not give her own light, but reflects the light of her Creator.

Although it is hard to wrap our minds around this, Mary was part of the Divine Plan from eternity. As we read in Genesis 1:16-18, “God made the two great lights, the greater one to govern the day and the lesser one to govern the night, and… God saw how good it was.” Mary is the “lesser light”. She is not to be worshipped, but to be honored as the greatest of saints and the Queen of Heaven and Earth.

In her inspired canticle, the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55), Mary declares that “God… has looked upon his handmaid’s lowliness,” yet she admits that “all generations will call me blessed [for] the Mighty One has done great things to me.” She models humility by acknowledging her gifts while giving God all the credit. Mary shines because she is in perfect accord with the will of the Almighty. How does she do this?

Again, the answer can be found in the Scriptures. When asked the most important question in human history, Mary gives the perfect response, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38)

I too am a handmaid. I am a servant (maid) with a role (hand) in the Divine Plan. To practice humility, I must learn to match my will with that of my Creator. With Mary’s help, I can aspire to be a small moon, reflecting the light of the Son.

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Filed Under: guest post, Inspired by the Virgin Mary Tagged With: guest post, humility, Peggy Bowes, Virgin Mary

Ongoing Humility

May 10, 2010 By Sarah Reinhard 2 Comments

Part of the Mary Moment Monday series

Not so long ago, I was talking to a wise woman in my life and she made an offhand comment that has stayed with me:

“It takes a lot of maturity to be happy with what you have.”

We were having a discussion about mostly material things, and later in the day I started thinking about whether I am happy with what I have. By the way I complain and moan about my old farmhouse, you might think I’m not happy here. You’d be wrong; though I gripe and laugh and nitpick it, I really do consider myself quite content within its drafty corridors.

But am I happy with the other things in my life? Am I content with the role I play with my kids, the work I do (in home and out), the material aspects of life that may (or may not) be what I envision for myself?

As I was thinking about how much “what I have” encompasses — family, friends, home, vehicles, pet, gadgets, clothes, dishes, toys — I started thinking about Mary.

Maybe it’s because I have had this week’s “Mary in the Kitchen” brewing; maybe it’s because I’m in a Joyful Mysteries mood this month; maybe it’s just more evidence that I really am a bona fide Mary geek.

Thinking about Mary made me think about humility. (If you heard last week’s “Mary in the Kitchen,” then you might see a pattern here.)

And thinking about humility brought me to this corollary:

It takes a lot of humility to be happy with what you have.

I have an ongoing lesson in humility from the Virgin Mary, and as I started connecting happiness and humility, I started to see, even more, how fickle happiness is. It’s such a moving target, dependent on the weather and your mood and so much more.

Humility, though, is a choice I make. I decide to think modestly of myself, as opposed to thinking I deserve a dishwasher or an electric garage door opener (or, for that matter, a garage). Humility isn’t thinking I’m worthless; it’s realizing I can only accomplish greatness with God’s help and grace.

Being happy with what I have — and who I am too — is a great battle in humility.

This week, I’m going to focus on the small ways I can show the people closest to me my choice to be happy and content with life as it is now. I’m betting it won’t kill me. (Though it might silence me a bit!)

Filed Under: Inspired by the Virgin Mary, Mary Moment Mondays Tagged With: Faith, humility, Mary Moment Monday, Virgin Mary

Wash My Feet, Lord

April 10, 2009 By Sarah Reinhard 1 Comment

One of my favorite liturgies of the year is the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday. I first went as a fairly new Catholic, three years into the adventure and in my first year as a parish secretary. When my nieces asked me if I would take them up to get their feet washed, I hesitated for two seconds and said yes. That’s the kind of aunt I am. I don’t think I would have gone up if it hadn’t been for them.

I don’t remember how many times I’ve been to the Holy Thursday Mass, but it’s been only a handful of times — three times, I think — in the eight years since I’ve been Catholic.

Each time, I come away immensely moved, changed a bit more.

What is it about the simple act of having my right foot washed that impacts me so much?

Every time I’ve gone, I’ve had my foot washed. In our small parish, there’s no formal listing of people who will represent the twelve apostles; they tried that one year, but it wasn’t a year I attended Mass. Last night, when my four-year-old — who was asking through the entire beginning of Mass just when the foot-washing would be — and I went to the front, I found myself moved before I even sat down. Father was on his knees, with our deacon assisting to his right, and he was so gentle. When it was my turn, after my four-year-old rather triumphantly finished (her flair is unparalleled, I tell you), I wondered if there were tears in Father’s eyes, or if I was projecting through the haze in my own eyes.

I didn’t want to cry, with a short line of people and the rest of the congregation looking on. It’s one thing to cry during Communion, which I do on a regular basis; no one’s really paying attention. To find myself so moved during this foot-washing ceremony was as humbling as having Father wash my foot, maybe more so.

Humility isn’t my strong suit, but it’s one I’m learning to wear. There’s a beauty in having your priest wash your foot. Though our feet aren’t nearly as disgusting as they must have been back in Jesus’ time, mine are still not the body part I’d offer forward if I was choosing. I mean, they’re in my shoes all day, sweating and soaking and, well, being feet.

After Father poured the warm water over my foot and dried it off with a towel, he…kissed it. This time was no different than the other two times I’ve participated. After kissing it, he said something meaningful to me, and off I went.

Changed. Renewed. Inspired.

How could I not be? I know so well what an incredible man our priest is. In the nine years since my Catholic journey began, he’s been a mentor, a shepherd, a friend, even to the point of being a godfather to one of my children. I trust him as much as I trust my husband, and I tell him things that only Bob has heard, and not just under the seal of Confession.

He teaches me through his example, through his unwavering faith, through his ever-present smile. When I’m taking myself or my job or my vocation just a tad too seriously (in the wrong way), he doesn’t hesitate to set me straight with something that’s sure to make me laugh first, ponder later.

And he washed my foot. And then he kissed it.

He’s told me before — whether in a conversation or in a homily, I can’t remember — that this is one of his favorite liturgies too. Last night, during his homily, he talked about the importance of each of us learning to accept the service of others.

I’ve learned that before, from the time I broke my arm to the many times I’ve had to ask for or accept help. There’s a gift that you give to others when you accept their offer of help, and it is humility. We would all rather be the ones giving, Father reminded me last night, but Jesus didn’t just give. The night before he washed the apostles’ feet, he accepted the gift of a woman washing his feet.

I noticed something last night, something that’s never struck me before at the Holy Thursday Mass: most of the people in line were children. There were a few adults, though they were mostly accompanying the children. My daughter didn’t hesitate when given the opportunity to go up there. She loves Father and this was a chance to see him up close, during Mass. She was there. Very few adults unaccompanied by children went up, but did I imagine that the adults — with or without children — came away with a funny look on their faces?

The children know. They know this is an opportunity to be blessed, to cooperate with the great graces around us (though they wouldn’t be able to articulate it that way). When Father kisses our feet, Jesus is right there, smiling. He’s so glad we humbled ourselves, so glad we stopped by, so glad we swallowed our pride to let him show his love for us.

Today, as I meditate on Good Friday and prepare for Easter, I’m going to treasure this gift too, this gift of service. I’m going to pray in a special way for Father, and for all of our priests. And, once again, I’m going to reflect on the importance of humility.