New workshop: Email Etiquette

Folks, I am excited to announce that I will soon be offering a workshop on Email Etiquette at General Assembly. As soon as the date is settled, I’ll share the registration here. In the meantime, a description:

Register for this Email Etiquette class to learn the do’s and don’ts of writing effective, positive, proactive email communication. Learn simple steps to guide your tone and professionalism when emailing, and learn when it’s time to move the conversation offline and face to face. Bring your sample troublesome emails and learn how to address constructively with real-life, practical examples.

And of course, we will talk about when to use exclamation marks (pretty much never). And my favorite saying, which has been attributed to both Kate Moss and Queen Elizabeth: never complain, never explain. Useful in email, and in life!

Unrelatedly, I will share that yesterday L’Arche had our Board meeting. The first meeting of the year is always on Georgetown’s campus, at the Jesuit Residence, Wolfington Hall. I only last year learned that, aside from the excellent lunch service, Wolfington has its own chapel. I went inside yesterday after the meeting to pray. It is utterly quiet, and corner-like, the building being up on a hill overlooking the Potomac, and most of the Jesuits off doing what they do on weekends.

There are a few glazed terracotta artworks from the 1500s inside. I have always loved the blue-and-white of glazed terracotta. I have seen it applied mostly to images of the Blessed Virgin holding baby Jesus, though inside this chapel there is one called “Joseph and the Child” by an Italian artist. How strange to think of his hands making, painting, glazing this work of art over 500 years ago, having no idea that a 21st Century secular Catholic girl in Washington, DC, a city that did not even exist at the time, would be ogling it. I probably should have prayed for his soul. I will do that now. Or - ask him to pray for me.

Anyway, outside the chapel, in a big, airy, sunshiney seating area, the suscipe is carved in stone, above a window. The suscipe is a prayer of genuine surrender written by St. Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits:

“Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.”

Surrender to God is hard, if we make it hard.

Not to work for, but to be with, Jesus

One of the things I remember from when I was going through the 9-months’ spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius, the “19th Annotation,”* was the first time I learned, at a particular place in the exercises, that Jesus wanted to be my friend.

Now, where I grew up, among many Protestants, this would have been a very familiar sentiment. Kind of cheesy and overstated, even. I think that’s why I didn’t think much about it, or take the time to believe it, and it never struck me as true. God is too far away, anyway.

The moment in the Exercises that brought this to life occurred during a period of meditation on Jesus’s passion. The language that day prompted me to “just be” with Jesus in his suffering. When I saw my spiritual director I asked him, what good does that do?

Well, he very patiently explained, if one of your close friends was suffering, do you think they would enjoy your company, to stay with them in their time of need?

And so the light bulb went off - OH! We mean quite literally that it is imperative to know Jesus intimately, with us, among us, one of us, a real person. A friend. It’s not symbolic.

I was reminded of that today in Bishop Barron’s daily Gospel reflection email. The Gospel today is Mark 2:13-17, wherein Matthew the tax collector is called to be a disciple. From Bishop Barron’s reflection:

“Matthew immediately got up and followed the Lord. But where did he follow him? To a banquet! ‘While he was at table in his house . . .’ is the first thing we read after the declaration that Matthew followed him. Before he calls Matthew to do anything, Jesus invites him to recline in easy fellowship around a festive table. As Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis comments, ‘The deepest meaning of Christian discipleship is not to work for Jesus but to be with Jesus.’””

The deepest meaning of Christian discipleship is not to work for Jesus, but to be with Jesus.

The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius teach you to do this (if you are open to accepting the grace to do it). Through conversation with Jesus, through telling him what is on your heart, for trusting that what you desire is not too slight for Jesus to care about, too. And especially, for asking Jesus what his desire is for you. I have to remind myself of this often, and sometimes it is a matter of stepping back from “doing” - like turning down a volunteer commitment - and remembering that without prayer, without that time to just be with God, the active work is not quite as - strong. Like stained glass that could be brighter.

For those of us who are do-ers, the be-ing takes intention. Be-ing is a gift, too.

There’s a prayer for your weekend: Jesus, help me to just be with you. The image of St. John the Evangelist with his head over Jesus’s heart at the Last Supper is helpful.

*Named that for the note in his Spiritual Exercises book - the 19th annotated note - which said the prayer retreat could be completed, by lay people, in daily life, over several months, as opposed to over the course of a month in silence. Over the course of a month in silence is the usual course for priests and those in religious life completing the exercises.

Works, Prayer, Fellowship

Readers, my latest article for Catholic Stand is up now, called “How the Legion of Mary Taught me to be Catholic.”

I joined the Legion as a new Catholic in 2014 and have spent time both as an active member (even as President!) and an auxiliary, which is as a praying member, who does not participate in the weekly meeting or works. Both are fruitful, both are worthwhile, both are necessary.

What I realized are the enduring spiritual and life lessons I learned from being a part of this group, and having the privilege to witness the wonderful hope and tenacity of my fellow members, serving the body of Christ in Mary’s spirit. The way the Legion works is how the Catholic life, holistically, should work: in fellowship with others, serving God through works of mercy, sustained by prayer. Further, one of the fundamental beliefs of Legion of Mary founder Frank Duff is that we are called to be saints. The Legion is an ordinary thing, with ordinary members. It is a sign of how the ordinary life is itself a path to holiness, and how we are all called there.

So, I hope you will read.

One other thing, though. There is another lesson that I did not write about, but which in this I reflect, nonetheless. And that is that no one is called to be a martyr (not in the emotional sense). Legion of Mary work exposes you to a lot of people in need - people whose entire bodies are paralyzed, existing day by day in a nursing home; men and women in prison, trapped in unbelievable grief at the consequences of their actions; and so on. One may feel a tendency to want to solve all these problems - to minister to everybody, to bring every person encountered back to church, to feel that these people’s fates rely on your own ability to pray. Of course, that is not the case, and to believe so - to serve because of this temptation - is not healthy. There is need all over the world, as there always will be. And it is okay - it is imperative - to place hope in God that He will take care of His children, and to to be mindful of the pride that might say, “This is my result! How needed I am.” The greater thing would be to give freely of one’s time and gifts, and not because one feels obligated. It’s a very Ignatian thing to arrive at. [One might say: an act of self-awareness!]

For now, I am an auxiliary member - praying the catena every day, and being filled with love for the Legion and its members. It has been life-giving, and will continue to be. I am grateful for the grounding this active work has given me in a life lived with the aim of always seeking God.