Thursday, 08 January 2009

• This is My Body, Given for You- A Father's Lesson of Love and Sacrifice

  Guest post submitted by MysteriumFidei

  

  Of my many shortcomings (I’m sure those of you who know me can name a number of them), one of my greatest weaknesses, especially as a father, is the shortness of my temper.

  Being a father of many children (children who are an awful lot like their father) can be very intensely frustrating at times. Honestly, most often my children are just being children and it is I who expects far too much of them.

  For instance, it angers me to no end to come home from work only to find that they have destroyed a bunch of their toys and littered the remains all over the house. It drives me crazy to see the horrible things that they have done to the house - especially when I just want to sit down and take a load off.

  My short temper has long been a topic of discussion betwixt my wife and me, and I have known that it is a grave weakness and that if I do not attempt to curb it soon, my children will end up with some very serious problems down the road.

  Frequently I find myself in my morning prayer time resolving to be good to the children, begging for all the graces of God to come to my aid, crying out to Jesus for help and asking Mary to pray for me. Likewise, every time I enter the confessional I end up having to tell the priest what a rotten father I have been to my children. And over and over again, despite all the best advice in the world, all my prayers, and all my attempts, I still have seen myself as a failure.

  Then one day my wife read to me the story of a child who drowned in a swimming pool when the mother had looked away for just a short time. He was two years old, and had permanent brain damage after the incident. His personality was gone, and he would be an invalid for as long as he lived.

  My heart sunk into my chest. I didn’t even know these people, but it didn’t matter. I could not even bear to think of something that serious happening to one of my own children. Then I considered the fact that things like this happen in God’s timing, and ultimately He is the one who is really in control.

  Furthermore, God’s timing for everything is a mystery - we don’t know when our own hour will come and how long we will be here in this life. I certainly don’t know how long my children will be here with me. God may chose to take them tomorrow for all I know. This may seriously be the last day that I have with them.

  As these thoughts first swirled around in my head, I have to admit - rather painfully - that they had little to no effect on me or my attitude.

  The next day was January 1, which is a Holy Day of Obligation for Catholics: the Feast of the Circumcision of our Lord.  I had been up late the night before, and I really didn’t want to go to church that day. But I did anyway, and I took my three-year-old son along with me and left my wife and four daughters (who were mostly sick) at home.

  I was tired and I didn’t want to be there and my son kept doing really annoying things at very inopportune times. He would take the hymnals out, drop them on the floor, take off and put on his coat over and over again, and stuff like that. I was not in the mood at all and my fuse was running short.

  The sermon was about allowing small, venial sins to go on unchecked whilst without our notice we suddenly found ourselves tolerating the serious mortal sins. I asked myself as honestly as I could, “Is this what I am doing?” I brushed the thought away and turned my attention again to my son, who was trying to stand up in the pew and look at the woman sitting behind me. When the sermon ended, I selfishly wondered how much longer it would be before the Mass was over.

  Soon the Consecration came, which is holiest, most solemn portion of the Mass. The entire congregation was silent as usual. The priest silently said the words of consecration, “This is my Body,”elevated the host and the bells were rung thrice.

  I shivered as I realised that now Jesus’ presence was made manifest. Jesus, His precious Flesh and Blood, were there present with us in the sanctuary. Of course, this happens at every Mass, but this time it impacted me more than I can describe. I suddenly was overwhelmed with the fact that God, who loved His children so much, deigned to take upon Himself human nature - even to the point of death on a cross - all so that we might be saved. How much would our Father do to make sure that we could be with Him always and ever in eternity? He paid the ultimate price.

  Here I was, annoyed at my own son just for being a child. And I do not even know how long I will have with him.

  Just as the bells were finished ringing and everybody had their heads bowed in adoration, I began to cry.  And I looked over at my son - who was already looking at me - and I gave him a smile. Probably the first smile he had seen from me that day.  And as he smiled back, he touched my face with his little hand.  I hugged him and kissed him right in the middle of the service. I didn’t care if anybody thought it was awkward or strange. For the first time, I thought about what the Father’s love for us is,and what a failure I had been to my own children.

  It has been four days since then, and I haven’t had to raise my voice even once to my children. I smile at my children, because I am glad to see them. When I see the messes they make, I can be happy that they are healthy enough to play with toys and I can use the time cleaning up their messes to reflect on the Passion of our Lord and the suffering He endured for our sake. When they fight with one another, I can be a peacemaker as opposed to the household law enforcement. When they are frustrated, I can be their comfort instead of their antagonist.

  Will I fail again as a father? Of course I will, but now I will never hear the words of the Consecration again without calling to mind the greatness of the Incarnation and Passion of our Lord and what it means for fathers everywhere: what it means to suffer and sacrifice so that your loved ones may be with you forever.

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