January 15, 2007
Monday 

Sursum corda. (Lift up your hearts.)
Habemus ad Dominum. (We have lifted them up to the Lord.)
            — offertory versicle (with translation in modern use)
                 from the Latin Tridentine Mass

When I first went online with my personal essays (in 1999, when “blog” meant a site with links to other sites and little original content), I had several separate sections. “Three journals in one!” was an early tag line, still found on some Google search returns. This fit the theme of my self-perception as a strong woman “loosely bound by countless silken ties of love and thought to everything on earth.” I had the main section where I wrote most often about whatever was on my mind that might be of interest to a general reader. For a while I posted essays about my family history separately, and something of a weight loss diary, which I put up and took down a number of times.

And I had Sursum Corda, a section devoted to pieces about faith and spirituality. I kept them separate for several reasons that really don’t seem very important anymore (e.g., expressing one’s faith can be polarizing, readers with no faith think every such expression is an attempt to convert). I stopped writing them because they became too personal and too revealing, even for someone who puts a lot of her deepest feelings out there.

“Pray like I used to” was a phrase one of Lynn’s friends used in her MySpace journal to express a new year’s wish the first year she was in college. She meant, I think, that being away from home, away from the local congregation and youth group that had nurtured her, and involved in so many new activities, had resulted in her letting go the practice of her spirituality that had brought her comfort and joy before.

Time at Wernersville often leaves me feeling more sharply focused on my spirituality and prayer life. I’ve seen the same thing happen with Lynn. On her return from church camp she’d be more focused and intentional. I once walked in to her room with a load of clean laundry to find her sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a lighted candle. “I’m praying,” she hissed, and I dropped the shirts and shorts on the bed and left in haste. But, like her classmate, she let the intentionality to her inner life fade as the activities and concerns of her outer world claimed her attention.

I don’t know that I’ll reveal a lot of specifics about my inner life in this space, but I have created a new category. If talk about faith and prayer turn you off, then don’t read the ones marked “Sursum Corda.” The title comes from the Latin phrase my mother once said was her favorite part of the Mass. It’s in English now, and used as well in the Lutheran liturgy I most regularly take part in. It helps me feel connected.

At that Lutheran congregation I participate with, we received on Sunday a summary of the “hopes” members had expressed during the exercise done on the last Sunday of 2006. Most people hope for very ordinary and worthy things — to be a better spouse or parent, to see an end to the war, to see a better season for the Steelers. As I read them, I nodded.

Until I got to this one:
             “I hope for Christ’s return.”

Um, well — I know that that should be the hope of all, but frankly, I can’t get behind that right now. I’m headed into the best year of my life, and I have a lot of living to do, and I’m really not interested in paradise.

Not yet, anyway.