Family
Spirituality
Living Faith:
a collection of columns
from Catherine O’Connell-Cahill that appeared in At Home
with our Faith.
Who, me, an ascetic?
Recipe for disaster: Midwinter
in Chicago. Mom stuck indoors with not one but two persons under age
of 2. Neither takes nap. Mom in typical chronic parental state of
sleep deprivation, intensified by cancellation of anticipated maternal
nap. Afternoon drags. Bedtime light-years away. Barney not on for
three hours yet.
Friend happens to
call. Hears tale of woe. Instead of recommending immediate screening
of Winnie the Pooh video #56, friend has nerve to say, "I guess
motherhood has its own brand of asceticism."
If you, like me, are
hazy on what "asceticism" entails, you might like to know
that the Harper Collins Encyclopedia of Catholicism reports
that it’s "the practice of religious discipline with an
emphasis on self-control and the fostering of virtue"; it involves
self-denial, renunciation, and penance. Once the Romans stopped persecuting
the Christians in the fourth century, some Christians turned to self-denial
as a way to continue living the commitment of the martyrs (hence the
folks who lived in the desert with little food, short sleep, rocks
for pillows, etc.). And while Vatican II in the mid-1960s de-emphasized
ascetical practices (like meatless Fridays), the Encyclopedia of
Catholicism notes that contemporary Catholics are trying to develop
an asceticism that "respects modern psychological insights and
that is based on the duties of one’s life, e.g., the discipline
required in parenting and building community."
So although you didn’t
know it, you’re in the vanguard of a new brand of asceticism.
Consider some of the disciplines you already practice (might not the
Fathers of the Desert beg for mercy after enduring some of these?):
Self-denial (sleep-related):
Walking the floors night after night with a colicky infant while trying
not to drop her from exhaustion. Frantically dialing the doctor at
3 a.m. as your toddler struggles with croup (also known as: How to
turn Mom and Dad’s hair white overnight). Getting up to change
a child who has thrown up all over his bed. Waiting up for your 17-year-old
lad who’s out with the car in a snowstorm. Talking with a teenage
daughter who waits to confide in you until it’s already three
hours past your bedtime.
Money-related: Cash
spent on restaurant meals and movies now goes for your offspring’s
shoes, clothes, backpacks, music lessons, video rentals, field trips,
bicycles, and college tuition.
Renunciation: Surrendering
control of your telephone to your adolescents. Becoming interruptible
at virtually any hour of the day or night. Surrendering your freedom
to go out on the spur of the moment, without first making 27 calls
to find a baby-sitter.
Penance: Listening
to music that your teenager likes. Hearing your young children repeat
your swear words in public. Becoming acutely aware of your own character
flaws as you see them reflected and acted out in your children. Buckling
balky children into car seats each time you drive anywhere, unbuckling
upon arrival, rebuckling for drive to next stop. Sitting through three
hours of Christmas pageant when the Bulls game is on TV.
I guess my friend was
on to something after all. COC
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