Category: Behold Vancouver

What does it mean to be human? What does it mean to be fully alive? What is virtue? What is human flourishing?

These were questions that were earnestly and incessantly asked of me and my peers during my time at a small liberal arts school. These were the questions echoed across campus, in and out of classrooms dedicated to history and economics, literature and language, and politics and theology, all through years of study and laughter. They were questions that were constantly reiterated so that when we left the warmth and safety of that beautiful place, they would echo in our minds and hearts. 

When we walked across that graduation stage and into the real world, we prided ourselves on being “liberally arted” and “seekers of truth and justice.”  We held the questions of human virtue and human flourishing within our deepest being. We were ready to take on the harsh world and live intentional lives founded upon truth, beauty, and goodness. 

But now, almost four years later, amidst chaos, uncertainty, and doubt, these fundamental questions beg to be asked once again. And maybe asked just a little bit louder: How do I, right here and now, live a life that is full and flourishing? How do I, with all this mess around me and within me, cultivate virtue and live an intentional life? How do I choose truth, beauty, and goodness when the darkness makes it so difficult to see?

Although these musings are nothing new or extraordinarily profound, perhaps they are a way for me to remind myself of what I’ve learned and some things that I need to bring to the present once again. At the heart of the matter is the importance of asking these questions of myself so that I can give glory to Him each day, for Saint Irenaeus said,“The glory of God is man fully alive.” 

Live a life that is wholly and unapologetically for Christ and in Christ. 

In an unsteady and disconcerting world, throw yourself into His arms, lean on His chest as Saint John did (John 13:23), and listen to His heartbeat. It is so steady. It is reassuring. It is safe. Run to His Church and trust that He has sent His Holy Spirit to guide and sustain us when we cannot sustain ourselves. Stay close to the Sacraments and find your rhythm of life in His life-giving heartbeat. 

“An unexamined life is not worth living” -Plato

We don’t have the luxury of neglecting introspection any longer. In a world full of relativism and irresponsibility, it is time to own our stories, seek truth and healing, and learn from our wounds.

A cradle Anglican, Kasey Kimball grew up in Newburyport, Mass., moving to Vancouver in 2014 to attend Regent College. In 2018, she graduated with her MA in doctrinal theology and was received into the Catholic Church this Easter. She shared her story of conversion at St. Mark’s College April 7 with the talk “The Body of Christ Suffers Together: Reflections from a Convert to a Church in Crisis.” This is a shortened version of that testimony.

Trying to tell one’s own conversion story is a bit like trying to express the ineffable. Yes, there are important moments, important revelations, and important books to mention, but the work of grace is also inherently mysterious. Every time I tell this story, I get more insight into that work of grace, and am newly amazed by it.

Last August, I attended Mass at a small outdoor chapel in Lake Tahoe, Calif. At that time, I was deep in ecclesiastical no-man’s land. I’d flunked out of RCIA a few months earlier (by that, I mean I attended all the classes and went through all the rites but could not in good conscience become a Catholic at Easter).

I wanted to be a Catholic and was certainly living as one (using the Magnificat missal religiously, getting comfortable with the Rosary, speaking about Protestants as if I wasn’t one), but I simply wasn’t ready theologically. I was missing that deep conviction that the Church is who she says she is –  a conviction without which there could be no moving forward.

At the same time, I knew I couldn’t go back to Protestantism. I’d tried, but after spending a year attending Mass, Protestant liturgies seemed so full of arbitrary human words (some of which, as an occasional preacher, I’d written myself). It seemed we were reinventing the wheel Sunday by Sunday, even though the riches of tradition were there, ready to be used.

There was also the question of authority that lurked in the back of my mind. While Protestants claimed the Bible as their final authority, in reality we all appealed to someone –  to Luther or Calvin or Cranmer or Barth or a blog we liked or our local pastor –  when it came to interpreting what the Bible said and meant. My own Anglican church was struggling to remain viable after a major theological split. Who had the final say? Without a clear authority, it seemed we always fell back on ourselves.

I also found Protestant churches lacked the definitive presence of Christ I’d sensed at Mass. This is not to say that Christ was absent in Protestantism, but there was a palpable difference in intensity.

In the heart of Eastertide, we can ask ourselves: Has Easter changed us? What are the consequences of truly accepting the reality of the Resurrection?

The other day it struck me that we were in the heart of the Easter season and I had to ask myself: Has anything really changed for us – or is life pretty much going on as always?

I sometimes wonder if many of us aren’t a little bit like the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. They had heard about the empty tomb; in fact, it was the subject of their conversation. Maybe they wanted to believe that Jesus had risen, but they couldn’t help but feel skeptical – so much so that they didn’t even recognize Jesus when he started walking along beside them. In Luke’s gospel it says that “their eyes prevented them from recognizing him.”

We too often have eyes that prevent us from seeing. We keep hurrying along as if Easter never happened and nothing has really changed. In place of faith, we live with a sense of desperate urgency because the clock is ticking, and time is running out. Life is short. We don’t want to miss out on experiences or live in regret about the dreams we left unfulfilled.

But the truth of Easter is meant to penetrate and alter the course of our lives.

Freed from anxiety

Accepting the reality of the Resurrection means that death and decay have no power over us. We have been truly set free – and that means we should be freed from the anxieties that so often dominate our lives. How often do we fail to recognize Jesus because we are too occupied with other things? Worrying about our career choices, obsessing over our children’s futures, wasting precious hours “doomscrolling” through social media: These are all signs that we have failed to take the message of Easter seriously. It is as if nothing has really changed for us.

On the contrary, the first Easter marked a new course for humanity. As it says in the Book of Revelation (Rev 21:3-5):

I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, God’s dwelling is with the human race. He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will always be with them [as their God].

He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain, [for] the old order has passed away.”

The one who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” Then he said, “Write these words down, for they are trustworthy and true.”

We’ve all heard of the nearly infamous prayer, the Litany of Humility, before. But is there a danger in praying this litany with the wrong intentions? 

Today, Fr. Mark-Mary shares some ways of discerning and approaching a desire to grow in humility and overcome pride with a lasting sense of being loved by God as you are.

Theophany: God wants to reveal Himself to each one of us. But our constant addiction to the pleasure chemicals of dopamine and serotonin can be a barrier to this intimacy.

Today Fr. Mark-Mary challenges us to consider fasting from a near continuous stream of pleasure in order to hear and experience new intimacy with God. Why not consider driving without music, fasting from snacking throughout the day, or giving up social media this Lenten season?

When I read the Gospels filled with stories of Jesus, it can feel at times like I’m reading a superhero comic complete with superhuman feats and perfectly scripted comebacks for every occasion. There are even super villains. But unlike superheroes, Jesus is without flaws. He is perfect. He is God! So, as a Catholic who has suffered from depression and anxiety, at times, I have struggled to feel like Jesus, savior of the world who can raise the dead, can understand what it’s like to be the imperfect human that is me.

We are told Jesus was both fully divine and fully human. It’s one of those Catholic mysteries we love to recite but is hard to actually wrap our minds around. If Jesus was fully human, in theory, he should understand our full spectrum of emotions and needs. We are told he wept and felt disappointment. He looked forward to things and loved. He felt tempted, exasperated, and angry. He even felt hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. Listing these, it seems he was able to check off all the human emotions on his “human experiences bucket list.” Though, while we can agree he felt these emotions, it’s hard not to resentfully question whether he was ever overwhelmed by them.

Depression and anxiety can and do overwhelm. It’s like your body is betraying you. You feel trapped and out of control. So, I can’t help but wonder, how can God feel trapped? He is God. He is fully in control. He has a divine plan. God can’t understand feeling helpless because he has never been helpless. He has never felt trapped. He may have been human, but could he truly have been that human? For a long time, the answer to that question for me was, “No.”

RELATED: Via Dolorosa: Stations for Your Way of Sorrow

At least, that was what I thought until recently while reading the story of Jesus praying in the garden of Gethsemane. The Gospels tell us he is in anguish. He is desperately praying. He is panicking. The Pharisees are calling for his head. Judas is en route. Peter will betray him. His disciples can’t even stay awake with him. And as mankind turns on him, his own body, human in form, turns on him as well.

In Mark, Jesus explains to his disciples: “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a pretty good description of depression. Depression can feel like the decay of death is eating away at you, overwhelming you, exhausting you, rotting your insides until you are like a walking corpse.

Are you feeling hopeless? 

Fr. Mike offers insights on how to combat despair. If you feel like you’ve tried everything, see no way out, or think nothing matters, Fr. Mike reminds you of the true meaning of hope. He explains that we can always rely on God’s presence. Choosing hope means choosing to act with courage, even if that victory is as simple as getting out of bed. 

Finally, he reminds us that one of the best ways to fight despair is to bring that hopelessness to God in Confession. You are loved, you are valued, and you are absolutely irreplaceable. 

Our team at Ascension is thinking of you and praying for you. If you’re going through a difficult time or struggling with your mental health, don’t hesitate to reach out for help. Talk to someone you trust or seek support from a professional. You can also call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 (available 24/7).

How should we approach the beginning of Holy Week? Fr. Mark-Mary explains that following Mary’s example is the most powerful way to enter the mystery of Christ’s Passion. We should be open, available, and receptive to receiving the Bridegroom.

As we move from Palm Sunday into the most holy week of the Christian Calendar, Bobby urges us to ask ourselves: Is Christ the king of my heart? 

In ancient times, palm branches were a symbol of strength and celebration. For the Feast of Booths in the seventh month, God’s people used palms and other luxuriant branches to celebrate (see Leviticus 23:40 and Nehemiah 8:15). Victors in athletic games and battles were often given palm branches to symbolize their strength. King Solomon engraved images of palms into the pillars of the Temple. 

When Jesus is welcomed into Jerusalem with palms, they serve as a symbol of his kingship. But do we treat Christ with the kingship he deserves? 

We all play a part in the Passion story. Some of us are Peter when he denies Christ. Some of us are the Jews who are not willing to give up everything to follow Christ. Or sometimes we play a different part depending on the day. Too few are the times when we stay at the foot of the Cross with him. 

Where are you in the story? Ask God, “Where have I let you down?” or, “How have I been faithful to you?” Let this Holy Week be different from years past.