The fallacy of the self made person

Recently, I had the privilege of celebrating a faith filled student and giving him an award from our department. As the adults sat around the table we discussed this student's qualities and were so proud of the man he had become. The collective group asked who would present the award and I wanted to do it. Many in the room were willing to do the introduction, but I was pleased that it would be my duty. 

As I thought about what to say, I was told I only had 30 seconds to make an introduction. If you know me, you know that is impossible! But as a rule follower, I tried my best to fit into this short time frame a worthy introduction to a great young man. I wrote many drafts - some funny, some heartfelt, some a few minutes long. Who am I kidding, they were all a few minutes long. 

As I looked back on my drafts a familiar theme rose up. I will share this short insight with you now. It is not a new idea, but rather something I have been thinking about a lot lately. 

None of us come to faith on our own. We are the products of our context, our environment, and our relationships. We come to faith because someone before us had faith and witnessed it to us in subtle and authentic ways. Maybe they reached out and told us something that stopped us in our tracks. Maybe they were a constant loving presence. Maybe they forced us with a strong hand and demanded the discipline from us. But not a one of us came to this place on our own. 

For me, my earliest memory of faithful love came from my grandmother. In my living memory, she is the holiest person I had ever met. She loved me without condition and I loved her too. She taught me to make rosaries and play Rummikub and she always let me win. And she is only one of many who have planted a seed of faith and helped shaped my faith. 

All of us have those people, who have shown us what living faith looks like. Teachers, coaches, parents, and friends. Take a moment and think back to those people who have formed you. Say a prayer of thanksgiving, that wherever they are, they are blessed. 

On scabbed shoulders and sinful repeats

I got into cycling a few years ago as an intentional way to spend time with my dad.

As a kid growing up, I had a pretty good relationship with both of my parents. I did what they told me, I wanted to make them proud of me, and I tried to represent our family as best I could. I was always close with my older brother and my cousins, but my parents, not so much. You know, they were old...

Now a dad myself, I realize that I didn't have a super close relationship with my dad and didn't have that much in common with him besides our shared ancestry. I wanted to change that, but I didn't want to sit down and say something like "tell me your life story" (though now that seems like an easier and less resource driven option!) so I thought I could do something that he likes as a way of getting to know the guy. So I bought a pair of spandex and off I went into the world of cycling.

Cycling with my dad is fun and interesting. We go on long training rides of 40 - 80 miles and it takes a lot of time to finish the rides. We stop a lot. We eat a lot. And we talk a lot. It's pretty great getting to know my dad in this way and I enjoy it. Plus I kinda like the spandex.

Last week we were riding in an official sponsored ride. We planned to do 46 miles (the lowest option of miles) for the ride and my brother was going to come along as well. At the last minute, my brother had to cancel, so it was my dad and I off to do our ride. It was a great day for a bike ride. Cool weather and light traffic. We talked about small things and generally went about the business of riding our carbon framed speed rockets.

About 14 miles into the ride, we were going down this big hill, full of switchbacks. Its the kind of hill you just need to let your brakes go a little bit and ride it down, but we saw car brake lights and a traffic back up and knew there was trouble ahead. We slowed down and tried to navigate the snarl of traffic ahead of us, down this very steep and curvy hill. A pretty serious accident looked like it occurred a few minutes before we got there. Police and first aid were there, clearing things up and they were about to let cars through. Dangerous road, I thought as I passed by slowly.

Since I was riding my brakes all the way down the hill, my hand started to get tired and I readjusted my grip on my right hand, the back brake. I needed to brake quickly and instinctively I triggered my left hand brake, the front brake to slow down. Instead of slowing, my bike stopped instantly. Due to the steep hill and my momentum, I flew over the handlebars of my bike and crashed into the road. Since I am a trained ninja (from all the episodes of Lego Ninjago I have watched with my sons), I tucked my head and rolled on my shoulder. I landed directly on my right shoulder and flipped over, a tangle of limbs and bike parts. Luckily, I did not break anything. After a pause I gathered myself, picked myself up, grabbed my bike, shook my head, and walked towards the shoulder of the road. A minute later my dad rolled up and asked if I was okay. I was. But boy, that hurt. And it was dumb. A silly mistake that I know better not to make. 

Maybe out of pride or a fear of embarrassment I did not ask for help. The medics were a mere 100 feet away, but I did not want to sit in the back of an ambulance. I came to ride. I shook it off, got myself together, and got back on the bike. We rode to the supported stop, about a mile away, where there was food, a bike mechanic, and most importantly for me, a doctor to check my injuries. It turned out I was bruised and scraped, but not broken, and though I was in pain, I could keep going. And I did.

Someone once said to me that there are two type of cyclists, the ones who have fallen, and then those who are going to fall. Basically, we are all going to fall at some point. Reflecting on my ride it made me think of sin. It's like there are two types of humans, the ones who who have sinned, and the ones who are about to sin. We are all touched by sin.

I have been thinking about my bike fall in this way - I wasn't in an ideal situation. I should have been doing things differently. I know not to touch my left brake in this situation. I know what will happen if I do it. I do it. Hey, I can fly! The ground is coming up fast. Can I ninja my way out of this? Ouch. That hurts. Did I break anything? Am I okay? I know better. Why did I do that? Get up. 

Sin, too, operates in this same mode. This is not the ideal situation. I am not being my best self here. I know I should not do this thing; it has consequences that will affect me. This is going to hurt. This hurts. 

No matter how many times I have made the same mistake, I still end up doing it. I know not to do it, and I do it anyway. St. Paul admits that himself in his letter to the Romans, chapter 7. It reads, "What I do, I do not understand. For I do not do what I want, but I do what I hate... For I do not do the good I want, but I do the evil I do not want" (7:15-19). Part of our nature is this foolish, fallen, nature that needs redemption and healing. Sin is not the entirety of my being, but it is a part of it. 

So what do we do? I don't think I have all the answers, here, but I know a couple of things. Just like in cycling, pausing and checking to see if I am okay is a good place to start. Seeing if I broke anything is important too. Oftentimes, sin leads to breaking important things; things we love and care about deeply. If there is something seriously wrong, get help. Talk to someone. A mentor, friend, or priest. Prayer and confession are awesome and amazing. And then get up. Keep going. It will hurt, but you have the inner strength to keep going. 

Less than a minute after my fall my dad showed up. Isn't that like the Father too? So close and ready to be there for us. After my fall, my dad walked with me, talked with me, and rode with me until I could get back to speed. He was there. My dad and I finished our 46 miles, complete with two giant hill climbs. We smiled and laughed, knowing that one of us may fall again sometime, but that we are not alone. 

So now I have a scabbed up shoulder that should turn into an awesome scar. I have a story to tell my friends and my kids. I have a lesson learned, that I will probably learn again until Kingdom come. And most of all I have the Grace of God's presence and the gift of family. 

Gaze

I recently had the opportunity to pray and reflect with a small group of ministry folk. Our prayer was led by a nun. It's honestly a huge perk of my work! 

She led us through a Franciscan reflection on the San Damiano crucifix and it was simple yet profound. The process was taught by St. Clare to her order and continues to be used today. In four simple steps we might find something new, comforting, challenging, or inspiring. 

Gaze. Consider. Contemplate. Imitate.

First, you gaze at the piece. No expectations. Just see what you notice. Do you see the colors? The shapes? The people? The details? Gaze, look, and be observant. 

When you are ready, move on to the next levels as you are able. Meditate on why you noticed what you noticed. What is God telling you through what you notice? Take that knowledge to the depth of your heart. What does it mean to you? How can it impact your understanding of yourself? 

Lastly, how can you imitate what you see? How can you live out what you have gazed upon, considered, and contemplated? 

Gaze, consider, contemplate, and imitate. 

To pray in this way really slows us down in the hectic, fast paced world we live in today. 

Try it out! 

Blessings,

AP

The Virgin Mary is coming over!

Growing up, my family wasn't the most religious of families. 

Our Catholic faith was wrapped up in our Filipino culture. So if we were at a family get together on a weekend, I wouldn't know if it was a family celebration, a cultural holiday, or a religious gathering - because mostly they were all three. It's great to have your faith and culture so interconnected but at times it is also limiting. I don't get to choose to be Filipino. I am Filipino. In a similar way, I did not choose to be Catholic. I am Catholic. That's just how it is. 

So I participated in my faith insofar as I participated in my family life. I didn't really understand that there was a difference. But I can also admit that I didn't have a personal prayer life or any real concept of faith beyond my communal experience. 

My family participated in this interesting cultural and religious tradition called the "block rosary." On a Saturday a bunch of people would come over to our house and it was like a regular family party. At a certain part of the party everything stopped and we all started praying the rosary in front of the a statue of the Virgin Mary. Then, everyone left. But they left the statue! 

In the block rosary the statue of the Virgin Mary stays at your house for a week and then the next Saturday the same group will pick up the statue and bring it to the next family's house. 

For that one week in the year, my family was the most holy family in the world. Every night, after dinner, we would go to the living room, get on our knees, and pray the rosary as a family. I needed a book to follow along with all the prayers. It hurt my knees. 

When my friends would call to hang out, I would tell them I couldn't. 

"Why not?," they would ask.

"Well.. the Virgin Mary is over at the house..."

When that week was over, my family went back to it's normal routine. We didn't stop, drop, and pray after dinner. We wouldn't do that again until Momma Mary popped by for a visit next year. 

--

It's amazing how a statue can change your reality.

Pre-statue, my family lived out our normal routine. When Mary was at our house, our demeanor changed. We were more intentional. We prayed. We sacrificed. We took the time to be holy. It wasn't like we didn't want to do those things. It was more like we didn't think about it. It took something special to motivate us and inspire us to enter into the Mystery of faith. It annoyed me, but I also appreciated it. Now, I look back and see that was crucial to my formation and growth. 

Most people will not have a statue visiting their house. But you know what they do have? They have us. We have the opportunity to be the real life statues of today. We can be the Momma Mary who visits and inspires a person to get on their knees and pray. What if our presence brought prayer? What if our lives brought intentionality? What if our witness brought wanting?

I have heard it said that we might be the only Bible someone will ever read. That is what evangelization is all about. How did Momma Mary become the greatest of the disciples? She loved her son. She sought to protect him. She listened to him. She witnessed to his life and shared it with others. 

How can we be great disciples like Mary? We can simply love. We can listen to him. We can protect those who he loves. We can witness through our authentic love of the other, whoever that may be. 

We are the living statues. Let's go and inspire. 

Do you know what this means?

Last night I went to a book reading. 

Doesn't that make me sound super cultured? I haven't been to a book reading since my college English professor required the students to attend one as part of the class. 

The book reading was held in Seattle, as one of my favorite podcasters and actors, Stephen Tobolowsky, was promoting his new book. If you watch movies, you have seen Stephen Tobolowsky. He is a character actor who has appeared in over 200 films and tv shows. He was Ned Ryerson in Groundhog's Day and Sandy Ryerson on Glee. He has a fun podcast called the Tobolowsky files, where he tells stories of "life, love, and the entertainment industry."

He wrote a book called "My Adventures with God" and I am excited to dive in. He practices Judaism and tells stories of his life with a spiritual thread running through. During the book reading he brought up an interesting topic: does everything have meaning? He proposed, in his humorous and personable way, that either life and everything in it had meaning, or nothing did. 

Catholics, too, have this thought. It is called sacramentality. Everything in the created world has the potential to convey God's love and presence into the world. It makes sense. If God made everything, of course everything could reveal God! That is why sacraments are a huge part of the Catholic faith. The visible reveals the invisible. The physical reveals a meaning far beyond itself.

It was a great night. I was inspired by a person of faith who managed to weave his spirituality into his daily, everyday experience. 

I waited in line to get my copy of the book signed for my wife, Aleah. She is a big fan, but she had to work last night, facilitating a group on the topic of immigration at her work. She is selfless and amazing. 

When I got to meet Stephen, I asked him if he could sign the book to Aleah. 

"Sure," he said. "How do you spell it?"

Aleah. A-L...

He wrote Al.

E-A-H.

Aleah.

"Do you know what this what this means? This word, Aleah. In Hebrew, do you know what it means?," he asked me.

"No."

"In the Hebrew it means to rise up." 

My wife is literally called to rise. 

Everything in life has meaning.

AP

We are Called to Rise

Well, it is finally here. My first post on my fresh new website. This site represents the prayers, thoughts, and acts that have made up the majority of my life. This is the work of grace in my life. 

So who am I? Let me introduce myself. My name is Aires (pronounced like iris) and trust me, there is a story to the name. I am currently serving as a theology teacher and campus minister in a Catholic high school in the Seattle area. I have had the privilege to travel the world as a lay missionary disciple working in both formation and social justice. 

I am married to my wonderful wife, who serves the church as a pastoral assistant for outreach. She is an amazing woman of God. We have three boys, Peter aka Nacho (7), Blaise (6), and Leo (3). 

I have been volunteering and working in ministry for over twenty years. I have professionally ministered since 2001 in all phases, ages, social and economic circumstances for the Catholic Church. 

I believe that the world is a mission field and we were placed here to plant, cultivate, and bloom, but maybe not always all three. 

Called to Rise is born out of the belief that we are born for so much more than we could ever imagine. We catch this vision in glimpses, but our mission is to live this out more fully every day. I look forward to sharing my thoughts and introducing you to the many people who make up Called to Rise in the coming months. 

I am here to travel on this journey with you. Thank you for coming along with me.

AP