Triumph Without Tragedy?

Have I ever told you that I make a truly crummy Protestant?

Lord knows I’ve been at it long enough. I’m 53, and I haven’t been a practicing Catholic since I was just 17. (And you know what I mean…) Since I committed my life to Jesus, I guess you’d say I’ve been a practicing Protestant, but that’s the thing. In my case, practice doesn’t make perfect.

Maybe it’s the whole Irish thing. My peeps are from the border county of Monaghan, just minutes from the line separating Northern Ireland from the Republic. My father’s family was staunchly Catholic in a county rife with division. It’s always been hard for me not to take the part of the Catholics in Ireland, but with great difficulty I’ve maintained my Switzerland stance.

Maybe it’s the whole Scottish thing. My father’s father left Ireland before the Easter Rising of 1916, settling in Kilsyth, Scotland, where he found a Scottish wife and the work he sought. When my own da was 17, he didn’t become a Jesus Freak like I did. He became a soldier in the British Army.

It must have been challenging for him, having had an Irish Catholic father and then being in an army determined, in part, to keep those very people in check.

At any rate, after the war my father moved to Kansas City and married a nice Protestant girl, only he insisted as a condition of their marriage that she convert to Catholicism. Have I ever told you what a crummy Catholic my mother is? :)

If I were to go live in Ireland, I think I’d go to the Catholic Church. Over there, that would feel right to me. It’s who I am at the core.

But here, I’m a…a…a…here, I’m a Christian. Not a practicing Catholic, and a truly crummy Protestant. But still…a Christian.

Last night, our church had its first-ever Tenebrae service. What we Catholics-from-the-womb would call a Holy Thursday service. It was beautiful. I went early with Doug, who was in the worship service. From the first note of his Irish whistle, I was in tears. I cried all the way through the music rehearsal and then all the way through the “service of shadows.”

And then I realized one of the things I miss most about the Catholic church: The liturgy gives us a rich context in which to understand that without the tragedy of the cross, the triumph of the resurrection is as empty as Easter morning’s tomb.

I cried and cried and couldn’t help thinking, in the midst of my gratefulness for what Jesus did at Calvary, of my favorite saying about my ancestry: “The Irish have an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustains them through temporary periods of joy.”

If you have a chance tonight to go to a Good Friday service, do it! The joy of Easter demands a preface, a descent into darkness with the Savior. A tragedy before the triumph.

For now, I’ll leave you with my favorite hymn, one I’d never heard until I became a Prot-Protes-Protesta…Oh, phooey. A Christian.

“O Sacred Head, now wounded, With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown.
O Sacred Head, what glory, what bliss till now was Thine!
Yet, tho’ despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine.

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners’ gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall my Savior! Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever; And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love for Thee.”

Posted by Katy on 04/06/07 at 07:43 AM

Fallible Comments...

Monaghan,huh? Exactly where my book opens, sheesh.

I wish you a truly blessed Resurrection celebration my friend.
Posted by Suzan on 04/06/07 at 03:21 PM
Suzan--Girl, girl. I am wild about Monaghan! Spent three days there last Spring, hunting down my family with the help of a local historian. Monaghan Town itself is delightful. My folks lived a ways out of town, in the parish of Tydavnet, the townland of Feebaghbane. I think it's about five miles from what became the border between North and Republic. LOTS of skirmishes there back in the day. Grandpa was born there in 1884, so he would have been involved in "whatever" preceded the IRA. I guess the Irish Republican Brotherhood. At any rate, my father always said his father "got kicked out of Ireland and told to never return." I've stood on the property at Feebaghbane, and have stones from the crumbling ruin of a house my great-great grandfather first lived in. LOVE that place. Could live there in a Monaghan minute, except for the farms that used to be owned by English landlords are now priced WAY out of my market. If Grandpa Bernard could see the auld sod now!!
Posted by Katy on 04/06/07 at 03:33 PM
i love that hymn.
Posted by jenn_a on 04/09/07 at 09:09 AM
Totally off-topic, Katy, but I read another book I thought you would love. It's called An Irish Country Doctor and it's written by Patrick Taylor. Truly un-put-down-able.
Posted by Carrie K. on 04/09/07 at 01:30 PM
jenn--I'm glad I visited your blog and found out how we "know" each other!! Through that son of mine, eh? I'm glad I found you!

Carrie K--Ooooh, girl, I love your recs!! I have not heard of this book. Thank you! I wonder if BJ Hoff has read it? She reads all the best Irish books, which, by the way, are NEVER off-topic here at fallible!! :)
Posted by Katy on 04/10/07 at 09:12 AM
That hymn is a favorite of mine, as well, except the last line scares me a little. It's kind of like asking for my own death sentence, because I know there are times when I am "fainting" and there will be more.
Posted by alison on 04/10/07 at 04:51 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Triumph Without Tragedy? Have I ever told you that I make a truly crummy Protestant? Lord knows I’ve been at it long enough. I’m 53, and I haven’t been a practicing Catholic since I was just 17. (And you know what I mean…) Since I committed my life to Jesus, I guess you’d say I’ve been a practicing Protestant, but that’s the thing. In my case, practice doesn’t make perfect. Maybe it’s the whole Irish thing. My peeps are from the border county of Monaghan, just minutes from the line separating Northern Ireland from the Republic. My father’s family was staunchly Catholic in a county rife with division. It’s always been hard for me not to take the part of the Catholics in Ireland, but with great difficulty I’ve maintained my Switzerland stance. Maybe it’s the whole Scottish thing. My father’s father left Ireland before the Easter Rising of 1916, settling in Kilsyth, Scotland, where he found a Scottish wife and the work he sought. When my own da was 17, he didn’t become a Jesus Freak like I did. He became a soldier in the British Army. It must have been challenging for him, having had an Irish Catholic father and then being in an army determined, in part, to keep those very people in check. At any rate, after the war my father moved to Kansas City and married a nice Protestant girl, only he insisted as a condition of their marriage that she convert to Catholicism. Have I ever told you what a crummy Catholic my mother is? :) If I were to go live in Ireland, I think I’d go to the Catholic Church. Over there, that would feel right to me. It’s who I am at the core. But here, I’m a…a…a…here, I’m a Christian. Not a practicing Catholic, and a truly crummy Protestant. But still…a Christian. Last night, our church had its first-ever Tenebrae service. What we Catholics-from-the-womb would call a Holy Thursday service. It was beautiful. I went early with Doug, who was in the worship service. From the first note of his Irish whistle, I was in tears. I cried all the way through the music rehearsal and then all the way through the “service of shadows.” And then I realized one of the things I miss most about the Catholic church: The liturgy gives us a rich context in which to understand that without the tragedy of the cross, the triumph of the resurrection is as empty as Easter morning’s tomb. I cried and cried and couldn’t help thinking, in the midst of my gratefulness for what Jesus did at Calvary, of my favorite saying about my ancestry: “The Irish have an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustains them through temporary periods of joy.” If you have a chance tonight to go to a Good Friday service, do it! The joy of Easter demands a preface, a descent into darkness with the Savior. A tragedy before the triumph. For now, I’ll leave you with my favorite hymn, one I’d never heard until I became a Prot-Protes-Protesta…Oh, phooey. A Christian. “O Sacred Head, now wounded, With grief and shame weighed down, Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown. O Sacred Head, what glory, what bliss till now was Thine! Yet, tho’ despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine. What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners’ gain; Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain. Lo, here I fall my Savior! Tis I deserve Thy place; Look on me with Thy favor, Vouchsafe to me Thy grace. What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest Friend, For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end? O make me Thine forever; And should I fainting be, Lord, let me never, never outlive my love for Thee.” Posted by Katy on 04/06/07 at 07:43 AM Fallible Comments... Monaghan,huh? Exactly where my book opens, sheesh. I wish you a truly blessed Resurrection celebration my friend. Posted by Suzan on 04/06/07 at 03:21 PM Suzan--Girl, girl. I am wild about Monaghan! Spent three days there last Spring, hunting down my family with the help of a local historian. Monaghan Town itself is delightful. My folks lived a ways out of town, in the parish of Tydavnet, the townland of Feebaghbane. I think it's about five miles from what became the border between North and Republic. LOTS of skirmishes there back in the day. Grandpa was born there in 1884, so he would have been involved in "whatever" preceded the IRA. I guess the Irish Republican Brotherhood. At any rate, my father always said his father "got kicked out of Ireland and told to never return." I've stood on the property at Feebaghbane, and have stones from the crumbling ruin of a house my great-great grandfather first lived in. LOVE that place. Could live there in a Monaghan minute, except for the farms that used to be owned by English landlords are now priced WAY out of my market. If Grandpa Bernard could see the auld sod now!! Posted by Katy on 04/06/07 at 03:33 PM i love that hymn. Posted by jenn_a on 04/09/07 at 09:09 AM Totally off-topic, Katy, but I read another book I thought you would love. It's called An Irish Country Doctor and it's written by Patrick Taylor. Truly un-put-down-able. Posted by Carrie K. on 04/09/07 at 01:30 PM jenn--I'm glad I visited your blog and found out how we "know" each other!! Through that son of mine, eh? I'm glad I found you! Carrie K--Ooooh, girl, I love your recs!! I have not heard of this book. Thank you! I wonder if BJ Hoff has read it? She reads all the best Irish books, which, by the way, are NEVER off-topic here at fallible!! :) Posted by Katy on 04/10/07 at 09:12 AM That hymn is a favorite of mine, as well, except the last line scares me a little. It's kind of like asking for my own death sentence, because I know there are times when I am "fainting" and there will be more. Posted by alison on 04/10/07 at 04:51 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. 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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Triumph Without Tragedy?

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri