Diabolical!

Holy Love Ministries condemns itself through outright DISOBEDIENCE to the Authority of the Church, which speaks in the voice of Christ. Here is the message, the private revelation CLAIMING to be Jesus Christ: (Note that the red bold is my commentary):

November 13, 2009
Friday - For all those falsely accused within society,
governments and within Church circles; that all calumnies are exposed by truth.

Jesus is here with His Heart exposed. He says: "I am your Jesus, born Incarnate."

"My brothers and sisters, tonight confusion may have entered your hearts concerning certain statements from the diocese. I have come to ask you some questions to help you to think like citizens of Heaven, not of earth." {{Then why is "Jesus" speaking in careful "legalese"? Isn't He above all that???? I seem to recall several scripture passages where he directly cited people and condemned them in very strong language.}}}

"Does it not say in Scripture,

'You should not stifle the Spirit' (1 Thess 5:19). Did I not state in Scripture,
'Where two or more are gathered in prayer, there I am in their midst (Mt
18:20)." {{{These passages have nothing to do with each other, and ignore the importance of testing the Spirits and avoiding what is not True. That's an inconvenient teaching in this case. Hint: Jesus doesn't cobble things together in an attempt to distract.}}}}

"My brothers and sisters, you must not place OFFICE and
AUTHORITY and TITLE above the TRUTH." {{{"Jesus also said in Matthew 16:17-19: And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." }}}}

"Tonight I am blessing you with My
Blessing of Divine Love."

I just love how she takes scripture out of context. You know, so did Satan when he tempted Christ. We are to discern the spirits, we are to test them. And our litmus test ought to be obedience to known authority, which is the local Ordinary, speaking for the Church, and thus, for Christ Himself. I'll listen to those who speak for Peter, who was given that authority by Christ, thanks.

My friends, the person offering these messages ISN'T speaking for Christ, and the above message is PROOF!

I met someone this weekend who has been there and continues to support it. He will be obedient to the Bishop but clearly stated the Bishop got it wrong because apparently this woman is preaching certain things that ARE in line with the Church. But as Hamlet said, "The devil hath power t' assume a pretty face", and so that evil slithering beast has: in the form of Holy Love Ministries, which is NOW formally leading people astray in an "IN YOUR FACE!" message to the Magisterial Authority of the Church.

Let it be very very clear: we know the true spirit of any message that tells us to disobey legitimate authority. I direct you to St. Faustina. She agonized because Jesus told her to do one thing, and when she went to her Superior, her Superior forbade her from acting on what Jesus had directed her to do. St. Faustina returned to Jesus and confessed her obedience to her Superior. Jesus revealed in that moment that what she did was right, for it was a test of her obedience; she was vowed to obey legitimate authority, and the voice of her Superior was truly the voice of Christ.

It may be argued that some Saints in the past who received private revelations had some that were problematic or did not come true, and still, they are Saints. However, they were not canonized on the basis of the messages, but on their holiness, including their obedience to God AND the authority He established here on earth. Our Lord speaks through the Magisterial authority of the Church, and THAT is what we are bound to obey.

Not some chick who created a pretty place and brainwashed a bunch of people in order to push her own agenda. Outright disobedience and encouraging disobedience is NOT a sign of holiness! It is a sign of something Satanic.

What is going on at Holy Love is a complete scandal and I hope the canonists and Bishops slam that place shut as quickly as they can. Please pray for the woman claiming to be receiving these messages, and all those souls she is leading astray.

Lord, have mercy on us all and deliver us from such false "revelations"!

Men's AOTM in the Star Tribune

This afternoon after class I ran to the grocery store and happened to meet a friend there in the dog food aisle. She told me that the Argument of the Month Club had a writeup today in the Star Tribune. And dang it if it isn't true!

I'm glad to see the publicity for them, and am going to admit that I'm hoping their popularity is going to drive more attention to the fact a women's group is being formed (God willing) after a similar format, intending meaty "manly" meals that are actually, well...wait a minute. Women have been cooking meat longer than men! And we LIKE meat! So enough with the stereotypes, ok guys? Thanks.

Anyhow, I'm behind on doing my "homework" on behalf of the group and need to get to it soon. As it is, I'm sure my other "partners in crime" are already mostly done with theirs.

So...Go check out the Star Tribune article, and if you're a woman, stop complaining and start hoping we can get up and running. We might need your help down the road. And men...what's stopping you from heading over to www.aotmclub.com so you can plan to be at their next event?

As far as you local women...be patient. We're working on it. We will make a formal announcement when we're ready to start, although I must caution you it'll be much lower key than what the guys have right now. No one builds Rome in a day and we can't handle an event for 200 or 300 women fresh out of the gate!

This is gonna be fun....

Gorgeous Blogger Award

I am very touched to learn that MONIALES OP has tagged me for the Gorgeous Blogger Award! Last summer I visited their monastery and have to say that I wished I'd had some of that very interesting information while I was there!

While they gave 6 little-known facts about their monastery, as I don't live in one I wonder if maybe I should give some little-know facts about my house?

Nah. My house is boring. It consists of walls and a roof and is basically a really expensive box I bought to keep my stuff in to ensure I'll be up to my eyeballs in debt for about 1,000 years after my death.

OK, so, six little-known facts about me:

1. I sang "La Bamba" and "Stand By Me" with a Blues Band in Puerto Escondido, Mexico. This was not karaoke, but an actual performance, albeit impromptu. The irony of singing "La Bamba" as an American in Mexico was not lost on me even while I did it.

2. I have been to the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City twice, once in 1994 and once in 1996. I did not see the actual site of the apparitions, and was not actually a practicing Catholic at the time. Yet...it wasn't a waste. God knew what He was doing.

3. I was awarded "Rookie of the Year" for the Ski Patrol. It was an honor, and completely blew me away. Doesn't mean a lot now and I doubt anyone remembers. I rarely do.

4. I can only cut my own bangs a couple times before it looks like a hack job and I can't delay a good haircut any longer. As a result I only get a professional cut about twice per year.

5. Only brush with fame:

While in college I was assigned to a "mystery" security detail; my superiors asked for assistance and wouldn't tell me why. Curious, I said yes. My directions: Show up at the station at X time, but dress as a college student. Leave your uniform at home. When I arrived I was granted the temporary title of "Special Agent" and informed that an Investigator and I were part of Maya Angelou's official Security Detail.

We went to a particular location owned by the University that was hosting her and my specific job was to meet her vehicle, show my official ID and badge, and direct her driver to follow us to the official venue. Due to several circumstances they were late and her people called our people and asked us to meet directly AT the venue. We entered, made sure there was not an uprising or protest, walked among the crowds and remained vigilant with pre-set signals should any trouble arise. We learned during this time that Ms. Angelou did not sign autographs (her own personal practice of trying to maintain humility), so were surprised at the end to be summoned backstage. She wanted to thank the people who had been ensuring her safety.

I had NO IDEA what I was going to say. I was just a dumb college student meeting someone I'd studied briefly in a class, never expecting to actually come into contact with her! She greeted everyone in turn and I said the same inane thing others had said, "It was a pleasure hearing you speak." She shook my hand, glanced at me a moment, paid me a compliment with a soft smile, greeted the few behind me and then went on her way.

While driving back to school that night, I mused, "My friend Lita is going to DIE when I tell her I met her heroine! And I have NOTHING to say other than I shook her hand!"

I have never told a single soul what Ms. Angelou said to me that evening.

6. I hate talking on the phone, especially since my 5 years in Insurance with a phone attached to my head, whether I was in the office or "on the road" looking at cars. Email is preferred because that way I can deal with it when I feel like it and don't have to dial a bunch of code to get to a long message that never ends.... (much like the nature of my blog...)

TAGGING....

Charlene Duline at Prodigal Catholic Writer - A woman leading outreach to imprisoned Priests! God bless you!

Kiwi Nomad - Kiwi has great photos and commentary and you should check out her work and story.

Tina at Jake's Takes - Jake has great takes! (Jake is a Basset Hound) Please help Tina with his particular need....

Fr. Charles at A Minor Friar - I always learn something from him, especially his charity, in the proper theological sense.

Uncle Jim - Whom I miss and want to see again! (And has an epic story going on...)

Passionist Nuns at In the Shadow of His Wings - As I was tagged by a Monastery, it is fitting to tag another, especially because I have a friend there! God bless her and them and please keep all Religious Sisters in your prayers!

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Ecclesial Condemnation of Holy Love Ministry in Cleveland OH

Praise God for this faithful Bishop protecting not only his flock, but all souls. I know of people who pilgrimage to "Holy Love Ministries" in Ohio, and so some time ago I looked it up. My skin was crawling as I read the alleged "locutions". Doctrinal issues all over the place, in SPITE of what the "testimonials" from canonists and theologians were saying. I questioned where those people had actually READ what this woman was allegedly saying? I saw conflict, contradiction, and doctrinal issues all over the place! I also know of some people who visited the shrine and left very disturbed, although unable to articulate exactly what about the place bothered them so much.

So to any devotees, take note of the formal letter and Decree issued by Bishop Lennon of the Cleveland Diocese, and realize that it applies to ALL of the faithful, not just those in his diocese. It was just issued on November 9, 2009, a couple days ago, so bloggers, Tweeters, social networkers, please pass those links along to others.

Some time ago some anonymous person left a link on one of my posts, and I'd heard of the shrine there, but never went. I do know people who go there, even local ones. They are very faithful Catholics, but of course, the shrine and locutions were under investigation at that time, neither endorsed nor condemned.

Now they know: it's not supernatural in origin and is to be avoided. No sacramental celebration is allowed there, nor are pilgrimages, nor any support of any kind.

Holy Love Ministry has NOW been formally condemned and as the Faithful, we owe our obedience to Bishop Lennon, even if we are not from that diocese. To endorse, visit the shrine, financially support it, at this point is now a SIN.

Please pass on the links to those who are unaware of this Decree so that their souls will be preserved. If the above links don't work, you may find both the letter and decree, as well as a Spanish language version here.

H/T and Mantilla Twitch to Terry at Abbey Roads.

Say Something Nice About a Priest Meme

Cathy tagged me for this Meme, the purpose of which is very simple: say something nice about a Priest!

The only problem I have with this is that I am blessed to know several priests who have touched my life and have brought me closer to Christ. I have so many priests I'd like to thank, including those I consider to be good friends.

So where do I begin?

I've written before of the unknown priest who heard a very difficult Confession. I've written of the one who anointed my Mom a couple years ago when we thought we were losing her during our Deathwatch Advent.

Maybe the best thing to do is honor the priests I know through recognition of the unsung and very hidden things they do; the simple things that perhaps mean more than any of us can understand. And in this case, I have to honor three priests, for the trilogy of them did the very same things for me, and at the same time. Clearly, I'm such a difficult case that one was simply not enough for the task! Or was this perhaps just a reflection of the Trinity found in a triangulation of good priests?

You decide.

A few years ago several things were converging at the same time: I was called to teach RCIA, a very new experience, and I was applying to Graduate School. It was perhaps a 9-month period of time during which all of this occurred, and it was all related.

When I looked over the materials for the Catholic Studies program at the University of St. Thomas, I saw that they were looking for recommendations from professors, but would accept that of priests if we had been out of school for a long time. I immediately approached two priests at my parish; my Pastor and one of the Associates. In all honesty, I didn't think either of them knew me well enough to write a recommendation, but I told both that I would answer any questions they had and provide any information required even to make a decision!

My Pastor simply told me to provide him with the form and he would return it in the provided envelope. The Associate asked me to come into his office so he could get a little more of my background and intentions, including my desire to teach RCIA that year. Up to that point, I really hadn't done much for my parish so had a very short resume as it applied to the Church, except for my "ministry" in Jr. High and High School. As an adult...NUTHIN'! But in the end he accepted the recommendation form, feeling he could answer their questions honestly. I was grateful.

In the meantime I began teaching RCIA. Enter the other Associate, who, upon realizing how nervous I was about my first foray into formal catechesis of others asked if it would help to meet with him and talk over the lesson I was planning. I accepted his invitation gratefully and found there an ally and a friend. He gave me some good tips on teaching in general, and, although he couldn't attend the first big talk I gave, he came into the classroom at the end to heckle me and see how it had gone. In fact, he entered the room with the other Associate who also had known how nervous I was and also wanted to provide a little support.

Later that fall, after Thanksgiving, I found that I was accepted by St. Thomas as a "special student", meaning I I could not qualify for financial aid. Given the cost of classes at St. Thomas, I could not afford to go, and sadly informed my references of the good news...but that I had to delay. I was looking into all my options.

That's when, at a fledgling Theology on Tap evening, Fr. W., my biggest RCIA supporter, upon learning my news told me about Ave Maria University, recommended the program and said he had brochures in his office. He knew they were offering a class beginning in February and suggested I look into it. Another person there, an acquaintance of mine, told me more about it and that he was looking into it as well, although he was in the Catholic Studies program at St. Thomas already. We discussed the two programs, and I realized that Ave Maria was truly was I was looking for. Had Father W. not mentioned it...who knows where I would be?

I picked up the brochure the next day and solidified my intention: I took that one class, the Writings of John Paul II as a special student, but was able to pay for the tuition out of pocket. In the meantime I was conferring with my Pastor, who also knew of my financial problems with UST, supported my looking into Ave Maria, and was familiar my agony over whether to apply there or not. I found that I might qualify for a scholarship...so much to consider!

And in all this time, I was teaching RCIA, with my Pastor, the other Associate Fr. H. occasionally present either to hear my reflections on the upcoming readings or my catechesis on the topic for the evening, depending on what was assigned for that night. I found them always to be helpful, supportive, and given it was my first year teaching, found it significant that at no point did either of them ever stand up and with a pointing finger yell out "HERETIC!" Nor did they accuse me of such in private.

It was a great help to know I was not a heretic or teaching heresy!

(Although Fr. H., upon a discussion as to which one of us was going to give the teaching on Sin, suggested I do so because, as he said, "You were a much bigger sinner than I was." Thanks, Father!)

And yes, I gave the teaching, and yes, Father would have been better at it even though it's probably true that I was the bigger sinner!

Our Pastor, although not as prone to the same kind of humor, like Fr. H. was always available for my questions as I prepared for the classes or had my own to ask. Just as surely as I was trying to form the (sorry, but true) largely uncatechized Sponsors, Catechumens, and Candidates, the Fathers were forming me. All three of them. It was that big of a job.

That spring I decided to apply to Ave Maria University formally, to be accepted into the Institute for Pastoral Theology. Once again I went to my Pastor and Fr. H., the same two who had written on my behalf to the University of St. Thomas. And once again, they agreed to help. I felt guilty; I knew I was giving them more work, and already they were stretched so thin, and I had delayed in my decision, leaving a deadline closer than should be comfortable. Both, within a couple days, either returned the sealed envelopes or sent them on directly (I forget which), and as I checked the box on the form agreed that what they said would remain confidential, to this day I have NO IDEA what they said about me, either for UST or Ave Maria. And because I agreed to confidentiality in their responses about me, I have not asked any of them about the content of their letters.

All I know is that I was accepted to BOTH programs, and I didn't do it on my own merit, but also that of the Priests who supported me without question. None of them questioned why I wanted to pursue the degree or what I ultimately wanted to do with it. They understood that I was seeking holiness, had a thirst for knowledge, and even though, really, maybe they should have hesitated in offering a recommendation on my behalf not even knowing what kind of STUDENT I was, they stuck their own necks out for my good, probably hoping for the full good of the Church.

I hope and pray I can live up to their expectations.

When I sit in class, I remember the priests who helped me get there. That includes the one who didn't write a letter, but first told me about the program and gave me the brochure. I can't write about this process without including him...he was instrumental.

Three Priests. Three of them.

Two of those Priests, the same two that wrote me letters for grad school, also served as references for my current job in another parish. True to the Mission of the Church, they formed me and sent me on, beyond the walls of our own parish, entrusting me not only to their own pastoral care, but that of the grad school they helped me to enter, and sending me to carry on the work of Christ in another place.

I am not very active in my own parish right now because my work in another and my grad studies take me away. But it is home, even though those same Associates aren't there any more, having moved on themselves. I see them occasionally and owe one of them an email. Our Pastor is still there, and sometimes asks me how classes and my job are going.

You can see why I had to mention all three priests here, if not by name. You can see how they all worked together to help this poor soul get to where she is now: still a poor soul, but one now in her last year of grad school and considering more.

It is definitely a relationship of trust, for I knew I could go to them for help, and even though they MUST have seen me as a risk to their own reputations, they offered what they could on my behalf. I am a different person now, in many ways. I could not have entered this program without them, for I had nowhere else to go. They gave me experience and helped me to develop skills. They offered support for further education, and, like Jesus, considered that their risk was worth it.

I pray that, in the end, if, God willing, I finally earn this degree (graduation in June 2010!), my effort will justify their risk, and I pray that everything I do in the future helps them to earn merit for eternity.

Thank you, Fathers, first for laying down your own lives for us all, but more personally:

* For your example of Faith in Christ, every single day, constantly

* Your example of Him to me personally, in the Sacraments (esp of Confession!), and in meeting with me when I've had questions

* Your (seeming) unquestioning support and trust in my endeavors

and finally...

* Being a true Spiritual Father in something small and hidden but which, for this particular soul, means the world, and might mean Eternity.

Thank you, Fathers. God bless you. I pray for you every day: it's the least I can do.

Love,

Your Spiritual Daughter

~ Adoro

*

This is such a great Meme, and although maybe it would be proper to tag 33 in honor of the years of Christ on earth, maybe I should actually stick with the rules for once and tag only 3. So I tag:

Angela

Fr. Schnippel (Priests aren't formed in a vacuum....)

Uncle Jim

I encourage you all to remain obedient to the Meme, to honor "a Priest", but if you have to honor a few who worked together...I look forward to reading what you have to say! :-)

Embraced by the Word

This evening I found myself at the Cathedral, not initially intending to attend Mass, but rather to just take a break and pray in silence. But I heard Mass begin and decided to leave the Chapel of Mary and enter into the Sacred Liturgy. As I listened to the readings and pondered them in the context of my surroundings, suddenly I was struck by the inherent symbolism of the Cathedral. With my Liturgy midterm exam so fresh in my mind, I considered all the important elements of the liturgy, to include the building itself, all pointing to a God that contains everything.

I regarded the four pillars that hold up the dome of the Cathedral, representing the 4 Gospels. I looked anew at the angels and the depictions of the Virtues. I could see the image of the Holy Spirit over the Baldacchin, and...oh, the Baldacchin! To consider that indeed we are present at the Wedding Feast of the Lamb of God! There, right there, we beheld Christ the King, held up, drawing us all to Him, as He promised!

Today, from my particular vantage point at the rear, I had an entirely different view of the altar and the Crucifix which seems somewhat obscured when sitting in the front section, was quite prominent, such that I could not take my eyes off of it. I know that to enter into the Wedding Feast, I must approach the Cross.

I pondered how often I have hurt Him, and how I don't deserve His love. And yet, being there in the Cathedral, I'd had a sense of the immensity of God. There, surrounded by all the signs and symbols of our Faith, in this incredible building consecrated to God, wherin His Glory rests there in the tabernacle, where we enter into His very Presence, I had a sense of being contained in the Word. Being in the Cathedral is like being WITHIN God, surrounded by Him, embraced by Him...contained there within His ever-present love.

The architecture helps us understand, in a sense His immensity in a way that is nearly tangible, and yet, we still understand that He is not contained there Himself, but far transcends it.

I was so touched by the sense of being contained by His Word that, for awhile, I had to fight back tears. It wasn't sadness or joy, but rather a reaction to a Truth about God that perhaps couldn't be expressed in any other way.

It was a moment of enlightenment, realizing my own nothingness in the face of God, the importance of the Sacrifice of Redemption, offered...even for me. Such a realization always inspires one to want to offer something back, even understanding that anything we can offer is insufficient.

All of this brought me into pondering the Cross most especially as I passed by one of the Stations. It stands out starkly on the marble pillar with nothing to distract from the reality of His Passion: Jesus Accepts His Cross.

There it was. Jesus Accepts His Cross.

The thought came to me, that still small voice that always seems to have far more impact than the loudest shouts: Do I accept my Cross, too?

I silently asked Our Lord how to accept my Cross just as he had accepted his own? I asked Him to explain it to me. How do I embrace it? How do I embrace HIM by embracing my Cross? How can my own acceptance of my Cross in any way repay what He has done for me?

I realized how often I had and continue to presume upon His mercy. I realize how often I REJECT his mercy, and in so doing, wound Him even further. I thought about all the times I had rejected Him, offended Him, and stomped on Him in some way, when all Jesus has ever done for me...was love me. Love me so much He DIED for me, a truly horrible death. I knew that I was Jesus' Cross to bear, and yet...He still bears me. He has not thrown me down and abandoned me to corruption.

Spontaneously a prayer came to me, and I bowed my head to offer it back to Him, knowing that if it was of any value at all, it came from the Holy Spirit within me and it was both wisdom for the benefit of my soul, and a sincere offer to Jesus from the depths of my sinful soul.

Dearest Jesus,

The next time someone presumes upon me in any way, help me to remember all the times I have presumed upon You. The next time someone directly insults me, help me to recall the times I have insulted You or blasphemed against You. The next time someone offends me in any way, help me to recall to mind the times I have willfully, obstinately, and grievously offended You with my deliberate sin. The next time I am tempted to be impatient with someone, help me to recall how often you have been patient with me and how long you have waited for me to return to you in contrition. The next time I move to place myself above another, help me to remember how many times you fell as you walked to Calvary. The next time someone attacks me for any reason, before I give in to anger, help me to remember how You bore Your agony in silence and forgave Your attackers, begging Your Father to forgive them for they knew not what they were doing. Help me to realize that when I offend you, I DO know what I am doing, and yet...you still forgive me, over and over again.

Help me, Jesus, to recall your last words as you hung upon the Cross, dying: "Father, into Your hands I commend my spirit".

Let me arise each morning with this prayer on my lips as a reminder to die to myself in every moment so that I may be free to live for You.

Amen.

The truth is that we embrace our own Crosses by accepting HIS; for they are one and the same. In embracing our Crosses, we recognize who we really are and how desperately we need Our Beloved Savior. The only way to live for Christ is to be willing to die to ourselves and unite our sinfulness with His Passion and Death; only there can we be redeemed.

Jesus, into Your Hands I commend my Spirit.

*

How to Study Theology

1. Sit down with the assigned subject matter. Get comfortable. Make sure you have your highlighter, a good pen or pencil, notebook, and a glass of water or coffee or other study-inducing beverage of choice. Begin reading, paying close attention to anything emphasized by the professor, by the author of the work, etc. Take notes relating to the paper you will have to write on the subject. Try to concentrate.

2. Realize that the 5 year old stain on the carpet is distracting you. Shift positions so that it will be out of your direct line of sight, and continue reading. (Suggestion: stack up books if you need to block your view.)

3. Realize that the stain is there, you know about it, and so you must do something about it because instead of studying theology you are meditating on the origin of the stain, the memory of how it got there, or the methods used in the past to cover it up.

4. Try to continue reading. Switch subjects if necessary, maybe to something more pleasant if you didn't start with your favorite. If you're working on essay questions, try another question that maybe seems easier to answer. Sometimes it's best to start out with the subject matter with which you are most familiar.

5. Discover that you are writing about carpet stains instead of original sin as it relates to the Immaculate Conception. Put the book down, go and study the stain. Glance up at the steam-cleaner in the corner, and go get the vacuum cleaner. The carpet has to be vacuumed before it can be steamed. Vacuum the entire room thoroughly. Notice that the stairs haven't been vacuumed in awhile and host large doghair dust bunnies. Eliminate them, step by step. Since you're upstairs, vacuum that floor, too. Return to the first level and get the steam cleaner, add the solution and hot water, and begin to go to work on the stain on the carpet. Notice that it's lighter now but might need more treatment. Get another solution and scrub at the spot, then return to the steam cleaner to finish the job. The carpet is now clean. Survey the rest of the room and see that there are other spots. Since you went to the trouble to put it all together, go to work and clean the other visible areas of carpet as well.

6. An hour and a half later, return to do your homework. Pick up the book and begin reading. Notice that the dog is begging to go out. It's a nice day for once. Put the book aside, get the leash and take the dog for a nice leisurely walk while planning how you're going to get your studying done upon your return and how to tackle the question you can't seem to grasp.

7. An hour later return home, give the dog some water and a biscuit, settle down to study. Make sure you're taking good notes! It helps with focus. Now you're starting to grasp something, especially given the metaphor of the stain in the carpet. Remember that you want to blog about it later as a practical example of applied theology in everyday life. Consider how that would look in a popular Catholic publication. Wonder if you should submit the article you haven't written yet. Look down at your paper and admire the doodles you've made while pondering your fame and fortune arising from cleaning a stain you should have cleaned years ago when it first happened.

8. While considering the virtue of magnanimity and the vice of sloth, remember the laundry waiting to be done and realize if you don't do it NOW you won't have anything to wear tomorrow. Put the book aside and go to the laundry room. Make sure everything is properly sorted so that you can actually get it all done today. Consider that if you take the time to do this now you can spend more time studying on the weekend instead of doing laundry. Rationalize that it's a trade off.

9. With a load of laundry going, return to your study area and continue working on your assignment. Reach for your glass of water and find that it's empty and you're really really thirsty, especially since walking the dog. Get up for water, decide to make a pot of coffee to help you in concentrating. While it percolates, return to your books. While reading about spirituality and mysticism and how it relates to virtue, ponder Mystic Monk coffee and the Monks who roasted it for you. Put on some Gregorian Chant. Get a cup of coffee. Sit down to study.

10. The washing machine is done, go up to put it in the dryer and add another load to the wash. While passing the bathroom, you see that it's filthy and that annoys you. Take out the garbage, return to clean the sink, tub, shower and toilet. Decide the floor can be mopped later when you're done studying for the day.

11. Return to your assignment. You have enough notes to type up into at least a draft, so go to the computer. You've been waiting for the professor to return your assignment from last month, so check email to see if he had any helpful criticism that could be applied to the current paper. He didn't send anything but you see an email from an old friend who had been meaning to email for awhile. Write back; in charity you don't want your friend to have to wait, and you really miss talking to her, so you make sure to respond to each of her questions/comments and ask your own to correspond to her enthusiasm which is, of course, mutual.

12. Close the web browser after reading and responding to five emails. Start typing your paper, being careful to add footnotes where required. It's very important; this professor is a stickler for proper citations, down to the last punctuation mark!

13. Look at the clock on the computer. It's time to start dinner. The dog is asking to go out and wants to be fed. There are more emails waiting to be answered. The mail is still waiting to be sorted, junk mail tossed away. Stand up to handle each of these things, intending to return to studying later.

14. Make dinner. Turn on the TV to catch the news, return a phone call. Grab your food when it's ready, push aside a couple books so you can sit down on the couch and watch the sitcom that came on after the news. This is a good one! Thoroughly enjoy your meal, intending to go back to your homework.

15. In the middle of your favorite primetime show, look around and notice that your theology notes and books are scattered all over the livingroom and the place is quite untidy. You look like a geek with all these books everywhere! But you're happy because the laundry is done and the carpet is clean. And you have a great idea for a blog post if only you weren't too exhausted to write any more tonight.

16. Turn off the tv, take the dog out, and go to bed. Bring one of your theology tomes up with you thinking that it might help you fall asleep and maybe dream of the subject matter: one way to internalize it! Lie down on your bed, decide to pick up Anne of Green Gables to read your favorite part, put it aside, turn off the light and go to sleep.

17. Dream about Hamlet's MacBeth "Out! Out damned spot!"

18. Wake up wondering why you were dreaming about Shakespeare and why the Bard was washing bird poop off of your car.

19. Sleepily make coffee and realize you never cleaned the coffee pot out. Make instant coffee so you can get a quick fix, and en route to the livingroom to turn on the morning news, trip over your Canon Law book and spill coffee all over the floor. Return to the kitchen sipping what's left, grab some paper towels and try to soak up the coffee. Realize that it will stain. Shrug. The carpet is old and has seen better days. Return to the kitchen to make real coffee since the act of wiping up the spill woke you up a little. Take your fresh coffee into the livingroom, sit down on the couch and regard your unfinished notes from Moral Theology.

20. Set the coffee down, pick up your book and start reading and highlighting various sections. Then realize that you can see the stain the coffee made on the floor and it's distracting you.....

***

Memory

Just an observation:

Matching socks is like a never-ending game of "Memory", wherein one tries to figure out where in that pile the other sock was once sighted. You just KNOW there's a match, and you can't figure out why the pack of new socks you bought is suddenly down to half what it was. And so you lay the "singles" aside thinking perhaps their matches are still in the laundry basket. And then the pile of singles grows, and there is much rejoicing in the land when finally, a match, at long last is found. While going about this menial task, you find yourself pondering fairy tales and dreaming of princes and princesses, until you realize that you're wearing a pair of mismatched socks with holes in them, and the idea of an actual match was just a fairy tale after all.

Women's Argument of the Month Club - LIFTOFF!

I'm watching "Fight Club" right now as I wind down from the first meeting of the "board" for the Women's Argument of the Month Club.

We started by establishing a few ground rules:

1st RULE: You do not talk about AOTM CLUB.

2nd RULE: You DO NOT talk about AOTM CLUB.

3rd RULE: If someone says "stop" or goes limp, taps out the argument is over.

4th RULE: Only two women to an argument.

5th RULE: One argument at a time, ladies.

6th RULE: No weapons except rosaries, Church Documents and other theological academic sources

7th RULE: Arguments will go on as long as they have to.

8th RULE: If this is your first night at AOTM CLUB, you HAVE to argue!

Oh, wait...no....maybe not...

In all seriousness it seems we all attended this meeting with the serious goal of really getting this thing going. Naturally, we realized we have more questions that need resolution before anything can move forward, so we adjourned with another date set to meet in December, and a tentative goal of starting an actual event in January.

We agreed on one thing; making sure we have a firm foundation, mission, and ground rules is key, so we are going to take the time needed and plan carefully. We would LOVE to see the success enjoyed by the men's AOTM club, but that kind of success takes time, it takes planning, and it takes MASSIVE numbers of volunteers.

I know from experience that volunteers are hard to come by. Everyone wants the events, but no one wants to do the work. So we're not going to even TRY to start with that. To do so would be disastrous and we think this would sink immediately.

We talked a little about starting with a discussion group, but in actuality, we don't think that would draw many people, and might be a little too low key. Our general feeling is that we'd like to start off with a speaker, but with an "edgy" topic of some sort, something certain to draw interest, and which would open the floor for those who may truly want to debate the topic during the Q&A.

We want hard-core theology, hard-core apologetics, so want to be sure we start off on the right foot. The venue will very likely be a local restaurant so that we won't have the issue of needing volunteers or any organization other than finding the place, the speaker, and getting the word out. It is most likely going to take place on a Friday night. Who doesn't love theology on a Friday?

Of course we have yet to choose a topic, and getting a speaker on short notice might be impossible. But then again, if God is in charge of this, He will provide; we have only to ask and do the legwork.

So! For all you women out there who have been watching the men go to argue theological topics every month, your chance is coming!

I just want to add one thing:

We have been informed that the husband of one of our board members had this bit of encouragement to offer us all:

FAITHFUL CATHOLIC WOMEN ROCK!

We concur, and thank you!

Ladies, there ya have it. We shall keep you updated on this adventure as it develops!

SNAP Judgments

I refuse to link to them, but everyone knows who SNAP is and the fact they are an enemy of the Church operating under a facade of "good intention".

Let it be known that anyone who responds to any criticism of SNAP or like groups with absolute disgust should not be the targets of such judgmental and irrational questions/accusations such as:

* "You must never have been sexually abused!"

* "You are denying the fact that priests sexually abused people!"

..among other stupid, irrational absurdities. Those very challenges are so ridiculous and offensive it's impossible to respond, and actually...doesn't DESERVE a response. Seriously, why does someone have to have been sexually abused in order to understand that it's a horrible, horrible soul-and-life-destroying evil? And how does legitimate criticism of an anti-Catholic organization that claims to be "Catholic" translate into denial that the abuse ever occurred?

(As an aside, that's exactly the type of emotionally-based "argument" I expect from dissidents, i.e. SNAP members if we start the AOTM club, and I am quite amused at the idea of someone trying to defend such a position against actual facts and figures and rationality.)

If you need a quick synopsis on this group, and a starting point for your research into them, this has a nice summary: Twilight of the Scandal.

You may also be interested in reading the legal case history about Fr. Gordon MacRae, written by a journalist not associated with the Church, and you may be especially interested in his treatment by SNAP which obviously has no interest in Truth, only money and power. Further information for research into Fr. Gordon MacRae and the lack of due process for accused priests can be found here.

If you support SNAP, stop your donations NOW for I would suggest continuing to donate to them is not only scandalous, but may well be a mortal sin. (Actually scandal and mortal sin go hand in hand.) But that's between you and your confessor. Remember that mortal sin consists of the following:

1. The issue is an objectively grave matter

2. It is done with full knowledge

3. It is done with complete consent.

Let's analyze:

* We know this is a very grave matter. Ignoring and falsely imprisoning priests because it's the popular thing to do, and doing it for money and power is objectively, a very very grave sin. Being involved in a group that is doing such a thing is akin to direct participation, which is also a grave sin. (It's like donating to Planned Parenthood)

* You have been provided with the info and you now have full knowledge, and if you chose NOT to click on the links provided above, you are even MORE culpable because you are REJECTING Truth outright.

* By continuing to support a group that would do such things with complete consent...just sealed the deal, and not in a good way.

Mercy!

It's a dang good thing Christ left us with the Sacrament of Confession, isn't it? As long as we realize what we've done, that we're truly sorry, and desire to amend our lives and not repeat that sin, well....all of the above can be, in a sense, undone. But if you're a member of SNAP you might have to make reparation in another way, such as sacrificing and doing penance for the priests wrongly imprisoned because of YOUR support.

As far as those nasty creatures who engaged in any kind of sexual abuse...let them be punished by the law just as it applies to every other lay person accused of the same crimes.

Their punishment should not be worse or privileged in any way. THE SAME.

On the spiritual end, vengeance belongs to God alone and no doubt He will repay...whether in this life or the next. It's STILL our job, and the very direct teaching of Jesus Christ to forgive and pray for those who have sinned, no matter how much they have hurt us or what sins they have committed.

I suggest maybe we have a day of prayer, penance, and reparation for members of SNAP and like organizations. And the same for priests who have abused and are guilty. Both have equal need for God's mercy, for both have done nothing but victimize others and lead souls astray.

The difference between SNAP and a priest brought to legal justice for legitimate crimes is this: SNAP is running unchecked and continuing to destroy souls, both that of others and their own.

Personally, I'd like to see justice across the board, and am realizing that since there is no justice in this world, it's going to happen for some in the next.

Let's all offer Divine Mercy prayers, sincerely, for all the souls that have done damage to the Church and to our unity FROM THE VERY BEGINNING!

Prayers for Reparation

Given this is the octave of the Feast of All Souls, and tomorrow is a First Friday, Saturday a First Saturday, let us remember especially those souls who have hurt the Church...and pray for their release from Purgatory. Let us do THEIR PENANCE. Let us obtain every indulgence for them.

This is a grace-filled month especially offered for the Holy Souls in Purgatory. In turn, I'm sure the Holy Souls will pray for our intentions, that being the conversion of souls here on earth, especially those actively involved in their futile attempts to destroy the Church, within which they are only destroying themselves. Pray for them.

Let us be done with snap judgments and instead, turn to prayer especially for those who are willing to convict and condemn before they are willing to pray and offer mercy.

That means I'm asking you to pray for me, as well. Thank you.

*

Argument of the Month Club - for Women!

I didn't get a lot of comments on yesterday's post, and maybe that's because most of my readership isn't from the Twin Cities.

However, it is my duty to inform all the strong faithful Catholic women in the diocese that a Women's Argument of the Month Club may be in the works. The groundwork is being laid and there are a few of us getting together this weekend to discuss the possibility and see what's feasable, and what isn't.

In other words, it's about Faith and Reason.

In order to address some concerns, let me say first of all that this ain't gonna be yo mama's sewing circle and "let's-talk-about-our-feelings-discussion-group." That has its own venue everywhere else. Not here.

1. The Women's Argument of the Month Club is going to keep the title and no, we're NOT changing the word "Argument" into "Discussion".

2. While vegetables and dip and salads MAY appear on the buffet table, they will be ADDITIONS to the same hearty and meaty meals provided to the men. I don't know about you-all but I'm a midwestern girl from Irish and Swedish ancestry (among other peasant European countries) and I grew up on a meat-n-potatoes diet. Didn't most of us?

3. This is about REAL hard-core theology, REAL issues in the Catholic world today, and REAL argument (and ok, discussion ALSO) involving faith and reason. In other words, if your entire argument about why you believe, for example, that contraception should be ok is based upon feelings, you are going to be shredded and fried up with toast and served with fish and chips on Friday. The converse is also true; if your reasons for supporting the Church's teaching on why contraception is a grave evil is based on feelings, the same thing applies. If you're going to enter into an argument, know what you're talking about.

Again....this ain't yo mama's sewing circle. If that's what you're looking for, go join it.

If you want hard-core REAL Catholic, AUTHENTIC feminism at its best, this is the club you've been waiting for. And it's going to need YOUR help to get it going.

So stand by for more info. Our little group has yet to meet and I'm jumping the gun on this announcement to ask for prayers both for the current men-only AOTM and for discernment as to whether the Holy Spirit is truly calling for an official women's group to be started as well...and in what way.

If you ARE local and interested, drop a comment in the box, spread the word, and if it seems like this is going somewhere, maybe the few of us will start another web site dedicated to the mission.

Disclaimer: Someone talk me out of this quick. I obviously have NO IDEA what I'm getting myself into.

Take Up Your Spear

There's maybe something in the wind these days, a sort of discontent among the women of this diocese. There's something amiss, and quietly, some of us have been talking, conniving (as women can do so well) and realizing that we're not alone in our thoughts and desires.

There is something in this diocese that men have, and it excludes women. I might add that it excludes women for good reason, and we do not desire to encroach upon their sacred ground, for what they have, they desperately NEED for themselves and it is doing incredible things in building the Kingdom of God.

Yet, there's something missing; there is no counterpart for women.

I know some of my readers are scratching their heads right about now, wondering what on EARTH I could be talking about? Have I gone insane? (Well, it's possible, but that shouldn't be a new question.) Am I talking about the priesthood? No. I am now and will continue to be a strong advocate of the infallibly-taught-belonging-to-the-deposit-of-faith all-male Priesthood.

Then WHAT?!

Ladies, you've probably noticed the lack yourself, even if you can't put your finger on it. Look around at all the pious church lady offerings in your own parish. What do you see? Of course there are very good and laudable volunteer opportunities that require both men and women, in the parish and in organizations supported by the parish. That might mean working in the kitchen or making blankets for Birthright or Holy Family Adoption Agency. Great stuff!

But look further. Look at the "spiritual formation" opportunities designed for women, and "recreational activities" through the different women's organizations. What do you see?

More of the same. Some speaker comes in to talk about what true feminism is, and it's designed mostly for mothers and families and longevity in marriage. All well and good. That fills a niche, but it doesn't appeal across the board, does it? Or what about the things that are supposed to be "fun"? What do they involve? Scrapbooking, needlepoint, recipe sharing, cookie swapping....UGH!

Sorry y'all, but I'm too bored to go on. I'm glad that some people enjoy those hobbies, but what I really wanna know is this: where's the paintball? Where's the skiing? Where's the snowmobiling out at someone's farm by the state park? Where's the ADVENTURE? Where is Father Corapi or Father Barron or...someone name a great orthodox female speaker? Where is the REAL spiritual formation? Why are women left with fluff while men get all the good stuff?????

Every time I look at the female saints in the Church, I see women who were ON FIRE with love for God, and they weren't afraid to defend the Faith. They weren't afraid to speak out and they gladly and joyfully went to some truly awful forms of martyrdom.

I'm not slamming simplicity. I'm all for simplicity, and holiness in the small things. And all of us are called to that.

But some of us need more than that, and truly, our times DEMAND more of us.

Ah, now I'm getting to the meat of this post. Are you intrigued? Are you bored to death with "women's stuff" at your parish? Would you like something that feeds your fiery spirit and desire to defend your faith?

Well, ladies, maybe something is coming. But it's going to take prayer, it's going to take work, it's going to take organization, and it's going to require a really solid solid faithful holy advisor.

How many of you are familiar with the Argument of the Month Club? For those who are not, this is a club for men only, they have awesome meals, they witness great debates and have the opportunity to challenge the debators at the end of the evening. This event is drawing anywhere from 200-400 men each month! This is incredible! This is awesome! God bless them!

But you know what, there's a lot of women who want the same thing. And I'm not talking about some fluffy "speaker" who comes in to teach us how to make silk flowers. NO! I'm talking about getting those same kinds of speakers as invited by AOTM to discuss hard-core issues and in so doing, teach us how to defend our faith more effectively, give us a chance to step up to the plate (literally and figuratively), and discover that we have more to offer God and the Church than just needlepoint and crafts. Ladies we have VOICES and we love the Church...shouldn't we be a lot more vocal in that love for Christ? Isn't apologetics part of our baptismal requirements, too?

Of course we don't have to be a clone of the men's club; we are women, after all and certain elements may not suit us. But for the tomboys among us, of which there are many, perhaps it's time to answer this particular Call. We need a similar women's organization.

Some of us are kicking around the idea of starting this club. I don't know where it will go. Certainly it can't depend upon me, especially given I can't organize myself out of a wet paper bag ripped open on each end. But I sure can ADVERTISE, can't I? Oh, and you'll NEVER see me upon the platform speaking...I'm not a debater, either.

*

So, ladies everywhere, please keep this intention in your prayers. It might go somewhere, it might not. It depends upon the Holy Spirit. Everyone knows that if He isn't involved, it will fall flat. As I understand it, someone tried to start a club at some point in the past and it didn't "take" so no longer exists. Maybe it was timing. Maybe it was lack of marketing (I certainly had never heard of it). In any case....is NOW the time?

Who's with us?

Mass for the Feast of All Souls

I just arrived home from Mass, and I'm grieving with the same kind of sadness as that which strikes me to the core on Good Friday. Such is proper, it would seem. Today, and throughout the month of November especially, we remember the souls of those who have died, and we pray for them, offer sacrifices for them, and implore the Saints to intercede as well.

Last night I woke up around 3 am (which is common for me) and realized that I'd almost forgotten a loss very dear to me; my cousin George, who died in April. He's been at the forefront of my mind all day, and in truth, I believe he is asking for prayers. Yet I also have been praying much for my Dad, in hopes that somehow, my measly prayers can perhaps be of some help to him. I guess it's proper that these two souls have been closest to my heart today, for although no one could replace my Dad, George was definitely a "father figure" to me in some ways and I would not be the person I am without either of them.

So my heart is heavy today, as it should be.

This evening at Mass Father's homily nearly brought me to tears. In truth, it did, a little, and I fought mightily to will those tears back into their ducts. I knew if I got started, I would be overwhelmed by the grief he so perfectly named as he spoke about the purpose of today's remembrance, and in considering that everyone there had lost someone close to them. We were there, tonight, in Catholic Churches all over the world, united in our grief and in our prayers for all the Holy Souls.

It was as beautiful as it was sad, but there wasn't any other place I wanted to be in that moment.

After I had received Holy Communion and returned to my pew, I recalled that NOW is the time to unite my grief, there at the foot of the Cross with our Sorrowful Mother. There, at the Cross, where that same sorrow sent Our Lord to suffer death in order to overcome it. It occurred to me that when we grieve, it is a very direct participation in the sufferings of Christ, for before we ever experienced love, He had experienced losses we cannot fathom, and grieved so profoundly He was made incarnate in order to free us from death!

While pondering this, suddenly the words, "May the Passion of Our Lord be always in your heart. May the Passion of the Lord be always in your soul!" so strongly it was as if I was taken directly to Calvary, where I knelt on the stones. I could hear the creak of the heavy Cross that swayed in the wind and in response to Our Lord's gasping breaths. I felt drops of His blood, noted the terrible lashes that wound down His legs even to his feet. It was so real, so vivid, that I knew in that very moment it WAS true, it WAS happening, and it does at EVERY Holy Mass!

The Sacrifice of the Mass is just that; it is the one and only Sacrifice of Calvary, made present for us in all times.

And there is where we most efficaciously offer our prayers and petitions, where we unite our own sufferings, offer ourselves upon the same altar, taking refuge under the shadow of His wings, seeking to hide within Jesus' Most Sacred Heart.

I was torn away from the blessed images that had come to me in prayer, called to stand for the final blessing. As I opened my eyes I felt as though, for a moment, I'd been transported through time...and I never wanted it to end.

Truly, the Mass is more real than anything else we can experience in this life.

The rest of life is only preparation, time spent preparing to go to Mass, and each Mass is an experience of the Eternal Mass to which we are called for eternity. The blessed are those who have gone before us and wait for us to join them when the Master calls.

We mourn those we love, and we are left with grief-spotted lives, torn tapestries revealing those we think should be present in our lives. And yet, if what the Mass reveals is true, even if they are in the fires of Purgatory, they are blessed, for even there they are a PART of the Mass in a way none of us can be. They are in constant prayer...for us. They are free from this earthly mortal coil that holds us back, perhaps in a true "dark night of the soul" for they are SO CLOSE to God, and need only our prayers and sacrifices to help them enter into eternal beatitude, finally reaching that eternal Wedding Feast of the Lamb.

We mourn here on earth, and it's proper to our state. We sow in tears, praying to one day reap in joy when finally, we, too are called by the Master to enter into His house. Perhaps we, too, will need to be purified, and we will need the prayers of the Faithful especially when Heaven touches Earth in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

Today, let us mourn those we love, and those who have no one else to pray for them. Let us recall the Passion and Death of Our Lord and rejoice in His Sacrifice, for it is that very Sacrifice that gives us all hope for a blessed eternity. If we truly love those we have lost, that is what we will for them. Remember that death is not the end but really only the beginning of eternity.

Thank you, Jesus.

**

Lord, have mercy on us.

Christ, have mercy on us.

Lord, have mercy on us

Christ, hear us

Christ, most graciously hear us

Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord.

And may perpetual light shine upon them.
May the souls of the faithfully departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.

Amen.

The Liturgy: Heaven Torn Open

We face a crisis today: most Catholics don't know what the Liturgy is about, what happens, or why they should go to Mass. It's a sad commentary to admit that most of us don't know the first thing about the Mass, and consider it to be something akin to a childhood requirement and so we attend it for the same reasons: because we are TOLD to do so.

Yet how many ever bother to ASK why this is so? No wonder so many fall away! In this culture of relativism, no one thinks it NECESSARY to ask important questions about eternity, as they find it more convenient to rest in the lazy philosophy of this age that dictates comfort over sacrifice, orientation to self over orientation towards others, and outright hostility towards God versus love of a God who both Created and Saved us by becoming one of us!

A few years ago a friend of mine, a Baptist, asked why Catholics are required to attend Mass each Sunday.

I had a hard time answering him, because, firstly, based on his query, I was surprised he didn't seem familiar with the Ten Commandments, including the Commandment to keep Holy the Sabbath; what good Christian would EVER question the need to honor God on the day He designates? Who would DARE disobey such a simple Command? Whether we are Catholic or Baptist or Evangelical or Lutheran or Presbyterian or Methodist...who would EVER question this Divine Commandment necessitating the attendance of Worship on Sunday, the Day of Our Lord's Resurrection?

Are you INSANE to ignore Christ in favor of a Football or Baseball game? Come on, Christians, this ISN'T just a "Catholic thing"! Get your priorities straight!

Rant Over, Moving On to Original Topic...

For Catholics, though there is more; it's not just because it is a binding Commandment; in going back to my conversation with my friend, it was necessary to explain to him that one needs to ALSO understand what the Mass is about.

It's not a mere "service" where we sing a few songs and listen to a few readings, get a token akin to something used to clean our vehicles, and leave. The world wants to paint the Mass with such a parody, and refuses to recognize that such is so deeply offensive to us that in order to make reparation for the offense, we do even MORE of the same!

Oh, yes, the Mass, the Liturgy, is important; not just for us, right now in this moment, but for Eternity, for everyone, everywhere.

I write about it today, on the Feast of All Saints, because it is at Mass, at each and EVERY Mass throughout the year, that Heaven is torn open and all of Heaven and Earth, in all times, in all places, the Sacrifice of Calvary is made present. The Mass is the preparation for the Savior, the Nativity, the Birth of Christ, the explanation of that preparation (via the homily which expounds on the scriptures, if done according to what is supposed to be done), and finally the Sacrifice of Calvary. It is made present in all times, past, present and future.

When we kneel at the Consecration, we are kneeling at the foot of the Cross itself! The Precious Blood of Christ falls upon us, unless we repel it by our own sinful state! We must be open to receive the graces that come to us so freely through the offering of Jesus's Body and Blood!

The Liturgy is the public worship of the Church, wherein all the Angels and Saints, and we are present at the Sacrifice of the Lamb, at the Wedding, are all, together, the Bride who receives Him!

The Liturgy is where Heaven is torn open, where the Holy Spirit enters the Upper Room and all of Heaven is made present, not to condescend to our way of being, but to raise us up to the Heavenly Liturgy, where the Saints and the Angels Praise God eternally in their perpetual and infinite union with Him, all through the Wounds of Christ...who made it possible!

Poverty

I never learned this growing up. I learned that the Blessed Sacrament is Christ Himself, even though I couldn't understand. I still believed, for those wiser than me told me it was so.

But the Liturgy didn't help me to understand it, for rather the liturgy I remember and even experience today, through the music, enforces a sort of "symbolic" Holy Communion. We sing about "bread" and "wine" and about how we are "going" to encounter Jesus, ignoring the fact of our Liturgical and, therefore, ACTUAL reality that CHRIST IS PRESENT NOW!

When we attend Mass, yes, there is bread, but when we are "singing" (I use the term loosely) about it, in actuality, at that point, Christ Himself is made manifest in the Blessed Sacrament. We are present at Calvary but singing as though we are in the desert with the Israelites, eating only Manna!

Manna could not save our ancestors the Israelites and today, cannot save us!

When we attend Mass, we are NOT partaking in mere meltaway bread, but the very Body and Blood of Christ!

There is a great poverty in the Church today; there is a great disregard for what is happening, a total ignorance of the actual presence of the Lord, and of the Communion of Saints. There is a great disregard and total oblivion to the presence not only of the Cross, of the blood that saves us, but the worship of the Saints who kneel there with us in solidarity.

Today, on the Feast of All Saints, we are reminded of their presence, which is there every day. We are never alone, for those who have gone before us and rest with Our Lord still live, and they cannot live without praying. Why should we not ask for them to pray for us, too?

Today, on the Feast of All Saints, we recognize, out of ONE Liturgy throughout the year, their presence, although they are present at all, and tomorrow, on the Feast of All Souls, we ask those Saints to pray with us for all those who have died; we know not if they are Saints or whether they, most likely, burn in the purifying fires of Purgatory.

Indeed, most who die do not go straight to Heaven, but pass on to the Holy Fires of Purifying Purgation; let us pray for them, sacrifice for them, recognize what they suffer so that they can move on to Eternal Beatitude.

My dear readers, my dear friends, my dear visitors, pray for those who have died and do not forget them. Remember the Saints who have gone before you and who glorify God in their holiness, for it is ONLY God who makes anyone Holy. Pray for those in Purgatory, for they cannot pray for themselves but surely pray for YOU even if you do not recognize them in those holy, purifying fires.

Do not think the Liturgy is a sandbox or a playground belonging to the individual. It is the very household of God, set to order by Him alone, and we have the privilege of being invited. We are mere guests to this Heavenly Sacrifice and Feast, and have not the right to introduce our own themes or preferences.

To introduce our own ideals would alienate our Host, Our Lord Jesus Christ. To enter into this house and try to manifest our own comfortable preferences....how could any of us even consider such a debacle? How could ANY of us, upon entering upon a wedding feast, impose our lower preferences and seek to destroy the ideal of the Groom and the Bride?

Such is the Liturgy, which belongs to all times. The very moment we impose our own preferences, we leave Eternity in favor of personal fantasy, and if we are leading, we sacrifice grace for personal Pride. Do we DARE cut ourselves off from the Sacrifice of the Cross?

*

For Fun - A Dark and Stormy Night

I had meant to post this yesterday, or rather, re-post. Back in 2007 I wrote about a creepy night, a storm, and horror movie rules. What I learned that night is that maybe the actions taken by horror movie characters are far more real than any of us can ever really understand, and when you're in the moment, the "rules" are the LAST thing to come to mind...

Are you interested? Then read on....

It Was a Dark And Stormy Night....

This is my obligatory Halloween post.

Today, I saw a post at Happy Catholic, giving the rules of lessons learned from horror movies.

These are especially pertinent:

* Do not search the basement, especially if the power has just gone out.

* When you have the benefit of a group of people, NEVER pair off and go it alone.

Now, while these rules are great, they are very general: for you see, the basement may also mean "upstairs", and "pair off" can also mean "solo".

So, with that prelude, let us begin the entrance music, and the narrative laughter of Vincent Price....

(cue evil chuckle...)

**********************

Several years ago, I lived in an old house in Minneapolis; an old two-story house that favored darkly stained woodwork, soft pine flooring, and high ceilings. The upper story sported a couple dormer windows that faced toward the street, had window seats to go with the dormers, etc. You are likely familiar with such architecture.

One summer night, my roommate, the homeowner, was at work. A male friend of mine and I had gone out earlier and returned to my house, planning to spend the rest of the evening watching TV. Our show, "Mad TV" was interrupted by the local weatherman tracking a massive severe storm. Predictably, the storm arrived with a huge gust of wind and rain, and of course, knocked the power out. Realizing it was a lost cause, we moved from the couches to a mostly unfurnished area of the room and made ourselves comfortable on the wood floor as we watched the storm rage outside, continuing our commentary on life and technology in the face of nature.

I had already lit one candle and perched it on the top of the piano before seating myself next to my friend. The flame cast small and rapid shadows across the room, shrinking and elongating our own profiles against the walls and the cold fireplace situated on the northern wall, interrupted only by ultra-bright flashes of lightening.

Then we felt a drip from above. Mind you, we were on the first floor and there was a second floor that contained the bedrooms. I raised my hand, seeking the falling fluid, trying to pinpoint from whence it came. I did not seek in vain.

Although I could not see the fluid, logically I realized that a window must be open. Or maybe the roof was gone, taken away by the intense winds. Perhaps the hail had broken a window.

Or...(cue evil laughter....)

...given the red flags above...maybe it was blood. It wasn't as though we could see what was coming through the ceiling. It wasn't as though the foundation for a good horror flick wasn't present in palpable form.

Either way, as we both looked upward, my hand out, catching the drips, I told my friend (a guy, but just a friend) to light the rest of the candles downstairs. I took the first candle and headed for the stairway.

Alone.

When I reached the bottom step, I stopped, realizing that what I was doing was against "the rules".

"Hey...if I don't come back down...GET OUT!" I yelled as I began to mount the creaky old wooden stairs.

My friend chuckled and continued lighting and placing candles around the room. (That's in the generic script, too.)

Slowly I climbed the stairs into the darkness of the stormy night, holding my single candle, waiting for the draft that would put it out and leave me in pitch blackness, the complete absence of light, with whatever had caused that awful dripping. The palm that had touched the unverified fluid felt tacky; was the roommate really home, after all?

Slowly, with an outward courage I did not feel, I crept into my roommate's bedroom and found my way, via the candle flame and flashing lightning, to the dormer window. Her gym bag was on the window seat, and in order for me to reach the handle, I had to move it. I took care to be sure the light curtains, although soaked with rainwater, did not touch my candle.

Upon grasping the strap, I recognized immediately the sensation of the driving rain, which had, in fact, caused a puddle to form on top of the waterproof bag. Clearly, as we'd surmised, the window was open. I began to relax.

Carefully, I set my roommate's gym bag on the floor and knelt on the window seat so I could reach out and reel the window closed. Mentally I noted that I'd have to return later with towels to soak up the water on the floor.

On my way back downstairs, having so far been unmolested by the creature that lured me to the darkest place of the house via the open window, I watched the closet...ready to fight or flee. But it remained closed. I listened for creaks...but the floorboards never creaked. I felt for the slain body of my roommate...but never tripped in the darkness.

And all the while the storm raged around the house. I sensed that something was laughing at me.

I reached the stairs, waiting for the scythe to whir through the air towards my throat...but it never happened.

Step by step...each terrible, creaking step, I found my way back to the main floor....and there was my friend.....


...In a well-lighted room, all the candles aflame, as he watched the storm outside, resigned to the hail damage to his vehicle.

I joined him, setting my candle on the pinewood floor, and together, we waited for the lights to come back on. When the storm ended, he left and drove back home.

Update:

We're still friends. My guy friend, Dennis, is alive and well. He finished his aerospace engineering program and found a job with a major company.

My roommate came home the next morning, exhausted from work, and by then, her room was dry and the power was on, and no one was dead.

The vehicles parked outside the house that night had lots of hail damage. As I had a Saturn, my damage total was limited so the insurance paid me a little over $1,000 which I used to purchase equipment I needed that winter for Ski Patrol, and pay a few other bills. I never fixed my car.

The electricity was restored the next day.

***

I never said it was an interesting story.

Mocking the Devil

People who weigh in on the annual "Halloween Debate" often cite the costumes that are used by children and adults alike; they dress as devils, monsters, ghosts, witches, and all sorts of creepy creatures, juxtaposed with the also-traditional saints and angels or, of course, movie characters, persons from history (Mary Queen of Scots comes to mind), etc. To some people's minds, the more devilish costumes seem to them to be a form of "affirmation" of dark powers and principalities, and really, nothing could be further from the truth. At least not in the original intention.

In ye olde tymes, the children dressed up devilishly not to give honor, but to MOCK the devil, and oh, how the devil HATES to be mocked! It takes his power away when we refuse to fear him, and when those innocent children are doing so, it's even WORSE for him! And of course, the practice of dressing as Saints and Angels WAS a sign of honor, of how God overcomes evil. I seem to recall reading somewhere about "passion plays" where the Saints and Angels would banish the little "devils", and so the children both had fun and learned about the triumph of the redemption.

So in the spirit of remembering the olde traditions, I have been pondering how I should dress up this year if I hand out candy. A couple years ago, at work my boss and I dressed as Saints and went around to different classrooms in the school to talk about who we were. My Saint happened to have been a religious sister, so I wore a "habit" and carried the symbols proper to the Saint, then kept the costume on when I handed out candy to the little cuties who came by.

I've decided though, to be SCARY this year! I like the idea of mocking the devil, although I have no interest in putting on red footie pajamas and attaching horns to my head and a little forked tail to my butt. Somehow that look works on a child but just makes an adult look so ridiculous the actual mocking of the devil is lost and becomes mocking of the ridiculous adult.

So I pondered and pondered, thinking of all the creative costumes I've worn in the past. None are really proper. And then...it occurred to me. What's the SCARIEST thing I can think of? What mocks the devil and his work in this world?

WOMYNPRIESTS!

Oh, yeah!

I can't even CONSIDER anything scarier than that! So tonight, I'm going to dress as a womynpryst! Of course, EVERYONE knows they don't really exist, but that's also what makes them SCARIER! ARRRRRRR!

Here's how I'm going to create my costume: I'm going to find an old white sheet and cut a hole in the middle for my head, then find some kind of a belt or rope or something to tie it at my waist. We'll call that an "alb". Then I'll get a red or neon-colored plastic tablecloth, cut a hole in the center of that, and drape it over my head. We'll call that the "chasuble". Then I'll find a clashing swirly-patterned or rainbow-colored scarf, and drape that over the "chasuble" and we'll call that the "stole". Oh, and I have to find a grey wig or maybe use flour or something to make my hair gray.

Actually, as I think about it, that IS the authentic outfit of "womynpriests"! For props, I'll carry around a kool-aid pitcher filled with grape juice and a tiffany-glass bowl containing cubed French or Italian bread, maybe mixed with honey-wheat pita bits.

I wonder if I can find anyone to dress up as members of CTA or VOTF? Any takers? I might also need a womynbishop with a tall clashing badly-designed "mitre". You have to look as authentic as I do! Oh, and if you're going to do this, you have to go around scowling and railing against the male hierarchy but smiling and cowtowing to anyone who sings your same mantra.

I seriously can't think of a better way than this to mock the devil and his work.

Oh, I'm off to put my costume together!

*

I LOVE Halloween! This is great!

RainGlare

A Free-Association post compliments of Adoro being random:

I swore to myself I'd never write about my discernment again.

Obviously I'm an idiot for EVER having done so. It's hard to write about especially now, and when I do it, I get frustrated by the comments if I leave them open. It's frustrating to me because all I'm trying to do is be heard. The voice of those who are discerning is a lost one, and one often ignored, willfully. It's difficult, then, to put myself out there as that voice, and find that even the explanations are minimized, or people think that it's something that needs to be "fixed." We are a nation of "fixers". We have this weird need to end ANY kind of suffering, even if it is suffering that belongs to a certain kind of purification or formation.

We have this weird idea that everything needs to be comfortable or that everyone needs to be comforted. And we are willing to run all OVER people as long as it means they are "fixed" according to our own personal definitions.

As an aside:

Personally, part of my discernment problem is just that I happen to be a cold fish and can't stand people fawning over me, and I don't tend to fawn over others, either. (Maybe that comes from my few German genes, dunno). I question, though, exactly how I can both be a cold fish and a total softie with my heart on my sleeve all the time, but there it is. I'm a paradox even to myself.

I don't really know why I'm writing any of this. Who really cares? (For the literalists: that's a rhetorical question coming from the wry side. Please don't answer it.)

But here goes....

This evening, I got caught in some freeway traffic. It was rainy, the roads glared, the headlights glared, the windshield was partially fogging no matter what I did, and it was raining but inconsistently, which, combined with road spray, made it extra hard to see. When I drive in such conditions, even if I'm following an Uncle Ike type, I tend to just stay there until there is a huge gap in traffic, because I fear I'll miss something in all the rainglare and end up changing lanes directly into the path of a oncoming semi or something and end up being spatula'd up off the road and sent home in a bucket.

Tonight, as I drove a particularly bad stretch of constantly changing traffic, I followed the crowd in the right lane, and when I began to see flashing lights, I did check and try to move over a lane per Minnesota law. I wasn't able to get all the way over, and in fact, a racing driver actually swept PAST me as I was passing the Police Officer walking between the stopped vehicle and his own. I was amazed by the audacity of that driver, who should have KNOWN that law but still chose to ignore it and nearly cause an accident as he went between me and a car on our left in the next lane.

I was amazed only in that weird rhetorical sense that comes with wanting a Pollyanna attitude, yet not able to find it through all the cynicism that tells me the driver was either a total idiot, a total criminal, or driving so fast through the rainglared roads that he didn't see the cop on the side of the road until he was already done cutting people off. So, "amazed" but not a bit surprised. Rather, it was expected. Which is why I don't change lanes in such conditions. I'm not a Pollyanna.

Anyway, as I got back into the right lane, I thought about that Officer, and prayed for him. The cars in front of me...NONE tried to get into the left lane, even though it was clear. They slowed down, but at 50 mph down from 60...it's still deadly.

I remembered my own freeway traffic stops, quite vividly, actually. I hated them. I hated standing at the side of the road, cars and trucks flying past me as if we weren't there, as I bent towards the driver, trying to hear, trying to yell above the sound of traffic, but still trying to make sure I wasn't entering dangerous space.

Officer Safety is primary, even when the idea is a farce.

More cops are killed in traffic stops than in any other activity.

We can hover our hand near the gun on our hips, or we can have our hand on them directly, ready to draw, but if we're taken out by a semi, it doesn't matter what we're holding...it's the bucket and the deposit in the dirt for us.

That's what happened to a friend's husband. She was a cop in the city, he was a State Trooper. I remember when they were married, how happy she was. I remember her pregnancy...how happy she was. She was a good Sergeant and in charge of our Reserve unit. I graduated college, she was one of my references, I was hired, and after I'd left the Job, by a few years, I saw it on the news. A semi driver hit a State Trooper who was standing by a car at a traffic stop. The Trooper was killed. My friend...devastated. Their son...without their father.

It THRILLED me to see the new law in Minnesota requiring drivers to change lanes when they see an emergency vehicle on the side of the road. Yet, I realized tonight, that when rainglare comes into play, the law doesn't matter...no one wants to change lanes. They are willing to slow down, but suddenly the wild card driver that kills cops becomes more real to everyone, and no one wants to give way...everyone is just trying to survive.

And so all I could do was pray, because even I couldn't change lanes to give enough room, and when I did, the idiot without regard for anyone came flying out of nowhere.

Tonight...

Earlier this evening I called a friend about something, and we hadn't spoken in awhile. She knew about my discernment and made a comment. But she doesn't know what's happened. She said, "I hear you've been discerning something...."

I responded, "Not anymore. Not so much. Not ever." I paused, then said, "I'm in a black hole."

I found myself near tears. I've been trying not to think about it. To be content with where I am. Which is exactly where I started: nowhere. I was surprised at the tears that nearly came, and the frustration mounting to the surface. To realize Hope is really not part of my vocabulary any more, and hasn't been for a long time.

My friend was surprised, and said, "Well, we're all trying to find our way." Yes, true, but as I pointed out to her...SHE knew she was supposed to be married...and was living that. She has a foundation.

I'm just floating. Blinded. Driving in the rainglare. Standing in it, trying to survive.

RAINGLARE

It never stops raining. I can't see through all the glare, through all the mist, and all the darkness. Are there lights? Of course, that's what causes the glare. It's not good light. It's blinding, disconcerting, and because it's glare, it's also false.

How long have I been driving through glare, using the glare as guiding light?

I feel like I'm still on the side of the road, doing what I have to do, turning my back to do so, just waiting for that semi to come out of nowhere to run me down.

That's the nature of discernment. Everyone discerning their Vocation has to stand at that roadside, focusing on something else, trusting they'll survive, but knowing that everything depends on it. Vocation IS eternity in the sense that it is what brings us there. We're just trying to find the RIGHT road.

But a few of us wander for a very long time. 40 years isn't unheard of. Maybe more.

And we should expect to be trampled, to be run over by everyone else, because, after all, we're in their way...even when we're not. We should expect to be splashed, to be yelled at, to be given bad directions by people who aren't even FROM the venue within which we are seeking. That is the life of a traveller.

That's what discernment is; trying to find the road to our destination in spite of all the glare, in spite of all the rain that causes the glare. We're trying to get through the false signals, figure out the source of light from the mere reflections, making our way with the proper speed through the signals, moving with the traffic but not passing our own proper place.

Keep in mind: a Vocation is only the road...not the destination. It's the road we need to LEAD us to the destination, that destination being Eternal Life.

What IS our proper place?

Good question.

The Present. Where we are right now, in this moment. If we need to move over to accommodate some one else, we do so. If we need to dodge to avoid someone reckless, we do so. If we have to brake, we do so. And if we are totally blinded by the rain and by the glare, we stop and get our bearings, for to do otherwise is folly and may cause us to be lost.

Or maybe we DO need to be the one standing at the side of the road, with someone else, putting everything on the line. After all...it's ALL about sacrifice. We never know when we'll be called to offer our lives.

Just ask the Saints....

*

Spiritual Warfare

It's easy, when the sun is shining, to look at Jesus and say we will be faithful. It's easy, when the sun is shining, to look upon our Crucified Lord, and the Blessed Sacrament, there as we kneel comfortably at the Consecration, and say we will follow Him everywhere. It's easy to SAY we are willing to offer ourselves so completely, so sacrificially...at least, when nothing is being demanded of us.

But it's different in the darkest hours of the night, when we are alone, when we have awakened from a nightmare and find that the nightmare is perhaps only beginning. It's a different story when we are there, in that darkness, where the shadows have teeth and even the light of the flickering vigil candle isn't enough, for it seems to be guttering. There, in that nighttime abandonment it's easy to forget the promises made in comfort and sunlight.

When we are assailed by doubts, tormented by fears, and unable to face them, when the terrors of the night encroach upon our sleep and refuse to release us back to the blessed repose we so deeply need, and God seems so far away, it's easy to forget we OFFERED to take on suffering, and that spiritual warfare comes part and parcel with the territory.

It is in those moments, or hours, or days or weeks or years, when the Shadow of the Cross falls over us that we most want to flee back into the sunlight where we could find comfort. Yet we know we should go directly to the Cross and cling to it, taking refuge under the shadow of His wings and, oh, the irony! The irony of this flight, for it is ONLY because of the light of Christ that we can discern the shadow of the Cross from the shadows that gnash at us, seeking the destruction of our souls!

There is the folly and the glory of the Cross, once again, for we know we MUST pass through that shadow if we are ever able to enter into that eternal light. And still, we struggle, we scream, we want to flee, but...to whom can we go? And to what corner of the earth can we flee from the love of Christ?

When I am in the midst of such a struggle, I say to Jesus through my own folly, "Lord, I thought I could do this but I was wrong, let me go! I don't like this game and I don't want to play it any more!"

But Jesus is patient, and He is kind, but always, always firm in his chastizement. He bids me look at him, bleeding upon the Cross. "This isn't a game."

No, not a game. Salvation isn't a game or a sport or a frivolous pursuit.

When we do battle in those nightmarish hours of the night, or any time of the day, that is when our faith becomes tangible. Are we continuing to claim our love for Jesus when suddenly it's OUR blood falling upon the ground? When we experience some kind of abandonment, or the doubts and fears overwhelm us, and maybe temptations threaten, do we enter into prayer or do we give in? That is not to say that we don't experience sadness or fear or doubt, but in those times, do we give up on God completely or do we, in some way, continue to cling to His hand, reaching out for Him even if it "feels" like He's not there?

That's the battleground. That's where we are conformed to Christ, and it's not meant to be comfortable.

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou O Prince of the Heavenly Host, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits that prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.

*

Bartimaeus

I love the readings this weekend. The story of Bartimaeus has long been one of my favorites. This time, though, I'm not going to post anything new, but re-post what I wrote only a few years ago when we had the same cycle of readings. It was also a talk I gave to the RCIA class I was "teaching" at the time. You can find the original link here, although I am posting it fully below:

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When I first began to reflect upon the readings for today, the 30th Sunday in Ordinary time, I initially had a different idea in mind as to what I wanted to talk about, but with deeper consideration, I saw that there is a theme running throughout, (beginning with Jer 31:7-9) which speaks of mercy, it speaks of going away in tears, consolation, and guidance. It ends in rejoicing. The second reading (Heb 5:1-6) speaks of patience with the ignorant and erring, referencing those called by God to offer gifts and sacrifices on their behalf.
Bartimaeus was me just a few years ago. I had been raised Catholic but fell away and was living a life in which I was involved in the occult, palm reading, and other things my Mom did not raise me to do. On occasion I attended Mass, and each time, I cried from pretty much the opening prayer until about a half hour or so after it was over. It completely freaked me out, and as a result, I rarely attended the same parish because I didn’t want people to recognize me as the “weird crying lady”.

Gospels of Mercy

A curious thing was happening during these years…I went to Mass so infrequently that I seemed to go only when the readings were about the Prodigal Son, or about similar themed Gospels such as this one about Bartimeaus. I began to think that the various parishes only recycled the same readings, over and over!

I remember, though, as I sat weeping at those Masses, how much the way I was living my life contrasted with what was being taught, and I was made aware, even though I didn’t want to see it, that the life I was living was one of darkness. I was really lost in all that mess. I was not living the life my Mom had intended for me, or that God had intended. I remember in those times, praying for Jesus to have mercy on me, to have pity on me. I was so blind, though; I didn’t understand that I was crying because Jesus DID have pity on me…and He was calling me to Him via the Gospels and the homilies - and the tears.

In this regard, Bartimaeus was far wiser than I, for in his blindness he still recognized the Son of God. I just sat there crying for mercy and when Jesus called me to Him, I ran away in tears.

The Problem of Confession

Slowly, though, I began to come back, and for a few years, I knew I needed to go to Confession, but I could not work up the courage to make an appointment and I could not bring myself to stand in line: the Weird Crying Lady strikes again! I’ll admit at this point that part of my struggle was with my pride; I didn’t want to be so exposed in my weakness.

The thought of going to Confession literally made me shake in my shoes. But I continued to pray for mercy, and I began to attend Mass more often, trying to go every Sunday. Unfortunately I also continued in my own personal darkness, living a life divorced from God’s will and everything I’d been taught about morality.

As it was, whenever I attended Mass, I felt like a fraud, like I was not holy enough to be there. If I saw the parish priest, I'd run away even MORE quickly; I was sure they could see through me, and if they spoke with me they'd immediately say I had to go to Confession. So I fled, not wanting to hear that. I knew it already. The knowledge was killing me.

No, really....my disordered life was killing me.

But the Lord is faithful, especially when we are not.

Jesus went so far as to directly send me a Priest! I happened to be at a friend’s house one evening, and the priest at the parish I had been attending was a family friend, and “just happened” to be there for dinner. He and I had a great conversation about cooking, garlic, and wine or some such things. Through this conversation, I considered that he was a pretty cool guy...and maybe I should contact him and make an appointment for what promised to be a difficult Confession. I had a sense that he was an empathetic soul and that maybe I could trust him.

A few times I picked up my phone in an attempt to call to make an appointment, and then quickly slammed it down. A few times I went so far as to get into my car, drive to the parish for Confessions on Saturday...and as soon as I saw the Church, I hit the gas and got out of there as quickly as I could!

The Gospel for this weekend (Mk 10:46-52) refers to those who rebuked Bartimeaus, and indeed, there were those in my life, too, even as I prayed for the grace to return to my faith, there were people who rebuked me. They stood there as obstacles personified, giving every reason why I should not run into the loving arms of Our Savior. Every convert and revert hits this obstacle, time and time again. Every sinner hits this obstacle constantly.

God is faithful, and sometimes those who rebuke us have the opposite effect of what they intend. For some reason, I kept running into co–workers and other people who attacked the Catholic Church, and they ALWAYS brought up the Sacrament of Confession, claiming "it's not scriptural" or some other alleged complaint. Rather than being driven further from the Church, I began to ask questions I should have asked long before.

Finally, after watching EWTN, and doing some reading about the Catholic Church and our beliefs, as Easter was approaching I resolved that I was going to finally go to Confession. I did a web search of all the parishes in the area and found a communal penance service with individual confessions afterward. [Note: this was NOT an illicit General Absolution service, but an approved form which has a short liturgical celebration which includes absolution ONLY with individual confession, as is proper and required.]

I had finally reached the point where I realized that I really was completely wrapped up in my own darkness, and I knew that I couldn’t go on like that anymore, and I couldn’t keep running away from Jesus. I was literally saying to God, “Master, I don’t want to be alone in this darkness any more…I want to see!”

Firm Purpose of Amendment

One of my obstacles had been in my lack of understanding of the Sacrament. I actually thought that I had to perfect myself, I had to turn away from everything in order to have what they call a “firm purpose of amendment”. I knew that I couldn’t just change so drastically, and by going to Confession, I was, in a way, making a solid commitment to God. While I was quite a sinner, a healthy respect for God had been instilled within me and I did not want to make matters worse through any form of insincerity. What I learned was that it’s God’s job to perfect us, and that we can’t always just cast everything away without his Grace.

If we refer to the Gospel again, we see that the blind man cast away his cloak, a representation for sin and those things that encumber us and prevent us from following Jesus. Again, Bartimaeus was far stronger than I, or maybe most of us, because it’s so difficult to leave it all behind and approach Jesus. I couldn’t do that; I needed Jesus’s help and the grace of the Sacraments to give me strength.

So I went to the church that evening, and at the entrance there was an examination of conscience, which was, in a nutshell, a list of mortal and venial sins. For example, it listed the 1st Commandment: I am the Lord your God; you shall have no other gods except Me. Then it went on to list offenses which fall into this category, such as Occult practices; palm reading, divination, Tarot, etc. Well…THAT hit home! I actually became convinced that I was the WORST SINNER EVER.

Keep in mind that EVERYONE there was at that church for Confession…and the church was FULL! Draw your own conclusion.

I was already crying, and sat near the back of the church, listened AGAIN to the story of the Prodigal Son, and this time, I knew that it was all about me, and I saw the pattern of the last few years…all about blindness, returning home, and the rejoicing that followed. God was not trying to scare me away, yet as I stood in line for confession, I couldn’t stop crying. There I was…the Weird Crying Lady again.

I think I stood there for about 45 minutes or so, but it felt a LOT longer. I had hoped to go behind a screen, but the line there was MUCH longer and I realized that if I moved to that line, I might lose whatever courage I had and just leave...but I didn’t want to leave. It was time to answer Jesus’ call to me.

Confession To God Directly

One of the objections I’d always heard, and still hear from people, is that we, as Catholics, aren’t confessing to God...but to man. It’s important to point out that in Confession, we ARE confessing directly to Jesus, but the priest is there in persona Christi, which is a term you will hear a lot. It means, “in the place of Christ”, so while we may see or hear the Priest and what he has to say, when he tells us that we are absolved, it is not him speaking under his own authority, rather he is speaking as Jesus because it is JESUS who forgives our sins through the priest. So that night, it was Jesus I was going to see.

Finally it was my turn, and finally, I was the blind man who had come to Jesus, finally ready to say, “Master, I want to see.”

I was a complete mess--that poor priest!

I could barely speak, so I just handed over the examination of conscience and said, “Father...it’s been about 12 years...”

There was a pause during which I was sure the full judgment I thought I deserved would come crashing down upon me.

“THAT’S WONDERFUL!” the priest proclaimed. “That’s GREAT! YOU’RE the prodigal DAUGHTER!”

HUH!?

Not what I’d expected to hear! In spite of all the Gospels I’d heard, in spite of everything...I thought I deserved to be condemned and cast away. That’s not what happened.

I made my confession, most of it completely unintelligible, but this priest NEVER ONCE asked me to repeat what I had said...because he wasn’t the one who needed to understand, or decipher my words. He knew I was doing the best I could, and it was Jesus who heard every single word.

I will NEVER be able to explain what it was like to make my Act of Contrition and walk out of there, 12 years GONE.

Gone.

And you know...I really could see more clearly after that day. I could identify those parts of my life that needed to change, and through this pivotal moment, I was able to find the courage to walk away from those things that had held me captive for so long.

I wish I could say that my life immediately changed, but it didn’t. I was still encumbered, like we all are, by various things, people, relationships, etc, which held me back, but slowly, through prayer, through the sacraments, through a true desire to follow Jesus, those things changed. Those things are still changing, every single day. And I’ve found that the closer we become to God, the more clearly we can see.

Twice in this Gospel, Jesus gives the blind man a choice, because we ALWAYS have a choice. When Bartimeaus called out to Him, Jesus didn’t just go to him, but he CALLED to him in response. He gave him a choice rather than approaching him on the roadside. He was asking for a commitment, a willingness to do something other than sit there and cry.

Then, again, after he restores his sight, Jesus tells Bartimeaus, “Your faith has saved you...go your way.” And Bartimeaus, his sight restored, chooses to follow Jesus. He could have gone back to his old life…he could have just walked away, grateful but unchanged. Jesus gives us all this choice and does not enforce it. He tells us to go our own way…and lets us make that critical decision.

Our way...or God’s way?

*

Delicate Souls

"God never reveals sin without revealing His Mercy."

I don't recall who said it; my professor a few years ago in talking about one of John Paul II's writings, or maybe John Paul II himself. So I guess I can't give proper credit for the quote, but the message is loud and clear. It's been revealed to be true in my own life, and sometimes, by God's grace, I get to be a part of it for someone else. I hope.

Part of my parish work is sacramental preparation. If parents miss the informational meetings, they have to meet with me to get that information, and I always find those meetings to be fruitful, often for different reasons. Sometimes it's because the parent isn't Catholic but wants to be faithful to what WE believe, and wants to understand that belief so they can teach it with integrity. (I find these parents to be heroic, and pray that they will enter the Church through what they are teaching to their children. The Holy Spirit is with them.)

Sometimes, though, it's fruitful because the person is struggling with something, maybe has questions about the Faith, maybe is trying to come back...and doesn't know how. Something.

This week, it was my privilege to meet with such a person. I am grateful to God for that.

At some point in the afternoon I was inspired to go into the Church and pray for this meeting, so I did.

I expected it to be fairly routine. A nice woman, with whom I have spoken before, both on the phone and in person. I figured I would move quickly through the information, skipping over some things, reading her for her receptivity to the message and tailoring what had to be said.

As it was, we connected in a way I didn't expect, and hadn't "read".

When I speak to people about the Sacraments, especially Confession, I give a part of my own personal conversion story, and for a couple reasons: firstly so that they will realize that I am just like everyone else. Secondly, because so many people have been poorly catechized about this Sacrament, or, like me have fallen away, that they only come back because of their children. But they don't go themselves because they don't know why they should!

In talks to a group, I keep things general. In smaller meetings, though, I may get more specific.

In this particular meeting, although it didn't go as I planned, God's hand guided it. As I told her about how, when I was "away" I'd felt like a "fraud" whenever I rarely went to Mass, and thought everyone else could see through me, this person confessed she is "there" right now.

She feels disconnected, yet...still connected. She wants more, but can't seem to get to Mass as often as she desires. She admits some of this is her own fault and said outright she knew it was a sin.

It lead into a conversation about mortal sin, and the fact that missing Mass, intentionally, is a Mortal Sin.

Before I said the words that needed to be said, I prayed.

In fact, as soon as I realized she was struggling, I began asking the Holy Spirit for help with a delicate soul.

After some discussion, she said that she HADN'T known the full teaching on this, the depth of sin, but that she probably learned it in the past and that fact probably made her more culpable.

But she said something else, something ALL of us need to hear, to read, to take to heart:

"I have family members who are really really Catholic, really Traditional. If I tell them I don't go every week, they make me feel like a bad person. It makes me not WANT to go, because, if going means I'm like them, I don't WANT to be like that or with them."

Ouch.

I've paraphrased a bit as I don't remember the exact words. But we've all seen it, maybe we've been part of it. A family member, a friend, admits they haven't been a "good Catholic" because they don't go to Mass or have some other favorite sin; how do we react?

Instead of hearing what they are REALLY trying to say, we tend to beat them over the head with the Bible and the Catechism and remind them of their Baptismal responsiblities.

As this woman said, this makes her feel like a "bad person", like she is being "judged", and it scares her away. If she started out desiring to attend Mass, she leaves the discussion thinking that if everyone is like THAT...and it's not worth it.

I knew during our discussion I'd have to deliver a hard message, but I didn't want her to be chased away by the Truth that was unsuccessfully delivered by people around her. What I heard was that she was looking for someone to understand her, to hear her problems, and most importantly, her DESIRE to attend Mass every week. She WANTED to be there, but was STRUGGLING HARD with getting there, with apathy, with deciding to do other things, often related to her very young children.

Like many parents, she has been chased out of Mass by crabby grumps who can't seem to tolerate the joyful voice of a chatty toddler who can't seem to maintain silence during Mass. She, like so many others, has been shamed away and feels like she CAN'T come back until her children are old.

Aside:

I say "SHAME" to the grumps chasing parents of young children away from Mass! Keep your evil eye to yourself, refrain from Holy Communion and go to Confession to ask for forgiveness for all the parents you've chased out of Mass by your holier-than-thou-silence-your-children-with-duct-tape-so-I-can-have-perfect-silence attitude! May you all have perfect hearing so that you will NEVER stop hearing the cries of children EVERYWHERE you go, ESPECIALLY at Mass where they belong! They're a heck of a lot holier than YOU are, so if ANYONE needs to leave when they are crying, or chatty, it's probably YOU!

OK, < /rant> back to the topic:

As we spoke, I did deliver the moral teachings pertinent to our discussion, along with the message that the teaching didn't come with "judgment", as I am a sinner, too, and every day find myself in need of God's Mercy. Every moment. I let her know that indeed, it is my job to present her with the teaching, I understood her position and wanted to help her, and I've been there, too, if in a different way.

Then she confessed she hasn't been to confession in years and years. I don't know how many...but a long time.

I was actually planning to skip over it, but our conversation lead into it; I knew I had to tell her my story.

I told her the story of my "Big Confession."

A few years ago, I couldn't even THINK of that confession without crying. But now I've told it so many times that I can do so completely dry-eyed. Until this particular meeting, that is. As I explained to her my struggle to get there and finally that moment of Absolution and Mercy, I actually teared up. It wasn't a slight tearing I could just hide with a pause or forcing myself to move on, but tears actually SPILLED from my eyes.

I apologized, explained that didn't normally happen and told her that THIS is the most powerful testimony I had of God's mercy; that particular experience. And I told her I'm grateful for it.

She actually teared up, too, so we looked at each other, red-eyed in understanding. I asked her if she was nervous, given that she really DID plan to go soon. She admitted she was. We spoke of the Saints, of Divine Mercy, and I told her that I knew what it was like to be there, so I would pray for her and if she had any questions, at all, she could call me.

Take This to Heart!

This was an important meeting. Yes, a soul is coming back, and I ask you ALL to pray for her, and anyone struggling with the same issues. She WANTS to come back, is aware of sin, doesn't deny it, and really, is a soul in a state of suspended conversion.

Suspended WHY?

By her own testimony she has many good, practicing Catholics around her.

What I find disturbing is that she identifies them as "Traditional" and with the term "Traditional", she also links, some spoken, some unspoken but by context, "Merciless, Condemning, Judgmental."

Do any of US match those words? When we deal with our family members and friends who have fallen away, can we be linked in the same way?

The fact is, of course, that for some people, ANY declaration of absolute Truth, no matter how gently, of authentic Church teaching means we would be called all sorts of names and accused of all sorts of things. I'm not speaking of those rabid souls that are fleeing conversion.

I am speaking here of delicate souls desiring God, desiring to do better, but stuck, somehow, looking for someone, anyone, to hear them, to reach out to them, and help bring them in.

If someone reaches out in their crisis of Faith, having fallen away, as if out of the boat, do we hit them with the deadly aim of the anchor or do we throw them a life ring and help them swim in?

What she was experiencing was the deadly strike of anchor, and I'd argue that those who threw the anchor at her were sending out a weighty boomerang that is likely to cost them a great deal in their own final judgment.

We are indeed called to fraternal correction, and those of us who are in positions of authority, to speak for the Church, are in a special place. HOW that message is delivered is important. It makes a difference to the soul in question; are they being frightened away in a delicate state, or are they being encouraged in God's Grace, in the conversion they desire but can't seem to find?

I pray that I said the right things to this woman, and offered a life ring. I pray that she didn't leave feeling "judged" but rather, in solidarity with another struggling sinner.

Please pray for those who are seeking conversion and who are struggling to live the Faith they desire to live, in all its fullness.

We, the faithful, are ALL charged as keepers of our brothers and sisters, so we must ALL remember to speak in charity, to listen, and to guide in the seeking souls. There are those who are obstinant in their sin and reject Our Lord, and there are those who accept the teachings but are struggling to live them. Each require a different treatment. Are we willing to put our own pride aside so that we can reach out in charity and provide, in love, for the needs of the souls that come our way?

What If? Arbor Vitae....Redemptionis

Some time ago I wrote a post about the fact that fiction safely asks the question, "What if?"

It asks us to suspend belief, to enter a different dimension and accept the parameters of the fictional life being given. This crosses all the genres; historical, future, science fiction, mystery, and the obvious fantasy. Even anecdotal accounts have a certain amount of "literary license" or "poetic license" in the telling of tales.

There is beauty in this, though, for often these fictional worlds force us to consider things that transcend us. Not all of those things are good; not all have at their heart Truth or Beauty or Goodness. Not all of them INTEND to have those things at their source, not because they want to challenge us, but only to present something totally oppositional to what we live, which, in the end, forces us to realize those things that ARE true and good and beautiful.

Of course, there is fictional writing out there worth even less than the "Piss Madonna" or whatever that waste of urine is called. Oh, and not just the "artist" but his blasphemous work, too.

But I digress.

This evening I had a conversation with a friend and we discussed a few things that have come to mind during the last few years of my theological studies and some recent talks I have given.

The conversation made me muse a bit more, realizing that questions are important and it's possible to ask them in a way that doesn't offend Truth, but perhaps maybe reveals it more clearly. I don't know. All I know is that I am pondering some theological questions, hope to do so faithfully and no matter where I tread, I hope to remain a loyal daughter of the Church.

Of what, you ask, do I muse tonight?

It goes back to Genesis and Original Sin.

Fascinating stuff, of course. We know what happened but I'm going to recap anyhow:

Eve was hanging out in the Garden one day, minding her own business when the Serpent slithered up the Tree of Life under whose branches Eve was innocently contemplating God's Glory.

The Serpent, a real snake of action, never known to be appreciative of contemplation himself, rudely interrupted her reverie and asked her randomly,

"Did God say you shouldn't eat of ANY tree in the garden?"

His deception was simple and subtle and he licked his lips while he waited for Eve to process what he'd asked. But she was actually more astute than he'd realized.

Eve, rising from her prayerful contemplation, corrected the Serpent, and said, "That's not what God said and you know it. He said we can eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but if we eat from a particular tree in the center, we can't touch it lest we die. THAT tree, not "any" tree. Be proper in your use of language; language can be really misleading. You should know better."

The serpent, realizing that God had gifted humanity with a real intellect and not just tree sap for brains, saw that he had to be even more sublime in his tactics. But he also saw an opening.

Rather than engage in the semantics of the argument, he started a new one, to see if he could keep Eve guessing. This was fun!

"WHAT?!" The Serpent exclaimed. "He said WHAT?!"

He noted with satisfaction Eve's expression, alarmed both at the blasphemy (for which she didn't have a word) and the seeming intelligence of the Serpent.

Eve felt a shadow creep into her intellect and will. She deliberated and thought maybe she should listen to the Serpent for a moment, even though every fibre of her being told her she should run away screaming.

The Serpent, seeing in her eyes the doubt creeping in, continued in his most enticing of voices, speaking in a conciliatory manner so as not to offend her sensibilities, "You will not die. God knows that when you eat of this fruit your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and evil."

He waited, licking his lips, resting on a branch in a bit of sunlight that had made its way through the leaves. He moved a bit so that the light wouldn't fall directly on him, for he hated when his scales reflected the sunlight. He found a satisfying spot in the crotch of the tree and rested there, burrowing deeply in satisfaction, sighing in preparation for a nice nap after his present work was done.

Eve pondered the Serpent's subtle words. "Eyes opened?"

Did that mean her eyes weren't opened? She reached up and wiped her eyes for a moment, looking around her at the beauty of creation, the sun, the dappled spots on the ground, and the animals crowded around her feet. They all seemed oblivious to this conversation, but only went about gnawing on leaves or resting in the shade cast by the Hosta plants under the Tree of Life. Eve wiped her eyes again, wondering if perhaps it was possible there was something she WASN'T seeing? Could the Father have held something back from them? The Serpent seemed to think so. Why would he use that phrase if she already knew everything she was supposed to know? Was she supposed to know MORE?

And what of this "good and evil"?

What did that mean?

Eve looked around her, and saw that everything was good. She had intimate union with God, she was physically comfortable all the time, she had enough to eat, just the right amount, and life was perfect. Most importantly, she reveled in the love of God and perfect union with Him while enjoying His Creation.

What was "evil"?

This made her curious. What would the deprivation of good be like? Was there another side to things? Wouldn't it be interesting to see what it was like where God was not present?

The Serpent rested, watching Eve's deliberation, watching her eyes taking in everything around her and finally alighting on the Tree of Life.

Her eyes, focusing on the Arbor Vitae lit up in a different way. She saw that the Tree was good, too, and the fruit...quite inviting. It was colorful and emitted a tantalizing fragrance, perhaps even more so because it was forbidden.

She'd noticed it before but in purity of intention considered it nothing more than an inedible flower in a different form. But now, wondering if God perhaps hadn't told them EVERYTHING she felt her mouth watering and reached out to the tree, almost against her will...but not quite.

Once it was in her hand, she hesitated no longer and quickly brought it to her mouth. The taste was sweeter than anything she'd ever experienced or imagined, and this solidifed the doubt introduced to her by the Serpent. Yet she could not understand the sudden bitterness that caused her to spit out the seeds, gagging but unable to eject the pulp she'd ingested so willingly.

The sense of nausea and bitterness faded quickly, and overcome again by the inviting fragrance and salivating taste buds, Eve bit again into the flesh of the fruit, then offered it to Adam, who finally appeared out of the dappled shadows of the garden.

He did not hesitate to eat of the fruit offered to him from his beloved spouse, although she offered him no explanation. It was enough to him that the fruit was in her hand. The fragrance of it called to him and even if he'd been able to resist the sensation, her trusted hand, he thought, would never lead him astray. In his love of Eve, he ignored the echo of the voice of God speaking deep within him cautioning him against eating of the Tree of Life. Eve...her hand...her fruit...was Life ITSELF!

He bit deeply of the fruit, wallowing in it, reveling in it, not even noticing the Serpent gazing from the crotch of the Tree, his forked tongue betraying his excitement.

Then Adam and Eve locked eyes and were ashamed, for they realized neither were covered, and they stood immodestly. They both dove to either side of the Tree and then, carefully made their way to the foliage on either side, both pulling Hosta leaves and fig leaves as they went, trying to cover their shame.

Neither understood the sudden desire they had for the other, a desire that focused not on their ends, but on their parts; not what the other would attain in sanctity, but what they could experience physically in that moment.

Then God walked through the Garden as was His custom and called out to Adam and Eve who were suspiciously absent from their typical joyful greetings.

"Where are you?"

God knew where they hid, but knew they had a choice: to accept or reject His loving question. He knew their shame and was saddened, but instead of condemning, He asked them first to come to Him in love and humility.

They did not come. In their shame, they continued to hide, and gather more leaves to cover themselves.

Adam, the first to speak, blamed Eve, and in so doing accused God, blaming HIM for putting "that woman" with him.

Eve, incensed, spoke up from the next thicket, claiming that it was all the fault of the Serpent. But she did not come out from hiding, for she was busy weaving clothing from the foliage that surrounded her.

We know the rest...we're living it every day. We know that Christ died because of this very event and the effects that followed.

But WHAT IF....

What if, when God walked through the Garden, Adam and Eve had come to Him as He called?

What if Adam had gone to God on his knees with the remainder of the fruit of the Tree of Life? What if he had taken personal responsibility for his actions, and instead of blaming Eve, had admitted that he firstly had neglected to protect her and secondly, had directly disobeyed God both out of his own will and out of his disordered love for Eve over God?

What if Eve had knelt in humility before God and admitted she engaged the Serpent instead of walking away, instead of calling God, and, worst of all...for doubting Him in favor of the word of a creature she could crush under her own heel if she but tried?

What would our theology be like, what would our world be like if Adam and Eve had, in effect, gone to Confession?

Yes, their sin would be erased...to a degree. But original sin, in some sense, would remain. Temporal punishment would still be a reality, for the wound would still be present. The propensity to sin would still have been introduced.

It would make sense for them to be ejected from the Garden, and for the same reason we recognize today; if they continued to have access to the Tree of Life, having already tasted its sweetness they would not be able to withstand it without eating of it, and, of course, if they continued to eat of it they would not be able to be healed of their disobedience and doubt. Ejecting them from the Garden was an act of Mercy which pointed, from the beginning, to the coming Redemption.

But, in the case of Adam and Eve's repentance, would the effects of original sin be lessened? Would the world be more like the Garden but without the Tree of Life? Would there still be pain in childbirth? Would food be brought forth through thorn-infested land or would it grow more easily with minimal efforts to harvest it? Would the preternatural gifts of the original pair be part of humanity now? And would death have entered the world?

I have all these questions, and more.

As my friend pointed out this evening, this is what happens when one gets a little theology. We ask the deeper questions, the "what-if" questions. Not seeking to change reality, but rather, hoping to better understand the reality that we live every single day.

My own pondering will continue, and as I understand it, this is of the type that has kept theologians awake for centuries. "What if?"

It's the "what if" that brings us into contact with God and forces us to pursue Truth. True questions don't lead us OUT of the Church, but INTO it.

On a personal note...

I look at the story of Genesis, and realize I'm a part of it. I live it every day. I give in to the Serpent's suggestions, I enter into dialogue, I deliberate and I eat of what is forbidden. And knowing my influence, I offer it to others, those who should know better.

We all live Genesis every day.

I am reminded of the Exultet sung at the Easter Vigil:

"O Felix Culpa!" O Happy Fault! O Happy Sin of Adam that has won us so great a Redemption!

Oh, yes, I've experienced the greatness of God's mercy. I fell hard, and I fell long but when I came back, God's mercy was far greater than my sin, for the Redemption is ALWAYS more powerful than the Fall.

I guess "what if" doesn't matter. When I look at the story of our Redemption, I do not see the the Fall, even though I live it. Rather, I am drawn into the Wounds of the Savior who reaches for me from the Cross, which has taken the place of the Tree of Life, for Jesus is life itself and feeds us directly from His own Body and Blood, while the Serpent lays crushed dead beneath the weight of the Cross and the heel of the Mother of God who kneels with all her children, pointing to her Son, pointing to Love Incarnate.

The Cross, the Crucifixion...there is the Tree of Life, the Arbor Vitae, the Redemptionis Sacramentum. There is Life Itself, raised up, drawing us to Him, just as He promised.

God always keeps His promises.

Contemplate the Cross

WHEN you are alone in your room, take your crucifix, kiss its five wounds reverently - tell it to preach you a little sermon and then listen to the words of eternal life that it speaks to your heart; listen to the pleading of the thorns, the nails, the precious Blood. Oh what an eloquent sermon!

~ St. Paul of the Cross, Flowers of the Passion

Today is the Memorial of St. Paul of the Cross, priest and founder of the Passionists. I have a special devotion to him for many reasons, although I am only now beginning to discover his writings. Devotion to the Passion of Our Lord is a rare thing, especially in today's culture that seeks to escape suffering...never to embrace it. Yet in contemplation of Jesus, how can anyone expect to really know and love Him without that perfect unitive love that comes ONLY through suffering?

It is ONLY through suffering that we can know Christ with any real intimacy. He invites us into His Passion, to contemplate His wounds, suffered for love of us. He gave all. The Father looks at us through the wounds of Our Lord, and through those same wounds, we are absorbed into Him and given the grace to rest, completely, within His Most Sacred Heart.

"Love is a unitive virtue which appropriates the sufferings of the Beloved."

Spend some time each day contemplating the Cross, seeking to unite yourself with the Passion of Our Lord. Recall that each time you attend Mass, you are kneeling at the very foot of the Cross, the one and only Sacrifice of Calvary, having just offered yourself as a holocaust in union with

Him. Know what you are seeking, know what is being made present to you, and know that it is possible to be completely lost within the wounds that bring us all to salvation...if we are only willing to drink deeply of that cup so freely offered for our sins.

"Would that I could set the whole world on fire with love of God!"

St. Paul of the Cross....PRAY FOR US!

An Autumn Tale of Beauty and Disaster

Tonight is Story Time With Adoro. Why? Because it's been awhile and my readers are bored.

I love Autumn. It's my favorite season. The vibrant colors of the trees capture me, the cooling temperatures soothe my heated brow, and the scent of leaves and bonfires sends me soaring.

So many see this season as a time to begin school or other things, and indeed, I see that, too. I await with dread all the things that "ramp up" and wish I could just escape into the beauty, rather than into the imprisoning chambers of work or school that prevent me from touching the majesty of God's creation.

This year it's been awful; a week ago when my street was supposed to bloom into full golden glory of color, it froze, it snowed, and then a wind blew. Less than twelve hours later all of the trees were bare and both the gold and the green leaves were plastered to the ground. Those leaves left on the trees were already turning pruny, and the next day were brown and dead. No glory this year. We went from pretty and lively to....dead and hopeless.

Not helpful, God, but I love you anyway. I'm sure there's a metaphor there somewhere, to be figured out when I get around to it.

But! Instead of lingering and moping about my street's lack of beauty, I have decided to remember what I love about this usually-beautiful season, and share with you one of my favorite memories of this time of year. It's one that unites the heights of joy and the depths of humiliation and agony.

Are you interested? Read on.....

The Red Maple

When I was a little girl, growing up in a little country neighborhood, I was enchanted by the Maple tree that graced our front yard. It was my favorite place. I could sit down and rest against it, I buried my dear guppies there with great ceremony (hilarious story I must tell one day), and that tree is where I first learned to contemplate...and to fly. Maybe even to trust.

Everyone knows that children are inventive. I grew up while video games existed, but were considered to be indulgent luxuries. We knew all the great cartoons, but spent most of our days playing in our country neighborhood, exploring the hills, talking walks, playing with other children, and...inventing new games and new adventures.

You can imagine, then, how my older brother saw the Maple tree not as something simply beautiful to behold, but as our own personal jungle gym. It seemed an obsession with him...every time we left the house, he would head directly to the tree in his quest to conquer it and rest among her branches.

His constant quest to climb higher constantly aggravated Mom, but intrigued me.

I wanted to do what he did. I wanted that courage. I wanted the vantage point he described. I wanted to rest in those branches, too!

It wasn't long before I went to the tree and, with heartfelt tears, complained I couldn't climb because I couldn't reach the lowest branch. Initially my brother teased me, but eventually good will overcame him and in a rare show of brotherly love, he pulled our picnic table to the tree and instructed me to stand on it, feeling I would be able to reach the branch and climb from that point.

I was still frightened, but my brother encouraged me, directed me and finally, I made it to the first branch. I don't recall whether he pulled me up or pushed me up where needed, but I do remember that I didn't make my first climb alone. It took several tries before I finally figured it out. He tried even to encourage me to venture out into his favorite branch, but I refused at first, needing to become accustomed to the lowest before ascending to what was higher.

The unfortunate part of this was that "my" branch was our JUMPING branch; it was...our exit from the Maple Tree.

Oh, yes...what goes up must come down. And if it's fun, it must come down REPEATEDLY and with much enthusiasm!

We had a new hobby!

My brother and I would rake up leaves beneath the lowest branch (which wasn't that low), and in a rare show of sibling support and love, we would get along in this great endeavor of survival. Where usually we argued, in the Maple Tree we had peace. It was an unwritten and unplanned sanctuary. It didn't matter what hatred we had for each other below...but while in those branches and leaping from them, we loved each other and willed each other's good.

That meant that we developed rules.

The first rule was that I had to learn to climb the tree by myself, but there was a grace period given to me for that, based on my height and ability. You see.,.my brother was a good teacher and a good brother, at heart, and knew I couldn't do anything on my own or without his wise direction. Or limits.

I hate to admit it, but he was right. I respected him and dang it...learned to climb that tree because of HIM and no one else!

Our second rule was far more serious, for we had the basic understanding that anything hitting the ground from any height tended to explode. If it worked with eggs, it worked with us.

Our exit custom involved raking the colorful leaves into a nice big pile under the designated exit branch, and after my brother had experimented with the softness of it, he finally convinced me to take this great leap, rather than having him assist me down via the picnic table.

Oh, what a terrifying leap it was! Oh how I stared at those terrible leaves, trying to imagine them as feathers, trying to trust the brother who so normally tortured me...but would never will my ultimate demise!

I still recall perching on that forked branch, there among the red-colored leaves, knowing my only way down was to let go....

And so it was....

I still remember the leap and the soft landing, the explosion of color, and the rapid ascent of us both as we sought to repeat the thrill of weightlessness and color.

Of course, it wasn't long before Mom came outside in terrified horror (or was it horrified terror?) to inspect our new game. She saw that, in fact, it was a good game, we had our own rules, and established in stone that we could ONLY leap from certain branches. She saw our rare cooperation and thought it a good thing, over and above the danger that we might be injured. She saw love before she saw anything else, and in the end, gave her approval.

Not all such games were good, though.

Stupidity and concupiscence always enters Eden

Our neighbor, a teen I greatly admired and even adored, didn't have a tree in her yard. She saw what we were doing and, because the leaves from the forest and her neighbors were plentiful, she had no problem raking them into a big pile in her own yard.

One day as I played alone, she invited me to join her which was a very big deal. Why would Annette ever want me to play with her? But I went, and we had a great time leaping from the top of a ladder she'd erected, landing in the leaves. From the ladder, maybe it was lower than the branch, but it was an easier climb which meant more chances to free-fall into the crunchy, colorful leaves

They were so soft that they led me to misunderstand physics.

So it was that I climbed the ladder, and, from the top, bent my knees hoping to land on them in the same way I landed on my springy feet. I didn't understand how the human body absorbed shock, I didn't understand that the leaves weren't really "springy"; my legs were. The leaves just helped a little.

I remember leaping, and in mid-air, hearing Annette scream at me in alarm, "DON'T DO THAT!"

She was older and understood physics in a way I did not. It wasn't scientific, but practical.

Annette couldn't do anything to save me from the disaster that awaited me.

I remember landing, my legs bent beneath me. I didn't "bounce" as expected, but rather, the concussion of the landing compressed my entire body, the landing a complete, abrupt shock.

I didn't "spring" or "bounce" or anything. Instead, I was driven into the ground as a whole and rolled to the side, stunned, unable to move my legs, unable to stand.

It was pain...but it wasn't. To this day, even KNOWING about spinal injuries, I can't describe the sensation. It was a pain I'd never felt, but which told me that this time, it was serious. I quite literally couldn't will my legs to move, I couldn't stand up although I tried.

Annette asked me if I was alright but all I could do was cry. I wasn't "alright" but was afraid Mom would find out what I did and punish me. I felt helpless and hated Annette's comments, telling me I was fine and telling me to "GET UP! You have to get up! Stop crying!"

I couldn't get up. I tried. Several times. I couldn't. My back and legs hurt so badly that I couldn't move, my legs actually wouldn't work at all, and I realized I had to do SOMETHING.

To her credit, Annette told me to just wait a minute. I wanted to go home. She didn't want to let me go home.

It was years before I realized Annette was terrified, too; just as terrified as I that I'd been seriously injured. From my perspective, I didn't want Mom to know. From her perspective...she was older and felt like she was at fault. I wish I'd listened to her and just laid there, waiting either for someone else to come, or just to feel better.

But I have never been one to wait when things are wrong, and, well...she let me go.

In tears, I went home. In tears, still unable to stand, barely able to move at all, I CRAWLED across her yard, across the street, and through our yard, hoping Mom wouldn't look out or think anything strange of my behavior. (Yeah, right...Adoro crawling across the street. Not strange at all...never mind the gravel...)

All I knew was that something was seriously wrong with me, I didn't want any attention, and hoped that if I just got home and ignored it...it would go away. I don't know how, but I managed to crawl all that distance (in excruciating pain), across the gravel road, into the house and to my room, pulling myself into bed. Hoping that maybe a nap would make it all better.

I remember thinking about Jesus, and how He fell when carrying His cross.

I remember Mom yelling at me from some other part of the house when she heard the door open, asking what I was doing. I just said I was tired and wanted to take a nap. Mom probably figured that was a blessed event, and never actually came out of the kitchen to see what I was doing. I was glad...I still couldn't stand up, and I was exhausted from all that crawling.

It didn't take me long to cry myself to sleep in terrified exhaustion. I never wanted to jump out of anything ever again.

I remember opening my eyes that afternoon and moving my legs. I remember carefully sitting up, carefully standing. There was no pain. It was all gone. I stood in my room and even JUMPED, waiting to collapse to the floor. It never happened.

I wondered if it was a dream, but no...my knees and my palms told another story, one told by gravel and dirt, and not all of it could be washed away.

Mom NEVER knew and STILL doesn't know of that event. I still puzzle it over, having had some medical training. I have a few theories but can't say I totally understand. Obviously, much of the pain was muscular, but when I consider the distance of my leap and the compression upon my spine, I am amazed I DIDN'T have a spinal injury, and have NEVER had back problems that didn't come from a different DIRECT injury (later in life - a result of an assault at work.)

As it was, I lived to walk another day, to run, and even to leap. I never again leapt from Annette's ladder, although I do recall she was overjoyed to see me walking later, and even teased me a little. Yet...she never brought it up again. My brother and I, we continued to leap out of the tree and a year later, used both the lower and higher branches to exit in to our respective piles of leaves. One branch became "His" and I would bring books up there so that, if he was gone, I could sit up there and read, or contemplate, or imagine. I "wrote" stories in my imagination, concealed myself in color and perhaps learned that the best place to be, ever, is in the present, especially when one is enclosed by colorful leaves and resting in the strong arms of a majestic maple tree somewhere in the Midwest.

Ah....to return to those days....

Why do any of us ever have to grow up?

*

Focus

One of the problems I find with studying Moral Theology is that it is so, so disheartening. In studying the Virtues, I realize how virtueless I truly am and how far I have to go. Yes, I am seeking holiness, but my failure become ever more clear.

This week in prayer I was pondering advice recently received in Confession, and heard that little voice of Jesus telling me quietly to stop being so overwhelmed by all of the knowledge I am gaining. What is really important, He said, is that I keep my eyes on Him. That little voice was entirely congruent with the advice received in Confession, and other advice from my Spiritual Director this week.

So I began to ponder that necessary gem; keeping my eyes on Christ. Him alone.

The Saints were experts in "living in the present moment." They sought to do God's will in all things, and how else could they have done so had they taken their eyes off of our Beloved Savior?

I realize how easy that sounds, but how hard it is to carry out. I've often awoken or renewed a promise during the day to "keep my eyes on Jesus" yet so quickly I am distracted and look away, falling from prayer, falling from tasks, all for whatever "shiny object" catches my attention. As if Jesus isn't enough, I have to go seeking other things!

And it is there I get lost. Falling away from prayer comes even before I take my eyes from Christ, I find, for without that anchor, I am set adrift to the whimsical winds of...whatever happens along.

It is disheartening to realize how often I choose sin over sanctity, but one of the important concepts in class revealed that this sense of being disheartened is a symptom of Pride. We are only dust; Jesus came because we do not have the ability to overcome our sin, so we should not be so surprised that we fall. Rather, the moment we realize we have slipped, we have to immediately look to Him to pick us up and set us back in place, there with Him.

This is not a denial of our own responsibility, but rather, a recognition of who we are and who God is, and an act of humility to know that we haven't the power to keep from sin...but God has the power to help us overcome it, if we but let him.

Yesterday we celebrated the Feast of St. Theresa of Avila, who wrote the famous words:

"Nada te turbe

Solo Dios basta."

"Let nothing disturb you.

God alone is enough."

Amen.

La Llorona

Ah, this is a tragic, tragic tale.

There are a few versions to La Llorona and I will let you search the web for them. I see that there is a movie that links her to the story of La Malinche, for, as we all know, legends take on a life of their own. As it is, I suggest you search out the term yourself and see what you find. I will try to piece it together here in a simplistic way:

Most legends of La Llorona (Weeping Woman) begin with the beauty of a young Mexican woman who catches the attention of a noble man, and in fact, men of both wealth and poverty. Predictably, she becomes the concubine of a wealthy man, possibly a Spaniard, and bears him two sons. Some stories suggest she already had her two sons when she met the nobleman with whom she fell in love.

In any case, the man is tempted either back to Spain or at least to live out a more "noble" calling by marrying a woman of higher privilege...maybe one without children. In some legends, he is a man whom, she believes, hates children and finds them an obstacle. In other legends, he has already fathered children by a noblewoman whom his family has convinced him to marry. In either case, La Llorona, as the scorned woman, is so distraught that she believes that if she is without children she will become the cherished bride she has always desired to be, and so she takes her infants and stabs them in the heart, dropping them into the river where she cries out in distress, "Mis Hijos!"

And still she is rejected by her lover, the death of her children was a vain sacrifice to the altar of convenience and selfishness.

"MIS HIJOS!"

There are other legends that tell a similar tale, but one more tame. In this other version, the sons of La Llorona played by the riverside in the evening while she cavorted with the men who so desired her beauty. And in her neglect, unsupervised, they found themselves without assistance in their boyhood games and, tragically, were drowned.

The final outcome of all the legends has the distraught mother weeping and wailing at the riverside for her lost children. Yet, she isn't crying through innocent loss, but her direct involvement in their deaths, whether through negligence or her own hand.

In the end, she took her own life, and to this day wanders the riverside, weeping and wailing for her lost children, seeking them eternally.

Mexican and American Southwestern folklore has La Llorona seeking her own children, a malevolent spirit wandering the riverbeds, digging in the mud but willing to swipe living children from the hands of other neglectful parents who allow their progeny to wander alone in dangerous areas, especially at twilight where the Xtabay also lingers seeking to devour lost souls.

Pondering La Llorona

I can't ever read this particular folklore without thinking of the reality she lives every day, in the women who so willingly slaughter their children...and in those who stand up and declare the morality of abortion.

When I hear or read the word "abortion", I see and hear La Llorona, weeping and wailing for her lost children.

I remember the laws recently passed in Mexico, and wonder how a culture that has La Llorona and Our Lady of Guadalupe so ingrained within it, which so IDENTIFIES it, can find the abomination of abortion to be compatible so as to be made LEGAL?

I don't understand how on one end so many in Mexico and America can give witness to the Legend of La Llorona and to the pregnant belly of Our Lady Of Guadalupe with the unborn infant Jesus, and how a culture so Matriarchal and so aware of the spectrum and battle for human life can, in the end, adopt the culture of Death.

I don't understand.

Can't the people, EVERYWHERE hear La Llorona crying in agony for her lost children?

Can't we hear the cries of ruptured infants, crying for their mothers, crying for their fathers who would ALLOW such destruction? Can we hear the cries of La Llorona's drowning children?

SHOULD we care for the cries of the selfish Llorona? Or should we leave her to Perdition?

In Jeremiah 31:15 we read:

Thus says the LORD: In Ramah is heard the sound of moaning, of bitter weeping! Rachel mourns her children, she refuses to be consoled because her children are no more.

The Legends of La Llorona reveal her as a woman with unbound hair, a woman of sin, weeping among the banks of Mexican rivers. When I drew my picture of La Llorona, though, I drew her in union with the Blessed Mother, who weeps for all her children.

When I ponder the story, of the woman in sin, I also hear the echoes of Sacred Scripture that point to Redemption.

In the Eighth Station of the Cross, (Luke 23) Jesus meets the weeping women.

"Weep not for Me," He tells them, as He bleeds upon their sandals, and their tears mingle with His blood, "But for your yourselves and for your children."

Our Blessed Mother wept for her Son, whom she gave up to the Cross on our behalf.

Our Lord bade the weeping women to weep NOT for Him, but...but for their own sins and those they inflicted upon their progeny, for if they could not first weep for what they lacked in themselves, how could they ever have children to mourn? Can life come out of death?

At the foot of the Cross, Jesus gave His Mother to us all, and so she weeps not for Him, who is our Savior and hers, but for all, especially those who do not weep for the right reasons. Our Lady wanders among us, crying her tears as she snatches us not to a watery grave, but to the eternal water that means life for eternity, to the ever-flowing blood of the Cross that warrants redemption, for the oil that is the Holy Spirit that empowers her children to bring life, not death, into the world.

My La Llorona shown above with a veil similar to Our Lady's, is also a tragic figure, but one who seeks out those who sacrifice their children on false altars, knowing what it is to allow true sacrifice for ultimate Redemption.

When I look at the La Llorona of folklore, I see the world as it is, a world that refuses Hope. But when I consider her under the mantle of Our Lady, I realize that even La Llorona does not weep in vain, for she is only one of those who meet Jesus as He carries His Cross, and in her weeping, helps to unite us all with our bloody Bridegroom.