We Interrupt Regular Programming...

...to bring you one of the best, if not THE best paragraph in the history of Catholic blogging. And in quoting it, I thumb my nose at the common misunderstanding of the concept of ecumenism and applaud the honesty in acknowledging actual history:

Perhaps now is the time for the rapidly dwindling band of Anglicans to realise that it is time to turn away from that brand of religion which was set up initially for no greater purpose than to enable King Henry VIII to divorce his Catholic wife, Catherine of Aragon, in order to marry that trollop Anne Boleyn, and return to the one true faith - a faith which believes in the natural order of things and at least tries to set a good example to mankind.

~ Mr.Public Opinion, Coo-ees from the Cloister

Amen brother!

Friends, readers, and countrymen, the reality is that most people don't realize that the goal of ecumenism is NOT an endorsement of religious pluralism, but the unity of the Church. And there is only ONE Church, and that is the Catholic Church. Every religion is NOT the same, and while it's laudable and necessary to learn about other religious, it's important to our salvation (ALL OF US!) to work for unity, which is a nice theological way of saying it is our job to help others find their way INTO the Church.

No, this is not a popular position, which is, in fact, one of the many reasons why everyone hates us. And people hate to be disliked which is why they embrace the lies of pluralsim instead of narrow gate which is Truth. (It's only the narrow gate because so few enter it God saw no need to go to the expense of installing an industrial garage door. He already gave His Only Son...what more do you want?)

So, let me say it again: Ecumenism, striving for unity, does not mean Catholics should embrace other beliefs; it means that Catholics are to work to bring those of other religions into the CATHOLIC faith!

Period. Deal with it. More importantly...live it.

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This has been a Public Service Announcement sponsored by Adoro. Now back to regular programming. Up next: more random things relating to Adoro's Great Monastic Adventure.

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Dominicans!

Well, I've written of my experience with the Sisters of Charity, where I spent most of my time, but I also spent about a day and a half with the Dominican Nuns in Summit, New Jersey. (You'll remember them from their illustrious blog, MonialesOP).

I don't know how long I've been following their blog, and when I began to do so I certainly never imagined I would ever actually VISIT them! Just goes to show that God has plans we know nothing about until He springs them on us!

If you'll recall, I mentioned the train into Newark where I took a lengthy tour of the platform and stood out like a farm girl visiting a big city for the first time. (Ironic...I've lived in a large metro area for years and used to live in south Minneapolis where car chases, midnight gunshots and screams were a given!) Yet I was a fish out of water at Penn Station - Newark NJ. Amazing.

Sr. M., their extern, was there to pick me up, and seriously, what a dear, dear Sister she is! I found it amusing, though, that she led me into the guest quarters at the Monastery somewhat apologetically.

Now, mind you, I'd just spent a week sleeping on an industrial plastic mattress which was mostly worn out, and plastic pillow that made sleep nearly impossible.

I had expected that the quarters at the Dominican Monastery would be similar; dorm-style showers, a little cell with a bed, desk, and a sink, uncomfortable bed proper to poverty, etc.

So imagine my joy to find that the guest quarters were more suite than cell, including a desk, a table, a TV, a microwave, a refrigerator and more coffee than I'd seen in what felt like forever! (It was really the coffee that won me over). Oh, and the bed was SO comfortable! It was real, with a real pillow!

Maybe on second thought it was the comfy bed and pillow that won me over...hmmm...

I could not figure out why Sr. M was apologetic about this!

Anyway, Sr. M. told me that Sr. MC would be meeting me in the parlor in a couple hours, so I had time to get settled, visit the beautiful chapel, and pray for a bit. I missed most of the Divine Office at 3 pm (my mistake!), but made all the other Hours in my time there.

For those who aren't aware, the Dominicans in Summit are cloistered, so I was not able to enter the enclosure to have the same kind of experience as the one I had with the Sisters of Charity. In order to have that, I'd have to apply for aspirancy of 2-6 weeks.

Sr. MC and I sat in the parlor a great deal that day and the following, chatting about relevant and irrelevent things, and of course, got along famously. And true to what I'd expect from the Dominicans, I was given a couple books to read during my time there, for how can one ever visit a Dominican Monastery and NOT study? The very idea would be completely sacriligious!

It's unfortunate, but all I had there was one full day. I would have loved more time there in prayer, to follow along while they sang the prayer of the Church, to fall into the routine a bit more, and of course, have the solitude and time to contemplate the many questions which have arison on this trip.

On Thursday evening the Novices hung out with me for awhile and gave me some of their stories, which is always amazing. I love hearing how Our Lord speaks to others, how they came to enter the monastery or convent or abbey.

Our time was all too short, and of course, I continue to love the Dominicans. I was sad to leave on Friday morning. There is something about meeting people face to face, spending time with them, especially when our friendship is formed through our shared faith, that forges a bond in a short time.

I don't know if I'll be returning to either community; that is in God's hands. Naturally I'd LOVE to go back, but the question remains whether it's God's will, or my true desire.

Time will tell.

The Bells of Temptation

I've discovered that there is still a bit of mischevious child in me somewhere, for every single day I had to curb a certain temptation.

In my previous post I mentioned the bells that are rung at regular intervals at the convent.

They are rung for rising, ten minutes before Mass, prayer, and meals, and at 10 pm lights out. They are loud, they are obnoxious, and apparently, one just gets used to them. Once one peels oneself off the ceiling a certain number of times, at least. I think I have a permanent tile imprint on my face from my week there.

Anyway....

One of the bells is actually a small one immediately outside the Novitiate. If a Professed Sister wants to speak with someone, whether a Novice or with the Novice Director, she comes to the Novitiate and rings the bell. That same bell is used for other random purposes determined by situation as well.

Every time I passed it, I had a mad desire to reach out and ring it, suppressed only by hurrying past in order not to allow that temptation to fully emerge. I'm not sure I could contain it. My fingers were just ITCHING to tag that little chain, ring, the bell and dash away to feign innocence.

The big bells that are rung for the whole house, though, are near the main entrance and I thank God for the mercy of not having to pass those ropes very often. There was a sign near them indicating the ropes should be pulled "GENTLY!", and every time I passed, I wanted to do nothing more than to reach out, take a rope in each hand and ring the bells with all my heart and soul!

It is a mercy of God that each time I passed, I had something in my hands that made it impossible for me to follow through on that particular temptation.

Somehow, in spite of this, I did manage to behave myself.

Shocking

Life in the convent is full of surprises. There were random moments of humor, just as there is everywhere else, and random moments of connections one would never expect.

One of the Sisters in the Novitiate is from Canada, and I'm not sure how it came up, but at lunch she was making a comment to the Novice Director about a Canadian show about duct tape. Of course I couldn't help myself and chimed in about the "Red Green Show". This was followed by quoting the Man Prayer: "Dear God. I am a man. But I can change, if I have to. I guess. Amen."

Sister looked over at me, calmly surprised and said in a trademark Canadian manner, "I feel so close to you now!"

Ah. All it takes is a little Duct Tape, WD40, and Red Green to bring Americans and Canadians together. Don'cha' know, Eh?

Permanent Marker

Sunday was an interesting day. There's not a lot of work on Sunday and meals are planned such that preparation and cleanup are as minimal as possible. So it was that after morning Mass/prayer/meditation I went into the bakery to fill the sink and rinse pan. Sr. H. didn't have an apron on so I followed suit, thinking that if all I was going to do was run water there was no need.

So I reached into the lower cabinet for the bleach and began to pour it into the measuring cup, but apparently I was either clumsy or too hurried. The bleach splashed. Initially I looked and thought the splash had remained in the sink, then realized...it hadn't.

I was wearing a black top and my "nice" skirt, and the bleach had bled through. Although I rinsed it out, it was too late. Sr. H. ran to find a permanent marker and pulled a towel out to help me dry my clothing and color it black again, to no avail.

It seemed such happenings weren't done. Back in the Novitiate, during breakfast we learned that Sr. A.J. had spilled orange juice all over her scapular and before our very eyes Sr. J dropped honey in her lap.

I suspected maybe the Sisters were really, in their charity, just trying to make me feel better about bleaching myself!

Random other stuff:

When I arrived, I learned there was a Carmelite Nun there to discern a possible call to active life. This particular community has many devotions, and so St. Therese of Lisieux graces many corners, nooks and crannies. So it was that as I moved down the shadowed corridors, I was always startled to see the Carmelite habit moving among the black-and-white ones.

Had a statue of St. Therese come to life? I checked the corners to be sure the statues were still in place. But no, it was only Sr. JM on her way to prayer (and what a dear she is!)

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One evening, during recreation we headed down to the basement to help move furniture and other things so that the floor could be painted. Mother decided it was also a good time to move old carpet rolls, so two Sisters stood on the storage platform to drag the carpet rolls over to us and we piled them up for further inspection.

Suddenly Sr. H. began screaming, at first unintelligably. I stood back, thinking that by her screams and her frozen posture that there must be a really huge spider on her. I was ready to flee!

Then I realized that she was screaming about a mouse, and couldn't move because the "step" had been taken away, and she didn't initially relalize that said mouse was very, very deceased.

The mouse was no more.

So the Sisters found a box and managed to scrape the contorted petrified mouse into it, while Mother asked us to keep our voices down, for Sister A.J. in the other room was deathly phobic of mice and did NOT need to know one had been found, dead or not!

School...or Prison?

Sr. H. is going to be teaching next year so I went with her to help her move some things to her new convent and school. While there, of course I met the Mother Superior of that convent, who is also the school principal.

We sat in the parlor chatting, and one of the Sisters, a seasoned teacher, asked me if I had my teaching degree.

"No. I have a degree in Criminal Justice."

After a startled pause, she and the other Sisters burst out laughing. "It's the same thing!"

Murder in the Convent

On my last evening there, Sr. H. and I were in the bakery decorating a cake for another Sister's birthday. We colored frosting and as I was putting the dye away, the red dye was apparently leaking. I picked it up and saw that it was all over the counter. While trying to clean it up I realized it was STILL leaking and I'd left a trail!

It was looking gorier and gorier. And we BOTH had red dye all over our hands!

I began to intone a story about murder in the convent...

But I couldn't cast an albino Opus Dei Nun so it just didn't work.

I can say, though, that it happened in the bakery at the hands of the Sister using a spoon.

Shhhhh!

Leaving....

On Wednesday whenI left, many of the Sisters gathered to see me off, making it no secret that they wanted me to come back, and soon!

It was hard to leave them, for I do really love the Sisters and am so grateful for their help over the time I was there. I don't know if I'll see them again or not...it's all up to God and what He desires. And...what I desire, I guess.

It was a bit humorous, though, HOW we left. The Sisters had loaded my luggage into the van, and as Sr. J. and I headed off for the Train station, we were SUPPOSED to make a right around the convent and exit onto the street.

Nope. Some workmen had the street blocked. So she backed up to turn around, making another pass behind the convent. The Sisters had mostly left, but when they saw we were returning, they returned as well. I commented to Sr. J. that they probably thought I'd decided to stay!

She opened the windows as we returned to our point of origin, and Sr. MG said through my window, "You've decided to stay!" And through Sr. J's window, Mother K. asked me, "Are you SURE you don't want your measurements taken TODAY?"

So we took leave again, and Sr., leaving by the other driveway, took a left so we passed a third time in front of the Convent on our way out of town.

Then she realized she was going the wrong way, apologized, and turned around, explaining she needed to take the freeway. At the time we were praying the traditional prayers for safe travel, and passed by the convent YET AGAIN.

I was trying to contain my giggles, but somewhere around the 5th Our Father, laughter burst forth and I asked Sr. J. if perhaps we should pass by the convent yet ANOTHER time just for good measure??

As it was, I did make it to New London to catch my train, and I saw the Atlantic for the first time. Ironic. I once thought I would enlist in the Coast Guard, and en route to the train station we passed the Coast Guard Academy...and what beautiful grounds!

Now my life is complete. Once an aspiring Coastie...now a potential Sister/Nun.

At least I've seen the oceans.

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Life in the Convent

They go about the business of holiness matter-of-factly, their Catholicism and prayer never forced, but rather, a simple way of life that infuses every movement, every thought, every routine. The Sisters are not apart from God in any moment of the day so do not find it necessary to make loud ejaculations of praise or scripture quotation common to the secular world inhabited by people who almost wear desperation to appear to be Christian in every movement. In the convent, devotion to Our Lord is a given and does not need to be loudly announced; it is far more proper that devotion be quietly and sincerely lived.

The Sisters dwell in the House of the Lord, where here on earth they find that His mansion has many rooms, even as they strive to learn to love Him more deeply in every moment of every day. They work in relative silence, speaking in hushed tones when necessary so as not to disturb the interior conversations other Sisters may be carrying on with their beloved spouse, and each night they rest comfortably knowing The Lord awaits at the end of the corridor. The entire house sleeps, resting while awaiting the bell to toll the dawn that they may know to arise for another day in the vineyard of the King.

Many people believe the life of a religious Sister is mysterious and romantic and somewhere in their minds they conceive an idyllic lifestyle of mission bells and prayerful processions. They imagine a myriad of saintliness and ethereal holiness, incense and chant, stone cloister walks and perfect stillness. They imagine the serene contemplation of a Nun or a Monk at prayer, a person who spends hours upon hours doing nothing other than praying in a perfectly focused manner....and nothing could be further from the truth.

If religious life in either an active or contemplative community matched such a romanticized ideal, not the reality of the matter-of-fact life of a Religious, not a single human being would live up to it and it would simply not exist. In fact, if each and every person called to such a life had such a total deprivation of personality, who would ever pay attention to it?

I did not approach my own convent visit with any preconceived notions. My goal was to go, to experience, and to hopefully have the time to listen to God speak to me in the silence.

In reality, He spoke to me not just through prayer but through the personalities and generosity of the Sisters who welcomed me into their home. He did not speak to me through idyllic romance, but through labor and a regimented schedule that made me die to my own desires in order to live for the good of the community.

Every community has its own horarium, most are very similar in schedule, whether active or contemplative.

The first that I visited was an active community, very faithful, very traditional, (although not in the Latin-only sense. No doubt this will antagonize the more-Catholic-than-the-Pope crowd.)

For most of the year the Sisters arise at 5:20 am, but in the summer they are given a half-hour respite and the bell is delayed until 5:50 am. Mass is at 6:30 am.

Most days, I woke up early and catnapped until around 5:30 am or so, so rose and began to putz around my cell until the bell at 5:50. It was a loud clanging sound that would have woken the dead had the dead been buried within the convent itself. As a light sleeper, on the days I did not wake early, the bell made it necessary for me to peel myself off the ceiling and stop shaking before I could think coherently about what I was supposed to do in that 40 minutes before Mass.

The Novitiate dorm is on the 4th floor, and the showers were in the basement, but thankfully that wasn't an issue as each night I showered before bed. Given how hard we worked, that made perfect sense.

Instead I rushed to brush my teeth and dress for the day, and was usually in the chapel within 15 minutes of rising, giving me 20 to 25 minutes of private prayer before Mass.

Mass was offered by a priest from the Franciscans of the Immaculate, no homily (except for the Feast of St. Benedict and of course, on Sunday), and we received Communion while kneeling at the Communion rail. What a blessing!

After Mass was Morning Prayer followed by a half hour of meditation.

As soon as prayer ended, Sr. H. and I and the rest of the novitiate rose to leave the chapel in order to prepare for breakfast. We started dishes and helped to organize everything for both the professed and novitiate, then removed our aprons and went to the novitiate to await Mother K.

It is the custom of the community to wait, standing, in silence, for the Novice Director to arrive. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, prayer (in the novitiate) and breakfast are in silence. When she arrives, all make the sign of the Cross, and when all have completed the silent prayer, or, after completing the vocal prayers on the proper days, when Mother is seated, all are seated. If she stands, all stand and wait for her to be seated again.

The Sisters also had a way of passing food that goes back to the beginning of the Community. At that time they wore veils that included a "stovepipe" that inhibited peripheral vision. To overcome this, at meals they would pass food to the person in front of them, that person would pass the food off to the the next person across the table from them, very unlike our own custom of passing food to the person to our left or right. Even though they no longer dress in this manner they continue to remember their roots by passing food in the same tradition even though it is no longer necessary. It is a beautiful custom.

After breakfast the Sisters do dishes then head up to tidy their cells as they often don't have time to make the bed or put things away before Mass. From there they return to the chapel for Daytime prayer and spiritual reading, a total of around 30 minutes, maybe more, maybe less. The on to assigned work, which, for Sr. H. and I happened to be the bakery.

We made bread, cookies, prepared deserts and trays of food, etc. Break was at 10 am if we took a break, and at times the novices and postulants had meetings with the Novice Director or other duties. During those times I was given extra time in the chapel. On a normal day, though, rosary was at 11:35 am, and back to the bakery and kitchen to help dish up and serve lunch to the professed and wheel a cart to the novitiate out of anything that was left.

After lunch, it was again dishes and then recreation at 1 pm, for which we were often late due to cleanup duties. Often "recreation" was really time to do things like iron habits, do laundry or other things that would arise. It was back to work at 2 pm, or on to instruction if assigned. The afternoon also held time for prayer in the chapel, a break at 4 pm, and more work.

Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament took place at 4:30 pm, followed by rosary and evening prayer at 5 pm.

Each of the convents of this community has a chapel where the Blessed Sacrament is reposed. Also in each, a sister has been given the privilege of exposing and reposing the Blessed Sacrament, and this privilege is given by the local bishop in whatever diocese in which the convent resides. Therefore, even if Sr. A. in the Norwich CT diocese has that permission, if she goes to the Bridgeport CT diocese, she needs to have permission from that bishop.

Unfortunately, none of the convents, even the motherhouse, has an assigned chaplain, therefore this duty and privilege must fall to the Sisters themselves.

The priests who come for Mass at the Motherhouse are not chaplains, but assist the Sisters out of need and kindness in return for a kindness done to them when they needed assistance in the past.

After evening prayer is dinner, and again I was down in the bakery and kitchen to help serve. Dinner was always "pickup", served in the provision room on a large stainless steel table, the Novitiate serve last, but there was never a shortage of food. After dinner we cleaned up and went to the chapel for night prayer (compline), followed by evening recreation.

And again, although it was time for recreation, this was often more an opportunity for more work. One evening we moved things in the basement, my last evening we loaded bread into a car for the homeless shelter and moved the empty racks around the house and into the basement for storage.

Recreation was followed by lockup and a visit to the chapel, up to the 4th floor to change, down 4 floors to the showers, and back up 4 floors for a few minutes to cool off in stagnant warm air before the bell rang for lights out, not to be rung again until 5:50 am....

And speaking of the bell...I'll have to tell you about that a little more.....

Coffee in the Convent

Here I sit, at my computer on a Saturday morning, a cup of coffee at my side. About half gone now, needs to be refilled methinks.

Before I left on my trip, I'd asked Mother K. about coffee, and my first night there she verified that I was serious about my coffee addiction! Indeed! At that time I didn't really know the horarium other than in the most general way, so she instructed Sr. H. to get up early in order to take me down to the Novitiate for coffee so that I could have it in time so as not to break the Communion fast.

So the next morning Sister came to get me around 5:15 am, and we moved through the silent convent in what seemed to be a maze especially in the darkness. She sat with me in the Novitiate as I sipped my coffee sleepily, and we talked quietly and briefly. I felt bad that she'd gotten up early just because of my addiction. At that moment I resolved that even though I needed my coffee, I was going to try to skip it until breakfast from then on out. So the next morning I stumbled to the chapel for Mass, led by Sr. H. as I didn't yet know the way without error, and somehow managed to survive the two hours of private prayer before Mass, Mass itself, Morning Prayer, and meditation.

It really is a wonderful way to start the day.

So as it was, each day my first cup of coffee wasn't enjoyed until breakfast, and then, it was quite hurried and usually very hot so really undrinkable until the end of breakfast. (Meals in the convent are eaten quickly, often silently, and there is a ritual even in that...more on this later.)

That first full day (Thursday last week) in the convent, Mother K. found me in the bakery where I'd been assigned with Sr. H., and sent her on a small errand. While she was gone she told me that sometimes Sr. H. gets caught up in her work and doesn't take a break, but I should be sure to do so. I learned then I could have a second cup of coffee!

And some days, during the 4 pm break, if I was there (I wasn't always there because I'd be with Sr. J. or Sr. H. visiting apostolates), there would be MORE coffee! Normally I don't have coffee in the afternoon, but, when deprived, one takes what one can get when one has access to it!

In the last couple days, when I was with the Dominicans in Summmit, there was more time for coffee, and let me tell you...I thought I was in heaven! (More on that later. I'm going to try to be at least a bit chronological in these posts).

Oh, blessed joyous coffee! Proof of God's love in the small things!

I think after this week I could write a psalm about the blessing of coffee!

I don't think they knew about coffee in the Bible. If they did, there would have been psalms, especially after coffee deprivation. As it is we have psalms about wine and bread and all sorts of things that were suffered in famines and then times of plenty after God's blessings. But coffee..I don't remember reading about coffee.

So, here I sit, in the quiet of my home...sipping Mystic Monk and praising God for every single moment of it!

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

I'm back.

And I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life. I can't think anymore, I can't even pray anymore. I have absoutely nothing LEFT.

A week ago Wednesday a friend got up early to make sure I was at the airport on time (I think I got there at 6 am) and after getting into 3 wrong lines in a very unexpectedly crowded airport before finally finding the right one, (the right line, I mean) I somehow managed to get my boarding pass, get my bags tagged, and somehow managed to get through security.

Our plan arrived in Connecticut early, so I had my baggage and was arranging it a bit more to my liking when Sister arrived to bring me to the convent, about an hour away. Once there, I was taken to one of the parlors where one of the foundresses of the community met me, as did the Sisters I know. And, just like in Mexico, the first thing they did was feed me!

The General Superior was not available to meet me, but apparently said that she would do so later. As it was, I met her quite impromptu after evening prayer and on my last day there sat down in the parlor with her for almost an hour. But that first afternoon and evening are a bit of a blur to me. Sr. J. gave me the grand tour of the convent, chapel, and grounds, and at some point we brought my baggage upstairs. I met the Novice Director and the Sister I was assigned to for the week, changed into a skirt for chapel, and....was immediately plunged into religious life.

I was at the convent for a week, nearly, then on Wednesday morning, Sr. J. drove me to the train station, where I actually saw the Atlantic for the first time in my life. The ride to New Jersey was about 3 hours, the number of hours being 3, no more, no less.

Never mind the fact I was in New York for the first time, too, and what was I subject to? A grand tour of the underground tunnels, where we waited for about 30 minutes. No doubt because probably not even the most seasoned of travelers can weave their way through Penn Station in less time.

Finally we headed for Newark. When checking my ticket as she passed through, the agent happened to comment, "Oh, that's next". (I must have looked very obviously confused!)

Dang. You can take a girl out of the midwest but you can't take the small town out of her no matter how long she's lived in an urban setting!

Anyway, thank God she said something because there was NO announcement! About five minutes after we left New York, the train stopped again, seemingly randomly. I saw no signage, but decided that since the train was stopping, by logic and geography it MUST be Newark. So I wrestled my luggage through the narrow passage, made sure (twice!) I was disembarking in the correct part of the world, and got off the train. Still saw nothing indicating where I was. There was a sign pointing to the "Station", but the only staircases came up. Whaaa..?

Well, there was a religious sister also trying to find the mysterious place called the "Station" and unable to find any solid directions. We happened to converge at the same point. So we decided to be lost together because that was easier than wandering around all by ourselves.

When we found our way down the stairway into an area that looked much more like an urban mall than it did a train station, I learned that she was a Franciscan Sister of the Martyr St. George, and was out there as one of the people doing Apostolic Visitations.

All I could say was, "God bless you!"

We made our way outside and she had seen the vehicle I was looking for, although it had passed by. It was a bit before I found Dominican Sr. M., so I stood out on the curb in Newark NJ, very conscious of the fact that I looked like a midwestern girl fresh off the farm. Really not a good thing in a city like Newark NJ.

I had only that afternoon and yesterday with the Dominicans, but lots of homework has been given to me! This morning Sr. M. dropped me off at the airport that sent off ill fated United 93 in 2001, but in spite of that I still made it home.

So here I sit, my dog curled up on the rug next to me, my laundry in piles waiting to be done...

Can I have a vacation to recover from the last 10 days of my life?

For those who want to know all the hairy details...don't hold your breath. This has been a very intense couple of weeks, I have a lot to think and pray about, and the vast majority will never be published on the blog. All I intend to give is incidental details. The rest remains between the Lord and myself...and those few people in my life in the category that gives them the privilege of knowing a bit more.

Right now, I'm just happy to be back home. Please don't ask me any questions or offer any advice or try to surmise what's going on. Even though much of my blog is, in a sense, an "open book", there is much I keep to myself. Especially now it's important that I maintain a certain silence; not because I've been told to do so, but because I want to, I need to, and it's proper.

There will be more posts on my practical experience, but...not tonight.

Thank you all for your prayers and I humbly ask that you continue to pray for me. You were all also in my prayers in all the hours I spent in the chapel in the last ten days.

May God reward you.

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Curtain!

This will be my last post for awhile.

Tomorrow morning I'll be getting up around 3:30 am so that I can stumble downstairs and have some coffee while prying my eyes open with some heavy machinery.

A friend is picking me up around 5:30 to go to the airport, and a big silver bird is going to carry me out to the East coast for ten days of intense discernment.

Yes, I'm nervous. That hit me tonight when most of my prep was done.

My dog is safely nestled in at another friend's house, and to my eyes she looked pretty happy with her new hobby of herding children around the kitchen and living room. I just hope she behaves herself! And I also hope the baby doesn't find it necessary to share all of his crackers with her. As it is she's apparently a huge fan of said baby, evidenced by her maternal and constant washing of his face. Which he didn't seem to mind too much!

So, all is well. I'll triple-check the suitcase tomorrow in hopes I have what I need but not more than I need (because lugging junk around is just no fun!).

Have a wonderful couple of weeks everyone! Thanks for your prayers, please keep praying for me, and I will remember your own intentions as well!

Countdown

When I started this blog, I cited my vocational discernment and invited you along for the journey.

Then I fell away and decided I wasn't "Called", but still wrote about the topic and what I had learned.

My friends, Discernment is Hell. It's awful. It's painful and tumultous and uncertain and polemical. It's one of the WORST experiences you can ever have in this life, but the ends are amazing.

And it continues. I wish I could say this is a summary and I'm at the end, but truly, I know that this is where it really begins.

Maybe it's easier for those who are just out of high school or college and haven't purchased a "real life". As it is, my life owns me because I've done everything the "American Dream" has told me to do and all it has done has separated me from God and His Call.

I own a house and a dog and once I thought a guy loved me enough to marry me. In reality all I've obtained is debt I can't control, a house worth less than nothing, and a broken heart not worth the sound of even random beats.

At least I got a good dog out of the deal.

And what I know is that this isn't why God called me into existence.

For the last few years, I've struggled, very publicly, with my vocational discernment, even denying it for a time. I've denied it to friends and acquaintances, but had to finally acknowledge that it wasn't over. God wouldn't give up on me. It never mattered to Him that everyone else had...He wasn't to be dissuaded.

Nor would the communities that have been in contact with me. The Sisters I go to visit confronted me very directly, upon our meeting, with the question, "Are you discerning?"

My answer that November was "I don't know!"

That ambivalence lead to an invitation...and then another. And constant invitations to visit the Motherhouse.

I knew, always, that I wanted to follow Christ. I am in love with Him.

Yes, others recognized that as well, but I needed very direct contact to do something with that love.

So it is, finally, that I am headed out to visit the Motherhouse of that very community. I'll spend a week or so there, living the life of a Sister, which is amazing to me. All I've ever had is a small family, one that has been shattered and is only now finally healing. And so God brings me into another family of Sisters, and through that incorporation, I know my own will never be left.

For over a week, I'll be immersed in prayer, work, Mass, and family...one to which I might be given. They are discerning me even as I am discerning them. One community is active, one cloistered. Could either be my Home?

Only God knows. Only He Calls.

All I am doing is trying to respond and see where this leads....

(to be continued.....)

The Call and Friendship

A couple weeks ago, I called a friend to RSVP to her birthday party, as I'd be celebrating my own belated party with my own family that same weekend. In that voicemail I said I had my own news and looked forward to seeing them soon.

A couple days ago when I entered the chapel for Daily Mass, there was my now-a-year-older friend waiting in the Confession line. She beckoned me to her and asked for my news.

Kneeling before her, I quickly and quietly told her of my immediate vocational discernment retreat, who I was visiting and why. She hugged me joyfully, fiercely and kissed my cheek, whispering into my ear, "I so want the best for you!"

I hugged her back, grateful, for she is one who told me a couple years ago that, when I had revealed I didn't think I was Called, neither did they. But yesterday, they asked me to share my "news". I did so, for a few years ago they'd been the first to hear of it...and the first to forget and disregard it.

All of them had agreed that, most definitely, I had not been Called to religious life but it was important for me to go and find out. How ironic.

One of them, though, today, said quietly, "So the Call came back, huh?"

I told her, "The Call never really went away."

Quietly, smiling, she said, "I know."

Why is it our friends know so much...but say so little?

They all understand that the visit for the next couple weeks isn't definitive and I might well come back with an understanding that this is not where God is calling me.

A part of me thinks that they expect me to come back having learned the latter. Definitively.

It is a blessing to have such friends, though. They don't expect much of this visit, they are happy I'm going, and when it comes down to it, they will my happiness and union with God. Is there anything greater to be desired? I know without a doubt that whatever happens, they are there and I love them for it.

Another Friend Has News

I'm not the only one hearing the whisper and direct touch of Our Lord.

One of my friends let her husband give their news...she is pregnant and due in February.

This pregnancy is of special concern, for a few years ago she miscarried. My friend has a delicate medical condition that can be fatal and often finds herself at the hospital for treatment. Any pregnancy, then, is going to be a risk for her, both for the baby and for her. Please keep my friend in your prayers and her unborn child. It was hard enough for her to lose one, and she never had the chance to publicly announce that child before the dear one was lost.

Please, God, let her carry this one to term, keep her health through and beyond this pregnancy!

I ask the prayers of all of you to help my friend bring this beloved child through birth and into the world!

Welcome Father GJ!

It's about time, but FINALLY one of our own local priests has started a blog!

Go welcome FatherGJ (aka Father Nels Gjendahl) to the blogging world!

I'm actually insanely jealous of him because he's in Mexico right now. Unfortunately he's not in Puebla where I spent most of my time, but he is talking about the places and experiences and basically all sorts of things I miss. *sigh*

Mantilla twitch to my dear friend-in-real-life, Cathy of Alex. :-)

Independence

This evening I was watching a movie about a young woman with a protective father, and how her feminism, by the end of the movie was softened, granting her not less, but more independence. This one tempered by a greater wisdom, one gained through a greater understanding of love.

Suddenly I was struck as I considered my own history. How I had to be "independent", and therefore, a "feminist" long before it was time. How my own ventures in adulthood through a few careers were, in a sense, seeking what I lacked. Not only was I seeking God, but I was trying to become what I didn't have.

I don't really know how to say this, and yet, it's so true, that perhaps all I can do is be blunt.

It has to be said. Please bear with me as I try to find the words.

The Psalms Speak God's Heart

When I pray the words of the psalms in the Liturgy of the Hours speaking of the "precious daughter", almost always, I tear up, at least a little. If not that, then I at least pay closer attention to what is being said. Trying to find the meaning, to understand it, and even to identify with it.

When I consider great Biblical women, cherished by their fathers, and Mary, held so close to her own family and then given into St. Joseph's protection, well, I can't really understand that from a personal perspective. I have a "romantic" sense of it, knowing it was real, but it seems like a fairy-tale to me. It's never been my experience, so even praying these psalms is a scary act of trust.

Never in my life have I EVER felt "protected". I've never dwelt in the security that comes from knowing there is someone to defend me.

I've never been defended.

In The Princess Bride, the Dread Pirate Roberts quips to Inigo, "You have an overdeveloped sense of vengeance."

I'm not interested in vengeance. I've no need.

I have an overdeveloped sense of defense.

Everything I've done as an adult is about...defense. Defending the less fortunate. Defending the law and seeking justice. Defending the powerless. Defending those whose lives have been in danger. Defending the Church, defending our Faith. Defending myself from those very same threats.

It's as though, at some point in my teenage years I went into full survival mode and I've never found the occasion to come out of it.

Even now, living alone as a single woman, I'm very conscious of my safety. I chose a German Shepherd partially for defense, partially because I've always loved Shepherds. I still have my guns and consider my training. I'm still willing to shoot first and ask questions later if someone breaks into my home.

If there is no one to defend my honor, even honor that has already been lost, then I will do it myself. I have no choice. There is no one else.

If I called for help, all I would hear is crickets, if even those.

But I weary of this state of vigilance. For once, I want to be able to relax and know that someone else cares, someone else is there to defend me, and...dare I say it? I want to finally know that I am that cherished daughter worthy of defense.

Perhaps this has been so much of my struggle in my discernment. Even as God invites and says, "All that I have is yours" I have a hard time believing it.

Even as He welcomes me home from the battlefield, I flee from His care, not trusting, never having been given a reason to trust.

God throws open the doors, He kills the fattened calf, He holds out jeweled rainments, and still I stand ready to flee, not believing any of this could be for me. I don't want to be a daughter for a day. I want to be a daughter for life. I want to be that cherished daughter.

And yet I fear that if I step through that door, I'll find that it was never what I wanted or who I was meant to be. I fear that I'm sentenced to a life on this battlefied without backup, skulking in the shadows so as not to be noticed, staving off the attacks because there is no one else to do it for me.

Can I ever let go of my vigilance? Can I ever stop being on the defensive?

Can I ever really, truly believe...and live...the reality that abandonment to God is where I'll find true freedom and protection?

Can I ever really believe those words Our Lord whispers in the silence and through the psalms, that they aren't speaking to history, but through it...to me?

*

Smithereens

GOD BLESS AMERICA!

In honor of the 4th of July, I ask you, dear readers, that if you are going to be playing with fireworks, to take stock of your appendages and realize how much they are a part of you. Make sure you still have them at the end of the day!

If you have not, take some time to pray for our country. We'd be unrecognizable to the vision of our founding fathers, but I guess that's what happens when we place our faith in men and government for our salvation instead of looking to God. Let us therefore remember to look to God in all things for it is only through His grace that our country is so great.

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Pieces of Shrapnel

This has been my first week on summer hours at work, so I've taken the time to have a bit of fun and focus on my upcoming trip.

On Wednesday, my dog and I headed down to my brother's house. He came home from work early that day and decided to take an afternoon nap. His girlfriend and I left the dog to gaze out the patio window while we gallavanted down the street to a local fancy-schmancy restaurant for vino and appetizers.

We decided that it was a day to "misbehave". Our idea of "misbehavior" of course was to go to a fancy restaurant without being dressed for it! When we arrived, we waited for the fancy group in front of us who wore money-scented perfume to be seated in the lower dining area. When the hostess came back for us she asked us if we wanted to be seated there or "in the lounge"? We conferred briefly, and in that pause, the hostess, getting worried, explained, "Oh, well, actually there aren't any tables left in the dining area but you can feel free to be seated anywhere in the lounge..."

(hint hint, push push, shove shove!)

So it was, we were quite directly dissed and banished to "the lounge"! That has NEVER happened to me before! We didn't look THAT bad!

But we remained, we ordered a bottle of good Sauvignon Blanc and a cheese & crustini platter which was absolutely divine. Our server was incredible and so I must say, it was her gracious and personal service that has stayed my hand from giving the restaurant a scathing public review on a dining website.

But alas, we finished our vino and continued down the street to get more appetizers at a wonderful Sushi place that advertised Happy Hour from 3-6 pm. As it turned out, they didn't actually open until 4, so we walked a little further to a bar and grill, nursed a glass of wine and lots of water for an hour or so, then returned for sushi appetizers and another thing on their happy hour menu. Again...divine!

My brother joined us during that time but had to leave for an errand so we walked back to his house, where he was happily preparing a chicken for the grill. It was a wonderful evening of good food and good company and nice to have such a day of "misbehavior".

My goodness, when did I get so old that all of the above is "misbehaving"?

**

Trippin'

I've also been preparing for my upcoming "Great Monastic Adventure". There have been things I've been needing to buy and have actually found some of them. Although I can't find any good shirts to layer over all the low-cut tight-fitting tops. Seriously, almost everything I find at the store is made for someone who either wants to look bustier than she is or reveal completely what is there!

I'm going to visit a CONVENT people, how in the WORLD would revealing cleavage be proper???

Seriously I noticed this problem before but now even more so, knowing where I'm headed. So I went to Sears and found a great guy's shirt. That does it. From now on I'm shopping in the men's section. Better quality stuff that doesn't show anything off!

So I still have a short list of needed items I can pick up from Target or somewhere.

On the food end of things, in looking at what to eat for the next few days, I've realized I don't want to eat anything that is going to get smelly in summer heat and hang out in my trashcan for the next few weeks. Our trash pickup is on Wednesday, and I can't leave that can out for 2 weeks without being fined by the association. So that means it will remain safely in my garage while I fly away. I'd rather not have my neighbors on either side of me asking "What died?".

If there is anything important to dispose of, hopefully they will allow me to add mine to their containers this week. I have generally good neighbors.

So, there it is. Not a very insightful post, but the reality of planning for a trip. And still so much to do before I go!

*

Anyway, have a Happy July 4th! Be safe! And pray for our country!

*

Cool Light Reflection

A couple weeks ago, I had just gotten up and was feeling very stressed over all the things that were happening. Work, my upcoming "Great Monastic Adventure", etc.

My drapes were still closed as the sun was coming in and I wanted to keep the house as cool as possible.

I think that's also the morning I received an email reply or at least was reviewing it, from one of the communities I wanted to visit. I remember a sudden sense of being overwhelmed and I prayed, "Blessed Mother, what should I do?"

I stood up, turned to go into the kitchen and get my coffee, and caught sight of a bright glare of sunlight that had found its way through the drape.

To my eye at the time, it looked like an angel, and indeed, I know my Guardian Angel is always present. The photos make me think of several versions of Our Lady, though. Our Lady of Grace, Our Mother of Perpetual Help, Mary Queen of Heaven, Queen of the Angels... all of course, are the same person....our dear Blessed Mother.

Because the light was so cool, I grabbed my cheapo disposible camera and thought it couldn't hurt to try to capture the image, although I sincerely thought that the flash would completely destroy it. So I covered it as best I could with my fingers and snapped a few shots. I think one of the two images is actually with full flash, which is amazing, and I think the other is without, with me covering it (as it's automatic), so a little got through.

I've seen the light come through and hit that corner a few times, but it's never before caught my attention like it did on that day. I love how God can use the most mundane things to remind us that He is present and hears our prayers.

I also love it when photos we think don't have a chance of turning out...do!

I believe it was St. Therese of Lisieux who said, "Always take comfort from knowing you are in the presence of the angels."

Indeed.

The Importance of Celibacy in the Priesthood

**Long Post Alert! This is a paper I wrote for Ecclesiology using, per our prof's preference, sources limited to classroom texts. It is by no means an exhaustive article, but I do hope it assists you in understanding, truly, why the discipline of celibacy is so important. I have marked the endnotes which give greater context to the quotes and info summarized. Further, I've "blogified" the references so please don't use the format as an example of proper end note formatting! ***

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The importance of the Priesthood of Jesus Christ cannot be denied by the faithful. Yet today, the ministerial Priesthood is under attack from every direction; there are those who don’t understand the power given through ordination, there are those who think it’s possible to ordain women, and many who believe the discipline of celibacy should come to an end. Clearly, the priesthood in general is not understood by many, nor is the discipline and charism of celibacy. We will look at the importance of the Priesthood in several contexts, including (but not limited to) their relationship to the Sacraments, the indelible character belonging to men who are called to stand in persona Christi, and how the nobility of celibacy gives greater freedom to those men to be more perfectly conformed to Jesus Christ in service to His Church.

Perhaps the first question to address is this: who are priests called to be? The Priesthood is not a career, but a vocation. The Acts of the Apostles 6:3-6 (1) reveals to us the importance of Ordination, for the authority passed on to those who are called is expressed very specifically through the Apostles; or, today, through the Successors of the Apostles, the Bishops. Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, in Called to Communion, refuted the modernist notion that the priesthood is about pop-psychology’s advancement of “self-realization”, or that it is another method of employment in which one can develop one’s own talents and gifts. Rather, he goes right to the heart of the matter and explains that the priesthood calls men to die to themselves in order that Christ may live in and through them. Holy Orders is a Sacrament which sends the men on a mission to give what does not otherwise belong to them, to bear something that is committed to their charge. (2) It is an awesome responsibility, requiring not ambition, but selflessness.

Yet, what is the purpose of this precious mission? “Through Holy Orders men are set aside and consecrated to God, to offer the Sacrifice of the Eucharistic Victim, to nourish the flock of the faithful with the Bread of Angels and the food of doctrine…” (3) The purpose of the Priesthood is to stand in the person of Christ so that through his mortal fingers, Christ may come Sacramentally to His People. Through Holy Orders, those called by God to the priesthood receive the power over Christ’s own body, to consecrate the bread and wine, changing them into the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Christ. In that moment, it is not the priest who does anything; it is Jesus Christ. The priest becomes an instrument of God, as it were, disappearing so that Christ can be made present. It belongs specifically to the nature of the priesthood to lay down his own life so that Jesus might live through him, may be made present through him, and nowhere is this reality more profound than at the consecration where he states, “This is my Body; this is my Blood.”

The grace of salvation, which comes to us through the Sacraments, can only ordinarily be made present to the world through the ministerial priesthood. It is for this primary purpose they are called and consecrated. It is for the life not only of the Church, but of the whole world, that these men are called to stand and serve in the person of Christ. All that he does is ordered towards the salvation of souls, and the unity of the Mystical Body, the Church. It is through the Sacraments that all are called into this body, and through the Sacrament of Penance, the laity and priesthood alike are purified and prepared to receive the greatest of the Sacraments, the saving Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ in the Holy Eucharist. (4)

The priesthood is a sign of contradiction to the world, for it is a visible mark of the folly and the glory of the Cross. We see this especially in the vow of celibacy, for this is a charism the world rejects and outright attacks. Yet in looking at the priesthood with an understanding of who and what these men are called to be, celibacy is a considerable factor in how they can be most perfectly conformed to Christ and most perfectly lead the people through the Cross of Christ and into the Resurrection.

It is the grace of celibacy that allows the priest to enter into the selflessness that especially conforms him to Jesus Christ. Celibacy, in fact, is a sign that the love of God overcomes all.

Yet, what is this motivation to renounce all, especially marriage and children, for the sake of the Kingdom? In a world such as ours, what causes men to be so willing to give up so much? Charles Cardinal Journet observes in Theology of the Church, “Only the love that moves one to renounce all can, in the Church, sustain that love which makes an instrument of all.” (5) Those who, through marriage or other more temporal states in life must by necessity be engaged in the use of earthly things are hindered, in some ways, of achieving the ability to be focused primarily on the needs of the Church. They are, by necessity, divided. In being willing to give everything to Christ’s Church, the priest is renouncing something worldly in order to be free to allow grace to sustain him and make him completely into an instrument of God.

In returning briefly to the discussion of the purpose of the priesthood, the role of the priest is to devote himself to sanctifying activities, yet to exist with and suffer with the people, allowing them to largely handle the temporal concerns of the world. It is his role to instruct, to preach, to lead, to remain present in all they do, but always directing his flock towards the greater goal, and providing the spiritual resources to aid them both spiritually and in their temporal works so that they will continue to grow in sanctity. Celibacy, then, is liberating. It is a liberty gained from the renunciation of the activities of marriage for the sake of the Church, yet this renunciation isn’t only celibacy, but something more. It enters into poverty of spirit, of poverty of self, a self-emptying which allows him the freedom to become an alter Christus; another Christ.

It is this very poverty which makes him an instrument of God. “What passes to the world through it is not the poverty of the minister but the riches of Christ.” (6) Herein we see the folly and the glory of the Cross; for the priest is a sign of contradiction. In a world of hedonism, he has given up everything the world claims will make them happy, and therein, not only does he find true wealth, but he gives that wealth to his flock. A life of religious servitude, as in the priesthood, should be free him as much as possible from all the concerns of a material life. He is placed into a position to give what he does not himself possess, to enable him to do what he cannot do in and of himself. (7) It entails a dependence upon God, upon spiritual realities, preferring those to temporal means. And therein, the priest finds the Cross, he is conformed to the Cross, bearing out body and soul the scourge of both the folly and glory of the Cross as he is liberated to become more conformed to Christ in whose place he serves.

Celibacy is a higher calling, a more noble calling, and, one could argue in this context, a necessary component of the priesthood. It is a more perfect way to live, ordered to and justified through service for the general good of the Church. There is more perfection in happiness than in the married state, for those who are celibate are free to focus more completely on sanctifying work, while those who are married must, by necessity, be concerned for the cares of his family. (8) How can a priest function so divided? How can he fully empty himself in order to live for Christ and His Church as a whole if he must also be especially devoted to a wife and children? How can he be concerned with the affairs of God if he is constantly halted by the roadblocks of the world?

Virginity and Celibacy makes the body and soul more similar to God, conforming one more perfectly to Christ. It is more akin to the angelic state. Matthew 19:10-12 addresses the necessity of the celibate life for the sake of the kingdom, (9) and in 1 Corinthians 7:25-26, Paul expounds on the fact that those who remain celibate also enjoy a freedom not available to those who are bound by marriage. (10) Indeed, the vow of celibacy is also binding, as much as is marriage, but within those bonds, the priest is granted the ability to be more perfectly conformed to Christ in order to better lay down his life for His Church.

In considering the nature and purpose of the priesthood, in considering the character that defines their mission, and the sacrifice of the one in whose place they are called to serve, clearly we must also recognize the necessary freedom of response to that intimate call. It is not an easy life; it is one of sacrifice, of selflessness, and only those who are willing to give everything so that Christ might live through them can receive this life. The consideration of celibacy is an important factor for it seems that only through this charism can a man freely and fully give of himself, and truly die in order that the Church might have life through the gift of salvation.

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FOOTNOTES:

1. Acts 6: 3-6 : “Therefore, brethren, pick out from among you seven men of good repute, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we may appoint to this duty. But we will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word. And what they said pleased the whole multitude, and they shoes Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit, and Philip, and Prochorus, and Nicanor, and Timon and Parmenas and Nicolaus, a proselyte of Antioch. These they set before the apostles, and they prayed and laid their hands upon them.”

2. Called to Communion, Ratzinger, p 115: “This is precisely what we mean when we call the ordination of priests a sacrament: ordination is not about the development of one’s own powers and gifts. It is not the appointment of a man as a functionary because he is especially good at it, or because it suits him, or simply because it strikes him as a good way to earn his bread; it is nota question of a job in which someone secures his own livelihood by his own abilities, perhaps in order to rise later to something better.”

3. Mystici Corporis Christi, 20

4. Charles Cardinal Journet, Theology of the Church p. 166: “There will be all throughout history…men incorporated in Christ the Priest, participating in the spiritual unction of his sovereign priesthood, drawn in the wake of his divine liturgy. The cultic mediation of the Head is transmitted to and diffused throughout the entire Body….These latter must now work through him, with him, and in him for the salvation of the world…The Church will exist in her fullness only where the priesthood of Christ - through Christian worship – continues to be exercised.”

5. Journet, p. 270

6. Journet, p 114

7. Called to Communion, p115: “Sacrament means: I give what I myself cannot give; I do something that is not my work; I am on a mission nand have become the bearer of that which another has committed to my charge.”

8. Journet, p. 264 “All things being equal, it is not the state of marriage that profits the Church the most. There is more perfection and happiness, as she herself declares it, in remaining keeping celibate than in living in the married state.”

9. Mt 19: 10-12: “The disciples said to him, ‘If such is the case of a man with his wife, it is not expedient to marry.’ But he said to them, ‘Not all men can receive this precept, but only those to whom it is given. For there are eunuchs who have been so from birth, and there are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by men, and there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. He who is able to receive this, let him receive it.’”

10. 1 Cor 7:25-26 : “Now concerning the unmarried, I have no command of the Lord, but I give my opinion as one who by the Lord’s mercy is trustworthy. I think that in view of the impending distress it is well for a person to remain as he is. “

How Long Must I Wait?

Love is so hard to comprehend. I don't understand it it all.

Yes, I've written about it theologically, and I believe that God's love is personal, but for some reason, I can't internalize the depth and witdth and breadth of Our Lord's love.

Growing up, I heard over and over how God the Father loves us, how the Holy Spirit loves us, and how Jesus loves us. We sang about it in songs. Yet, the words and chintzy tunes weren't enough. They revealed...nothing. God always seemed in some sense, impersonal and aloof. Certainly I agreed that His Sacrifice on the Cross was personal, but in my mind, it was personal to us collectively and He didn't really know me. He was like a celebrity, one who might be very kind to me if he met me, but would recognize me no more than would, say, David Hasselhoff. I was just one of millions saying, "I love you Jesus!"

Even as an adult, it's hard to grasp such deep, personal, and truly passionate love. Even though I have the theology and can express Thomistically and in Augustinian language the fact that Christ's Sacrifice was personal in the most intimate sense, this truth is something that hasn't yet truly brought me to my knees.

I've experienced bona fide miracles, and all the time I witness answers to prayers, both of mine and those of my friends. Little prayers are often answered in big, obvious ways. Even so, I simply can't grasp that God's love for us is truly tangible and real.

Honestly, I can barely even write about how personal is His love. Over and over, when I've written on this topic, I tend to make it impersonal, using terms like "we" and "us". Certainly that IS true, and in using those terms I do want to help others understand that this love is for them, maybe if I was being honest I'd have to say that the personal pronouns are too difficult. I need to "diffuse" this love of God to spread it out, because it's so strong that to understand it would bowl me over.

As it stands, I have a hard time truly accepting God's love for...me.

My response to such a revelation has always been, and remains even now, "How can this be?!?"

Lately, when looking at different pictures of Jesus, what has stood out the most has been the wounds on His hands. No matter how sterile and bloodless the picture, the artist has always taken care to portray the wounds left by the nails that pierced Jesus' hands. Every time I see these pictures, I want to stop and lose myself in that image, hide within those wounds. Even as I flinch back in guilt at what I've done, I am drawn forward with a love I cannot deny or refuse.

How dare I write about this love? How can I write about loving Jesus if I struggle so hard to accept His love for me?

This evening before Mass I was musing about this and wonder if perhaps the reason for this dichotomy is actually very simple: we don't know what love really is. In our puny, imperfect human love, we set boundaries, restrictions and conditions, even disorder. Then, when we are confronted with the perfect, personal, unconditional and unrelenting love of Jesus, we realize immeditely that we must accept it on His terms

I was almost overcome in that moment of prayer, still not understanding, but coming a little closer to His Most Sacred Heart. His Heart, the source of all love, that teaches me I don't have to understand in order to accept, that He is only asking me to trust.

Sacred Heart of Jesus...have mercy on us.

Sacred Heart of Jesus...have mercy on us.

Sacred Heart of Jesus...have mercy on us.

Immaculate Heart of Mary....pray for us!

Real Women Use Charcoal!

This evening I was perusing those blogs I follow, and saw that Rich Leonardi and I share the same sentiment about charcoal...it's the ONLY way to go.

What's more, we agree that gas is for sissies.

I don't own a gas grill. I'm not interested. Sure, it can be convenient, but in reality, the flavor isn't as good.

And when you're dealing with something you ingest, both by necessity and for pleasure, well, why would you EVER go with something substandard?

Personally, I'm sick of being ridiculed by arrogant people who have gas grills. The reality is that they're just plain lazy. Every single gas grill devotee I've ever met has cited "convenience" while looking down their nose at me and decrying the "mess" of charcoal.

When did sackcloth and ashes become unpopular?

Give me my messy time-consuming labor-intensive charcoal any day. At least my steak and chicken taste good.

The Rosary, Raw Fish, Family, and Vocation

Rosary

This evening after Adoration, I went down to my brother's house for dinner. Since we couldn't celebrate my birthday last week, we planned it for tonight, yet when I was half way there Mom called to say they wouldn't be there!

Apparently my brother decided he needed to go grocery shopping. Happily, though, I had a key to his house, so Mom explained that my birthday gift was on the coffee table and it would give me "something to do". Inwardly I groaned, because I knew she was saying I should pray the rosary she was giving me. (I still have a rebellious side and an ingrained reaction inclined to automatic disobedience to Mom, even if what she is suggesting is something I WANT to do!)

So it was that I entered the empty house, and after setting my things down, went into the bag of rosaries Mom was giving me to distribute to others. Within that was my gift, a special rosary she'd ordered. In fact, she'd been told it would take 5-6 weeks...it only took two.

I think this is the most beautiful rosary I've ever had; it has pearls set in silver (not real!), and the medal has the Sacred Heart of Jesus on one side and Our Lady of the Snows on the other.

Although I usually pray the rosary during my Adoration hour, or, if headed to my brother's, I pray it en route. Once that rosary was in my hands, I understood why I hadn't sensed the inclination to pray as usual; right there, in my brother's living room, while waiting for them to finish their errands, I prayed this rosary for my family. I looked at the painting of the Prodigal Son I'd given my brother for Christmas, and realized that God was bringing things together for us all in a way none of us really understands, even now.

It was a beautiful moment of God's grace, His presence in the small things, and in fact, an answer to a prayer.

Raw Fish

Shortly after they arrived back home, we decided on a restaurant: a Sushi place nearby that apparently was running an all-you-can-eat special. Realizing that this isn't something that comes along every day, we headed over and gorged ourselves on a few courses of Sashimi, Nigiri, and a few different rolls, then another entree of either steak or chicken.

I've only had Sushi a few times, but have always enjoyed it. Today, though, was the first time I had sashimi and realized that perhaps THIS was the real test of whether or not I really liked it! I'll admit that I had to focus on not thinking about what I was eating. The reality is that we're "programmed" not to eat raw food, and yet, what was I doing? Eating raw fish doused in soy and (faux) wasabi.

The texture of the sashimi, (fish without vinegar rice) reminded me of exactly what I was eating and that, in fact...it wasn't cooked. And in fact, cooking it would have ruined it completely.

I've gotta say, though, tonight's dinner was FABULOUS. And the fried rice with my teriyaki steak was the best I ever had! We made certain that our server passed our compliments on to the kitchen!

** Sushi glossary

Family & Vocation

But the best part of the evening was just being with my family, to include my brother's girlfriend. Food, sake, wine and family. What can be better?

They are also curious about my upcoming trip so I explained what I knew, and they want me to come down for dinner again after my first trip in July. We might well return to the same restaurant...so how, in good conscience, could I ever turn that down?

As it is, I'm very grateful for so much right now. My family seems to be warming to the idea of my possible Vocation and they're curious about the life that seems so mysterious to them...and why it interests me. It's hard to explain to my non-practicing-Catholic brother and his girlfriend of the same mindset how God is at the center of everything.

Just the same, I'm grateful for their support. Tonight I brought home the large suitcase from my brother's luggage set. No one is trying to talk me out of this, Mom approves and understands why I'm going.

We did have a short discussion on how, especially, the cloistered communities come to be. How do they build their buildings? How do they live? I explained how they make products to sell, how people support them. My brother can't fathom this. I reminded him that this is how all the great cathedrals were built...from support of the people. Everyone paid for it.

Same with religious communities...benefactors support them, even as they work to support themselves.

I didn't tell my brother that I'm understanding this more and more. God is powerful. This summer I'm able to go on these trips to discern God's will through the same method that built the great cathedrals and maintains various religious communities today: faith and benefactors.

It will maybe be a long time before I will be able to explain any of this to my family. Even as they watch with interest and are wiling to help, they don't all understand. And that, actually, is beautiful, because I know that in that mystery, God is revealing Himself to them.

We all give witness to God through our lives. That doesn't mean we share everything, every detail, but rather that we live as God is calling us to live, follow Him in ways that might be uncomfortable for others to witness (and maybe us to follow!), and slowly, He is revealed.

As I've said over and over again, I'm not a Saint. I'm a train wreck. I'm a plane crash. I'm a husk of a burned-out relic of a car on the side of Route 66. My family knows this very, very clearly, and so does everyone who knows me.

Nothing that is happening to me is happening because of anything I've ever done. But if God can work through someone like me, it shows His glory, His perfection, His love, His mercy. And if I can take a step back and hide behind all that wonder, then I am willing to step up and take this risk.

It's still difficult, but I'll admit that the fact that my Mom and brother are cautiously supportive is amazingly helpful as I prepare to finally take this huge leap in July.

Maybe all it takes to bring people together is a little sake and raw fish. Oh, and the Rosary.

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;-)

Surpassing Understanding

Working in a parish is not the same as work in the secular world.

In all the secular jobs I've had, although I remember many co-workers fondly, there was nothing other than the job the really bonded us. As it is, I've not stayed in contact with...well...anyone with whom I've worked in the past. The "friendships" were superficial and incidental, and even those who did remain friends for a time are no longer in my life for one reason or another.

Some of this has to do with my own conversion and having to take a moral stand with regard to one friend's "living will". (She and I were friends for years...that stance caused her to slam the door on our friendship.)

Others were really just not deep enough to last beyond our common employment.

Working in a parish, as I mentioned, is different.

It's not just "a job". Certainly, the actual work involved is definitely "a job". It's paperwork and organization (blech) and coordinating (blech again!) and tedium and a whole bunch of things I do especially when I know I have no idea what I'm doing, why I'm doing it, or how to go about it.

But there's more: there's the people. Catholics just like me. People at various stages in their spiritual life. People who love Our Lord and are doing their best to follow Him.

Working in a parish has softened me. In the past, on my blog, in my angry post-conversion stage I did what a lot of people do; I ripped and shredded people in their ignorance of our faith. In fact, I still do this, but with much less frequency now and even less hostility.

Well, now...I see the cause of that, and the futility of all the ripping and roaring of the blogosphere. Firstly, the people with no faith aren't reading the blogs. Thank God! If they did, they'd run away forever! (We ALL need to learn to hold our tongues!)

I've had the privilege, since starting this position, of speaking to people one to one, and some have had very real, deep questions and are simply in want of a little discussion, maybe even support. Others have been outright hostile, not understanding that living and sharing their faith is, in fact, a baptismal DEMAND upon us. They've been done a disservice in the lack of education they've received, don't know the first thing about what it means to be Catholic and they're confused, angry, hurt, grieving...a thousand things. They don't need harsh words. They need someone to listen and understand.

(They also don't need someone to water down the teachings of the Church, only deliver those teachings gently and with proper timing. I'm still learning this lost art.)

I've also learned that working in a parish actually DIMINISHES my "power" in the eyes of those who attend that parish. Those who don't work for the Church are in fact a bigger voice than any of us who function within the confines of religious education.

For example, if I go up in front of a group of people and say, with references, that we are obligated to attend Mass EVERY Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation, people want to know who I am to DARE to suggest they can't just "decide" whether they are "obligated" on their own. Yet if a fellow parishioner stands in front of them and says the same thing, they hear the voice as "non-authoritative" and therefore, someone to be believed. Thus, if I and that person are on the same page, the teaching has more credibility.

And of course, I've discussed in depth in other posts that if Father says something....it's golden. Even if they don't like it. Because he's Father. They might vilify me, they might vilify the other parishioner, but even if they vilify Father, they take his words to heart. That's a fact.

It really is like a big family of discombobulated siblings, some of whom don't get along, and others that do and form a united front and in fact, carry the rest of the family, rebellious or ambivalent, with their loving and fruitful labors.

As a parish employee, I get to know about 1% of that parish very well, because they're the people I actually SEE all the time. The good thing is that, where I work, that 1% is STELLAR, faithful, prayerful, and they're dragging me kicking and screaming on my way to holiness.

Having just come off of a very large unwieldy project as of today, I can honestly say that if it weren't for a few solid volunteers, everything would have crashed. And not just because one person simply doesn't have the ability to do it all, but because these people see and know my weaknesses and leap in to save me and the project. They've been carrying me and the program all week long.

It comes down to that common goal; wanting the good of others. It's natural to want to jump in and help when the ship is sinking. That's what they do.

I joked with a friend this week that I was really just a figurehead leader, but really....that wasn't a joke. I can't lead myself or organize myself out of a wet paper bag which has been ripped open on both sides and open in the middle.

Yes, I worked hard and did my best, but my best, to stay with the sinking ship metaphor, is a small plastic bucket with a large hole in the middle.

It's the people at this parish that made this week's program work. People I genuinely like and am enjoying getting to know better. And these very same people go out of their way to let me know they're praying for me, willing to help with anything I need...etc.

Working for a parish is, then, both a curse and a blessing. It's an experience of the suffering and the glory of the Cross, lived out within its shadow in ways most people could never understand. I barely understand it myself.

But I'm grateful. I love the teens who volunteer and do so much to make things work, I love the children who love others so easily and quickly, I love the adults who, in their watchful guidance not only guide the programs, but we, as staff, as well.

Direction

Maybe one of the things that's hard for me is "management". I don't like being a manager, and yet, people, volunteers, are coming to me and asking what I want to have happen. They are looking to my authority, and I stand back, amazed, thinking, "You're FAR more qualified to run this than I am!"

But I have to do my job, and yes, I do have a vision and am humbled by the people coming to me for direction as to what to do next. I'm humbled by their willingness to do so much...for nothing.

And I'm so grateful to know these people. Had I turned down this position, I would never have met them. They've changed my life, they've brought me closer to God and yes, they are friends. Not superficial friends, but friends in Christ, and that's an entirely different thing.

Amazing

You all know my financial situation, which is like that of many parish workers; in the summer we lose hours. Yet, of all the people in my life who know of this situation, NONE have suggested I leave this position and find another, something more stable. It seems that everyone understands, at some level, that working in a parish isn't the same thing as working in the secular world. They might not understand how low the pay is and the reality of not having a living wage, but they don't suggest quitting.

There is something more here than just a job.

I won't be in this position forever. Whether I am called to religious life or not, there is one thing that I don't question: and that is that my current job is temporary. I WILL be moving on, if only because I can't live on it and will be forced to do SOMETHING.

Truth be told, I considered quitting a year ago, and a few times since then. Granted our economic climate and 10% unemployment rate has affected my decision to stay a little, but the fact remains that...this job isn't about me.

When I worked in Insurance, while our efforts were team efforts and customer-focused, it was all about the money. No one worked there just for the heck of it. People don't go to an Insurance Company and volunteer to do stuff for free. While other "careers" I've had were done in a search for something meaningful, it was the same thing..the money element was there.

What I realized last year, though, and even more so now that it's almost been two years, is that, in some strange way, this parish needs me. Not because I'm special or a saint or an expert. But because they are in need of stability. They've had a lot of change in the time before I came, and even now, they beg me not to leave any time soon.

That's not about me, personally. It's not a song of my glory. It has to do with their need for stability, consistent staff, not having to constantly evaluate the status or orthodoxy (or lack thereof!) of new people. Right now, the parishioners know what to expect from myself and those in our office. We work well together. We work with Father well, and even in conflicts, peace reigns in spite of frustrations.

Even though I'm almost completely incompetent, these people know me and have expressed they want me to stay. Some of this has been voiced out of a desire to not have any more "change". For others, it's been more personal, and I'm grateful for that. We all need to know we're valued in some way.

I've written a lot here, as usual, but I think I could write an entire book and STILL fail to explain adequately what keeps me at that parish. Suffice to say, perhaps, that it is Our Lord. He calls, He places, He draws us together and helps us to be faithful. We work together not for our good, but for the good of all, for the good of each other.

So often I walk down the hall to the church to spend some time with Jesus, pray for help, or even a little support, and apologize to Him for being such a bad servant. There I am, working in His own House and even in my unfaithfulness, in my doubt, things end up working out. People step in to fill my weaknesses. In that, He is glorified.

I know that everything of God is far bigger than any of us. I know that the project of this week was so far beyond any of us that we can never fathom the eternal consequences and graces.

This week was brutal, but it was clear that God was present, held the entire thing in His hand, and I even "felt" His hand on me at times.

I need to remember those moments in times when I don't understand what I'm doing. Every little thing is for Him, and ultimately, about Him.

I'm grateful no one has suggested I just quit my job. I don't want to. Even as I grumble and procrastinate and stress out, I've never had a job that has so revealed the heart of Christ. I've never before had a job that brought me so easily and quickly to my knees.

I've never before had a job that hit me so hard in ALL of my weaknesses, forcing me to see how God works...because I simply cannot.

And everything that happens belongs to His Glory.

Apparently this lesson was so important for me to learn and continue to learn that God called me into a parish to learn it. They say that the Church is a hospital for sinners. I'm a permanent resident.

That's what it means to work for God, and not for the world.

It's a terrible, frustrating, agonizing, glorious and joyful experience and I'm grateful to God for this experience and for the people who have truly made me realize what it means to die to myself in order to live for others.

This is only the tip of the iceberg....

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