Monastic Life

"Lord, let my cry come to you; do not hide your face from me." 
Ant. 1, Morning Prayer

I really love the contemplative life.

I only arrived home on Saturday, and immediately missed the hours of community prayer, the chanted psalms, chanted prayers, and the flow of life in a religious community.

I loved the fact that no matter what we were doing, it was the ONLY thing I had to do at that given time. When we were praying, there was nothing else on my mind (except the icon, which, of course, was being prayed!). When we were at meals, I was content to be present there, and only there.

When I was working on my icon, I was wholly absorbed into the process, and pondering, as I wrote, the mystery of the Incarnation, the identity of Mary and of Christ. I was realizing my many faults and the very real process of trying to grow in holiness, yet constantly failing. I came to learn that even that is a work of beauty when touched by God's grace.

It seems to me that life was far more real, and more honest, than the life I am living now. I felt....free.

Even though I regularly pray the Liturgy of the Hours, I cannot do so at the same times every day, and so often when I go to pray my mind is on something I have to do next. I almost feel guilty for taking time out to pray and have to struggle hard against that temptation!

Last week, nearly every day it was my privilege to attend Mass in the Extraordinary Form. By the end of the week I was able to follow along, understood how to find my place in the missal, and found that I was far more focused and aware in that form of the Mass than I am when I attend Mass in the Ordinary Form (what many people call the "Novus Ordo" which is somewhat of a perjorative term.)

It was a bit jarring to go from a week of contemplative prayer, Latin chants, and the deep holiness of the Extraordinary Form to Mass in my home parish on Sunday complete with the narcissistic show tunes that tend to characterize (and wreck) the Ordinary Form. On Sunday I was distracted, I was irritated and found that I couldn't focus...because I didn't "have" to; I could understand everything clearly.

Last summer when I visited the Cistercians we talked about Latin; Sister observed that even though they often don't understand the words they are praying, they know the focus is God, and they realize that the Mass, and the prayers of the Liturgy of the Hours is so holy it has its own language. The Mass itself is so profound and mysterious that truly, on this side of the veil we are not MEANT to fully understand it.

We become sanctified by continually seeking the face of God, and, I have found, when things come too easily to us, it's very easy to think we understand everything, and therefore we stop seeking. So it is with Mass in the vernacular; I cannot focus because I have no REASON to focus. Nothing is mysterious; nothing draws me into the Mystery of Christ made present on the altar. I try to focus because I know what's going on, but in the Extraordinary Form, I am forced to look more deeply, to be more invested and in so being, to be more open to God.

I miss that.

I ache for that.

It was not a week of spiritual consolations by any means; most of my prayer life and Mass attendence is fairly dry. I desire to pray and I desire to attend Mass and enjoy doing so because I love God, but in all that I have written above, understand that none of it was about emotion or sentimentality.

Perhaps what I am trying to express is too far beyond words, although I suspect many of the faithful do understand and have the same interior sense.

Marriage to Christ

One of the things that came to me during prayer, and during Mass last week was, of course, the meaning of religious life. I considered the vows to be made, and how Our Lord courts his beloved, drawing her to Him in subtle ways. He is generous and does not withhold His generosity.

In prayer I pondered the vows of marriage, and the changes in life that must take place. If I were to marry, I would go to live with my husband, and his family would become my family. I would have a new circle of friends and acquaintances. I would have to get rid of many things, for they would not be needed or would be impractical in a new life. I would have to make sacrifices, and die to myself so as to offer myself more fully to the union to which I was called. My routine would change, my obligations would change.

So it is with religious life as well. All of that, and more.

I used to think about all the things I'd be "giving up", but in reflecting on the reality, it's not about giving anything up. It's about what is to be gained. If our hands are clinging to material things, they are not open  and able to cling to that which is eternal.

I want a life of prayer, a life of living intensely, a life of holiness.

I will never be satisfied with anything else.

"My heart is ready, O Lord, my heart is ready..." 

~ Ant. 1 Morning Prayer (Wednesday)

Transcendent

This weekend, I decided that since I had time, I would drive down to attend the Mass in the Extraordinary Form (EF), going by myself for the very first time.  The first time I assisted at this form of the Mass was just over one year ago, the First Sunday of Advent, the first one in 40 years at the Church of St. Agnes in St. Paul.  

Although I was fairly familiar with their Latin Ordinary Form (OF), I found the EF to be quite different, but even MORE transcendent.

I knew that I had to go today but didn't understand why. God often doesn't reveal His intentions for us.

Although the little clipper that came through last night made driving a bit treacherous, I decided that it was worth it, and so I took my rosary in hand and drove carefully through the Cities to reach the Church that was my destination.  With gratitude I nearly "fell" into the pew, knowing that in a sense, I was on my own. There wasn't anyone there to help me find my place or make sure I didn't stand when we were supposed to sit.

(As an aside...I always forget that during the EF at a certain point in the Credo, we SIT for the remainder of it. I don't understand this which is why I can't remember to do so. I seriously need to study this form of the Mass, every move and why we do it.)

I have to admit that as I drove to Mass this morning, praying not to spin out on the icy curves with an arrogant SUV on my bumper to "help" me out of his, no doubt, very busy way, I asked God WHY I was so drawn to brave the roads I hated so much to go to this particular place.  Was it out of a sense of needing to suffer for what I love?  What?

I didn't expect to go to Mass and "feel" something.  In actuality, I knew I was trying to feed my soul, to get away from the campy music that characterizes the Mass at my home parish in favor of something that could really draw me into the Mystery, if only I had the proper disposition.

So often, though, even when I arrive at Mass, anywhere, with a "proper disposition", I find myself distracted by the most minute details of my life...or someone else's life...or some other thing.

Today, that didn't happen. By God's great grace, for the first time in a LONG time I was only minimally distracted.  I only just now realized how miraculous that is.

The Moment

There was a single moment, though, that struck to me to the core, and that truly drew me into the Sacred Mystery.  I was trying to find our place in the book, sometime during the consecration, finding it necessary to read the English translation.  Even though I was behind (I'd heard the bells to signal the consecration), I read the words prayed by the priest, standing up there as a representative Called by God to be there, praying for US, for OUR own sacrifice to be offered in union, for OUR silent prayers to be heard.

As it did a year ago, this reality affected me yet again, perhaps even MORE deeply as I realized yet again that even though during the offeratory I had offered myself as a sacrifice, I had brought certain intentions to be placed upon the altar, there, the priest who didn't know me, my intentions, or anything, standing in persona Christi offered those very things to God...and there I was, in HIS presence when it happened.

It was a moment of abjection as I realized once again that I do not know how to pray for myself or my intentions as I ought. It was deeply humbling, as it should be. It made me, in a sense, "let go", and in that surrender, God took over once again.

In that moment I was drawn forward and upward, taken into the Paschal Mystery, becoming a part of it. I had a deep, deep sense of gratitude that completely overwhelmed me. Gratitude for the Incarnation, for the Holy Sacrifice...for EVERYTHING. At the same time, I had an equally deep sense of absolute sadness for the reality of sin that made the Cross so necessary to our Salvation.  I could not separate the sadness from the gratitude, and even as I knelt at the Communion rail, I had to take many deep breaths, willing the tears away, trying to focus on the moment, on WHO I was receiving.

After Mass I remained where I was, pulling my veil low, hoping no one noticed the tears that flowed so freely. I realized THAT'S why I was called to that Mass today, to finally be fully present, according to my own limitations, just as Christ is so fully present all the time.  There was no one there to distract me. As the crowds left, they went about their business, tending to their families, chatting with their friends.

I was so grateful not to be a part of the Sunday Exodus as usual. I was where I wanted and, more importantly, NEEDED to be.

I wanted to stay there forever. Even as my eyes streamed with tears, I wanted to remain, kneeling, at the foot of the Cross.

What can I say but that I am grateful for today's Mass? For God's Grace, a rare one that took me right into His Most Sacred Heart.  It wasn't mere "feeling", not "emotion", but something deeper that passes beyond words.  It is not something that makes me holier than anyone else, but rather, reveals to me how much I lack. I ask you also not to misunderstand, for it was also NOT a moment of infused prayer, but rather a time of clarity, a gift of love that is probably quite common, just one that is beyond words. As it is, I am butchering it which leads me to believe I should not be writing of it at all.

No doubt the next time I attend Mass, in any form, it will be dry, dry, dry, as it is normally.

I do not attend Mass to be entertained, but because God commands it, I love Him, and so I go to profess my love for Him as well as to know more deeply His love for us all, even if I don't "feel" it.

But today, I was drawn in, taken up, and experienced the transcendence that turned normal people into Saints. It is no wonder they progressed so far. I hope they are praying for us all.

Twisted

There's been something I've been turning over in my mind for a few days, and it disturbs me greatly, because it's not something I can do much to fix. 

We know that every great gift God gives us can be twisted and used for evil.  Sexuality, internet...and music, for example.  

This week one of my catechists brought in some Gregorian Chant for his students.  In the fall, we'd had an event for all the religious ed. kids, and in it we played Chant.  Many of them enjoyed the music, or inquired about it, and this catechist's class wanted to know more. 

I stopped in at his class at the end of the session, although I'd missed the music portion, he turned it back on for me while the boys were leaving.  

One of them expressed his opinion as only a middle school boy can:  "I hate it. I can't stand it!"

It doesn't bother me that he doesn't like the music; whether it is liked or not is not a factor in the fact that it is proper liturgical music, and his personal preferences doesn't change that. 

But what DOES bother me was his qualifier, for he gave the clear reason for his dislike:   "It's creepy. It sounds like it's from a horror movie.  Scary music."  

Right there, in a nutshell;  there's the problem.  

Gregorian chant has been corrupted by media, and now, in a traditional Pavlovian way, our younger generations now think it's creepy. 

I've written before on the use of Catholic symbols and music in movies or television shows that portray a Catholic Church or anything related to Catholicism.  Even though one rarely enters a church these days to the prayerful chanting of a schola,  EVERY. SINGLE. PRODUCTION uses this music to cue us in to the religion being attacked...uh...portrayed.   Catholic. 

The horror genre is especially gleeful in its use of Gregorian Chant in scary sequences, say, when introducing a vampire or a corrupt priest. Or maybe the priest is fine, but we know that when we hear Chant, a demon-infested child is about to appear and screech in writhing agony, terrifying everyone...with the chant sedately playing in the background, human voices apparently disinterested at the intense suffering taking place in their presence. 

The use of this music in media venues has quite literally caused our younger generations to look at the horrible things going on in the picture, while the music plays, and voila! They now associate evil and Gregorian Chant. 

It's not surprising.  

And what about every freaking show that has a corrupt priest in it?  A Pedophile priest?  A faithful priest who has maybe heard the confession of an abuser (either clergy or lay) and (RIGHTLY!) refuses to break the seal of the confessional?  What's playing in the background?  Gregorian Chant. 

I would suggest that although individuals in Hollywood might not have been consciously considering the Pavlovian training they've been providing to their lab subjects (i.e.  us), the One they serve knew exactly what he was doing. 

Oh, yes, the smoke of Satan, as St. Pius X called it.  (Was it St. Pius X?).  

And when something pure and beautiful, something that is prayer and praise and thanksgiving to God becomes associated with something evil, that can send a very strong message.  It's not subliminal;  it's obvious. And odious. 

That's what the middle school boy observed, and it's how he's been indoctrinated. 

So when we, or his catechist, in doing something good, brings Gregorian Chant into an event or classroom, rather than being calming, it's natural that some students are going to have a violent dislike of what they're hearing. 

And how the Evil One must be gleefully rejoicing in his eternal damnation.  

So. Now we realize the problem.  Now we have to combat it. And the ONLY way to do that is to use it more, to associate it with good things, with fun things, with HOLY things. The answer isn't to take it away just because it's been warped by our cultural corruption;  the answer is to bring it back, gently, persistently, prayerfully, and let God do the rest.  

Thankfully, not every child had that reaction, and that likely speaks more about what the parents are allowing their children to see at home (which concerns me more than the child's reaction).  We need to realize that this beauty, Gregorian Chant, this great gift of the Church, which Vatican II said specifically must maintain a high place in the liturgy, NEEDS to be used!  If it's never heard at Mass, guess where the kids are getting it, and with what they are associating it!?

We wouldn't have this problem if parishes were obedient to the directives of Vatican II.  

Our fallen nature corrupts everything we touch;  but the good news is that God created us to be directed towards Him. To elevate our wills, our intellect, everything...to Him. And that means we can still turn this ship around and point it back in His direction. We can save our symbols, we can save our music, we can save our children through being holy, through using what has always been holy...for the proper purpose. 

And that will make ALL the difference in the world. 

If we don't use what we've been given, it will be commandeered for evil. That's a fact, and it's happened, and continues to happen. We NEED to bring back Chant; it belongs to OUR tradition, it is part of OUR patrimony, and its misuse is affecting OUR children in a very negative way! 

I look forward to the discussion in the combox. 

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Finding Jesus in the Temple

During class this last semester, in Spiritual Theology our professor introduced us to Plato's cave analogy. In that analogy, Plato describes some men who are bound, facing the wall of a cave. Behind them is a road, and beyond the road, a fire, which provides the backlight needed to cast the shadows that the bound men observe. And in the reverberating voices, the bound men believe that the shadows themselves are speaking.

And then the men are unbound, and made to walk. As they turn, they observe the road, and the people who had caused the shadows represented on the wall, and they see that the voices emit from them, not from the shadows they had cast. The now-unbound prisoners walk up the road, past the fire, and towards the mouth of the cave where the sun begins to light it. Yet they do not know the cause of the light until they emerge from the darkness.

The analogy goes on, obviously discussing something akin to one of St. Thomas Aquinas's proofs of God..the First Cause, the Unmoved Mover. But there is a deeper meaning.

The first Sunday of Advent, I attended my first TLM (Extraordinary Form) Mass, and found it beautiful. Not earth-shattering, but suddenly things made sense. It was proper. It took what I knew intellectually, and made it real, almost tangible. And yet, I was lost. I still had hold of the images, the shadows that have been my life until then. It wasn't until I let go of what I thought I understood (ie divesting myself of images) that I could allow the new understanding to penetrate my soul and intellect.

Suddenly, the Cave Analogy made perfect sense...I was living it.

I have to confess, now, when I attend Mass at my own parish, I'm dissatisfied. The pro populum altar has driven me crazy for a long time...even more so now. The performers on the stage singing Haugen show tunes seem more than ever to be performing. I feel like I've been freed, but then returned and bound, looking at shadows that are speaking to me...but they aren't.

They're speaking to God. And even the shadows don't seem to know that they are supposed to be doing so.

It's getting more and more difficult to focus at Mass. The gestures of the people around me in the pews toward the priest (who isn't speaking to any of us, but only to God) is distracting. The constant intercom announcements to "join in singing" the latest new/old heretical protestant hymn, which is followed by applause for the performers is forcing me to figure out how to properly find God in all this mess.

I feel like a prisoner in my own parish. And yet, even as I feel bound, I'm grateful, for I know that so many others are still completely lost, staring at shadows they don't know are shadows, reacting to gestures that aren't being made to them, but rather, for them. And if they only KNEW the reality of the mysteries for which we are present....!

It fills me with pity, and even with a certain anger, for I wonder how it has come to this?

And then, this evening, I read this while praying Vespers:

Ant. Son, why have you done this to us? Think what anguish your father and I have endured looking for you. But why did you look for me? Did you not know that I had to be in my Father's house?

Read that dialogue over a few times. Enter into it. Isn't that what so many of us ask every week, maybe every DAY? Don't we experience anguish when we see how the theological symbolism has been so lost to us? Isn't it a terrible hardship to have to try to look for God, when we aren't being directed to Him?

One of the things I've learned in my Master's program has been on the theology of suffering. God does not specifically will suffering, but He allows it, and in that is found His will for us. When we enter into suffering, we ask these questions, and Our Lord awaits them, expecting this faith seeking understanding, no matter where we are in life, whether spiritual or temporal.

And He answers, but we must be willing to listen, no matter what the cacaphony around us, be it bad theologically-incorrect-Vatican-II-noncompliant showtunes or the ignorant applause that follows it. We must return to the horror of the birth of Christ, and the horrors that followed in the slaughter of the Holy Innocents, and we must remember that if that is what He suffered, should we not expect to suffer the same?

We have to remember that God gave His only Son to Mary and Joseph...and they lost Him, and had to look through him in the dusty, dirty, uncivilized roads leading to and through Jerusalem. And where did they find Him?

In the Temple.

The Temple wasn't a perfect place...a few years later, Jesus would form a whip and overturn the tables of the money changers, chastizing them for turning the Lord's house into a place of commerce.

We have to see, then, that no matter how bad things might be, Christ is there. He is speaking, even to those who aren't listening or refuse to listen.

More and more, I'm realizing how drawn I am to either the Latin Novus Ordo (which locally is done ad orientum) or the Extraordinary Form (TLM) Masses, but today's antiphon after the Canticle of Mary has chastized me.

My preferences perhaps don't matter; God is present at my own parish. I don't need to look for Him anywhere else; I just have to see Him where He is, and where He has called me at this moment. The anguish in trying to find him is both real and self-inflicted all at once. What is happening to our Church is within God's will, for He is allowing it, perhaps to make us seek Him in the storm.

We don't grow in holiness through an easy road, but through suffering. We can never find Christ unless we endure the Cross.

The other day I wrote about how our romanticized ideal of the birth of Christ obscures the reality of the Incarnation; perhaps that same understand needs to be applied to the Mass. Maybe we have to learn to find Christ no matter where we are. We don't have to love the music; we have to love Jesus. And if He could endure the abuses at the Temple, then we can endure the same kind of thing for His sake and those of His people, those around us.

Maybe the next time, then, that I enter into the cacaphony of the Mass at my parish, I will remember that I need not seek so hard for Jesus, for He is already there, and the more I give in to resentment, the further back I will be in the crowd. And even if the eyes of the crowd are upon the performers, it is my place to keep my eyes and heart focused on Christ.

And THAT is a path to holiness that has been given to most of us.

Pray. Endure. And remember He is Present. Don't let Him be alone.

Sanctus Domuinus Deus Sabaoth

This morning I drove through terribly slippery roads, risking my life to get to St. Agnes for the 10:00 am Mass. (Quite literally it was dangerous...I watched a car nearly spin out, and another slid through a stop sign as I approached the intersection. A VERY close call!)

The reason for braving this danger? To attend a first ever Extraordinary Form Mass, the first there in 40 years. They regularly have a Latin Novus Ordo, which I have attended - and love. But I've never been to what is often called a TLM (Traditional Latin Mass), so it was with great joy that I mounted the steps into this beautiful church.

I happen to have a borrowed St. Andrew missal, which was marked for the first Sunday in Advent, but set it aside in favor of the materials provided by St. Agnes, which had the Mass laid out in a booklet and an additional leaflet containing the specific readings for today.

It was a beautiful Mass, although I can't say I had any idea what was going on at any given time. Except here and there...I recognized the Kyrie, a few other things, the consecration was somewhat obvious, etc, although done a little differently, and, of course, in Latin.

There were a few kinks; for example, where the booklet directed us to stand, people sat...some stood, though. And where maybe we were supposed to sit, we were standing. It was VERY confusing. On one occasion, although the book said to stand, the deacon signaled for us to be seated. Of course, I have no idea of there were any mistakes made at the altar...I was a bit too focused on my own incompetence to worry about anyone else's!

And perhaps that's the best lesson to be learned on the First Sunday of Advent.

Because I was so lost, and so without understanding, and yet, still KNOWING that God was present, that it was Christ on that altar...I can't think of a better way to begin this season. The reverence given to Christ during the preparation before Mass began, the incense at different points, and all the activity directed to Our Lord was striking.

I found myself apologizing to Our Lord for my distraction, for not knowing what was going on, realizing my "apologies" were fully unnecessary, so I settled back and surrendered to trying to just be present. For, as long as I was at Mass, I could not be truly lost. It's the closest to Home any of us can get while still walking this earth.

It was perhaps somewhere around that point that I "got it". It's not the first Mass I've attended that was celebrated ad orientum, and I've long said that the worst "reform" that came after Vatican II was turning the altar around. Today, that came home to me even more directly as I witnessed the consecration from a completely different attitude.

It's hard to put into words, maybe impossible.

Mass was humbling today. I felt like a child. I could not "participate" in any real way, not even able to truly enter into any of the prayers. Following the guide, following the actions, recognizing only a few things; it was as though I was an infant. We who have grown up since the 60's have been fed a very improper idea of what the term "participation" means, and even though I am aware of its true meaning, I find that I STILL had to divest myself of my own images in order to surrender to what God wanted me to understand. And that's truly what is beyond words, and what is really so...humbling.

In looking at the Priest on the high altar, knowing that he was offering prayers for us, and, in reading some of those prayers he silently offers, I saw them in a new light. There he was, speaking for us...because we cannot. Praying for us...because we cannot pray for ourselves. Offering the Sacrifice for us, on our behalf, pleading with God...for us.

Knowing that even if I was the only one there, his prayers would be the same, his posture the same, his pleading...the same.

It was fitting that I feel like a child, that I see my insignificance in the presence of the great Majesty of God, and my unworthiness in the face of the Divine Victim offered...for me.

It was fitting to see the Priest praying on my behalf, facing God, facing the same direction as the rest of us; our representative before God. None of us knows how we should pray, or even how to approach God. And although we do all often pray for each other and ourselves, perhaps sometimes we need to learn to stop, rest in silence, and allow thousands of years of wisdom intercede for us, wash over us, and invite us into mysteries we can't fathom without God's grace.

I think my compass has been reset, and so it is with a different attitude that I enter this Advent season. To know I am still a child, I haven't even the abilities to come close to understanding the depths of what's happening at Mass, much less understanding God!

And the only way to approach Our Lord is from a foundation of humility. Knowing what we are not...in the face of Who God Is.

Throughout the next few weeks, I'm going to remember my insignificance in the face of God's Majesty, and my dependence upon Him for all things.

And I hope to remember this lesson forever.
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