Hello Again

 It has been too long since I have posted, perhaps.

This year is an odd year--I had the joy of going on a walking pilgrimage, the first pilgrimage I have been on.

The Pilgrimage for Restoration is an annual event that I learned of September of the previous year when visiting St. Peter and Paul Basilica down in Chattanooga.  I went to the website, read stuff, and ultimately decided to go.  A sister of mine came too, which made the going easier.  

I practiced setting up the tent, did not pray enough, neglected my Night Before setting off arrangements until  *too late*, and did not walk enough in preparation.  We did pack well, though, and had more than enough food.  When we arrived at Auriesville we got to meet the Brigadier for the Company of St. Joan of Arc, which was the company we would be marching/walking with.  We also met some of the Company of St Stephen of Hungary.  Delightful people all, and you know you are likely in good company when someone invites the group to pray the Rosary as we go along.

It was a good start to an amazing weekend of pilgrimage.  Quickly when we reached the camp at the Lake George Battlegrounds, we were meeting more of the Company of St. Joan and we were found a place to set up tent.  So many people have gone year after year, and so many people were new to the pilgrimage.  

Our tent was set up shortly before sunset, right behind a great statue of St. Isaac Jogues.  Now he was a worthy Jesuit.  Mass would be said in the morning on the other side of that statue.

After setting up the tent, with a little mishap along the way that was rectified by an unusual use of a seam-ripper, Elizabeth and I walked (and ran) down to the Lake of the Blessed Sacrament.  This was where St. Isaac Jogues landed.  It was kind of awe inspiring to think that here we were and within a few days, we would be were he and other Christian martyrs met their earthly ends.

In the morning, we got up before the dawn, dressed for the day and packed up the tent.  It was still dark when we formed up with our battalion to go to Mass.  We had been asked if we wanted to bear the standard.  A new old one had just been gotten, it had been retired by a parish in France, if I remember the story correctly.  On it was a representation of St. Joan of Arc bearing the banner.  Now, the problem with a novice bearing the standard is that we did not know where we were going.  We were pointed in a direction, moved confidently, and had to be redirected.  We made it to mass in any case, and still the sun was not yet risen.  

It was quiet.  A canopy was over the area of the Altar at the feet of the gigantic statue of St. Isaac Jogues.  A bishop was seated off to the side as mass was being offered.  We all faced God together.  As mass was being prayed, almost insensibly the morning dawned.  It was grey and then golden.  St. Isaac was more discernible, and with his mutilated hand raised in blessing, he was also a powerful reminder of the Faith.  The homily given also pointed to the example set for us by those martyrs of old.  We would be roughly following their path.  I hope, that when I die, however it may be, I die in the Faith, in the Love of God and get to be welcomed like them into heaven.

Advent Already

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Broken lawn mowers and grace

I wanted to mow the lawn. I know that's not something Dad really likes doing and I had the time to do it. Out I went to the garage and started up the old riding mower. Thankfully, it was functional and full of gas. I hopped on and started riding around the lawn. Perhaps I was being careless or just miscalculated the space I needed to give so I wouldn't run over a rock that was a bit out of line from the border of the rock garden. All I know is I ran over a rock, it sounded very unpleasant, and I think I chipped some of the rock away -- and broke the lawn mower. To my dismay, the blade deck started clacking like crazy. I parked the riding mower in the garage and used the push mower to get as much done before dusk as I could. When Dad returned that evening, I sheepishly told him what I had done. He shrugged and said that it was fine and that we could fix it. The next morning, with a new blade in hand, he invited me to help him fix it. Thankful for the opportunity to help right what I had broken, I quickly threw on my tennis shoes and and followed him. However, when we went to the garage, he went to the push mower to replace that one's blade. Hesitantly, I explained that it was the riding mower, not the push mower, that I had broken. “Well,” he responded, “the blade on this one is broken too, so we'll fix this and then take a look at the other one.” So we did. Sure enough, that blade was pretty bent out of shape and one end was broken off. Then we looked at the other mower. We pulled the blade deck off and examined it. Thankfully, the clacking of the blades was just caused by them being loose on one side. But there were several more things that needed to be fixed or changed: new belts and welding to patch the blade deck cover. It turned into a two day project to get it all done. I only helped with tightening the blades and a bit with the belts. But it set me to thinking. I had set out to help Dad and ended up making more work for him. Yet, without getting upset or disgruntled, Dad set about fixing what I broke, inviting me to help him get it done. On top of fixing just what I broke, we discovered additional things that needed work. And Dad invited me to help fix these things that I needed could never have done on my own.

The more I thought about this, the more I realized that it was a wonderful example of how God is with His children. We set out, following his example, and trying to “help” him, to participate in the work he wants done in this world (just like I was trying to take part in the work that Dad does for our family). Sometimes, even when we do some good (I did get the front yard mown before breaking the mower), we often -- maybe always -- mess something up. We are forgetful and make mistakes that may make more work than the original task was. Yet, somehow, with incredible graciousness, God uses those failures as opportunities to work good. Not only does He fix the mess we made, He often fixes things we never knew were broken -- and invites us to participate in that restoring work as well! What graciousness and love that is, to allow us to work and mess things up and participate in the restoration of more than we ever realized or thought possible! And what a blessing to have a father who shows me with his life how God is with us! Thank you, God, and thank you, Dad! Happy Father's Day!

Second Sunday of Easter

Week beginning after weak ending
     I stood again after three days in the room
     Wrapped in a backless gown (and wires and tubes)
           and a praetorian guard of nurses.

This week in reading through the year

Although I tend to prefer the lectionary, this year we have started doing a read through of the Bible.  So I will try to have a weekly Sunday post of the readings for the coming week.

Sunday, January 14 - Gn 27, Ps 14, Mt 16-17

Monday, January 15 - Gn 28-29, Ps 15, Mt 18

Tuesday, January 16 - Gn 30, Ps 16, Mt 19

Wednesday, January 17 - Gn 31, Ps 17, Mt 20

Thursday, January 18 - Gn 32-33, Ps 18:1-24, Mt 21

Friday, January 19 - Gn 34-35, Ps 18:25-50, Mt 22

Saturday, January 20 - Gn 36, Ps 19:1-6, Mt 23

Religion and Relationship

“It’s not about religion, it’s about a relationship.” Have you seen that saying? Or maybe you have heard it; or both. I have heard it many times, and lately I pass this posted up on a church billboard. My first response, mental, but it IS also about what we BELIEVE, therefore, yes, it is “about religion” too. I may be reacting a bit, but I am a bit skeptical of anti-religious claims. Religion is hugely important. What we actually believe affects what we do, what we say. It would help ourselves and likely the people around us if we were more clear about what we believe and why.

So, what do you believe? Why do you believe it? Seriously, what stands at the core of your belief?

It is not that I came up with this question on my own. Some years back, my father asked his children this very question, challenging us to write it out. What do you simply accept, what is the undergirding, the foundation stones on which you rest everything else?

I started with, “God exists.”

I think I may have written about a page on just that, mostly copying scriptures. I did not continue writing out my beliefs, but that exercise in faith, reason, and belief had an impact on me. I realize that whether or not I fulfill my purpose in being, or even just understand it, God is God. He is and He is Good. I may never understand this world, but I am confident in that. Descartes began with, “I think, therefore I am,” and reasoned to the existence of a God outside himself. I am grateful for his reasoning, but must begin with God. He is our author.

I am a bit part in this play called life. I recognize that ultimately I hope to experience it as a traditional comedy—a story that ends well, has a happy conclusion. I recognize that along the way will be losses. I am not in control. I do get to choose how I act, though, and if I am sensitive to the Great Author’s promptings, maybe I will do the right things and say the right words at the right time. I am often slow. I am like the child who, after five rehearsals still does not even remember when it is her turn to step on the stage. How is it that God is still patient with me? I do not even know that, but I trust myself to his goodness and mercy because I believe.

This is my relationship with God. He calls. He opens my ears and mind and heart. I listen. He loves. I must love in return. “Must?” you might complain, but yes, “must” is the word. I do not understand how I could not love God. My earliest thoughts of him are connected to his death for me and because my sins. My earliest remembrance of him is connected to the Communion. “Why can I not eat and drink?” My mother explained what the bread and grape juice meant, that Jesus had died because of our sins to make us whole; that he rose again from the dead and wants to live in us so that we could be complete, we could inherit eternal life. I believed. Jesus loved me, enough to die for my sake. How could I not love him? I had to respond somehow, so I accepted his invitation to join him.  I would become his disciple, his daughter. When I turn to some sin that would separate me from God, he calls me by name.  When I would despair of ever "getting it right" he shows me one step and then another; one thing at a time, he teaches me.  It may take me three years to "get it", but he still continues to work with me. How can I not love him?

Is “it about relationship”? Yes, and it is also about religion. What I believe about God affects my relationship with God. What I believe affects what I say and do. I know a lot of what I believe.

Do you know what you believe? Do you know why?

Part of a family...

Here is the short story.  (As in, when I started writing back last August, I began to write what would have to end up as a book, before I got to the point.)
We got to go to the Cannon-Butler Family Reunion last August because from my mother's side of the family we are related.
Now this was exciting for me, because I had not met these cousins of ours.  I had met Tony and Sheila (Sheila is the blood related one), but not The Sisters, my mother's first cousins, nor any of the others of this side of the family I had only found out about after my family moved to Tennessee.  I hadn't known my grandfather on my mother's side, and I had not known his side of the family.  It turns out, they are black.  So, I, pale and blue eyed, have a great grandfather who was known as "an upstanding negro of the community."
I have always, at least as far as I remember, been interested in knowing about my family history, and when we were first in contact with these knew-found relations, Cousin Kennetta sent us information about the family history.  I was especially eager to meet her, because I am grateful for her picture albums and genealogy papers.
So we went to Massanutten to the family reunion.  As we were getting to the building on the resort where we were to stay, I noticed a black family coming out of a building nearby.  It occurred to me, "What if they were part of the family?"  As I smiled, it struck me, "Isn't that the way to look at people?"  That person, you know, the one on the street corner with missing teeth, might be related to you--IS related to you.  So is that one, you know, the stranger in front of you, taking too long to unload her shopping cart.  That one over there, you know the one that sits over there in the congregation always looking perfectly done up--that one too.
Anyway....a bit more closely related than that one, are the cousins we met.  Oh my word, it was so exciting!  I spent most of the time with "the Sisters" which was delightful.  Cousin Kennetta told us stories and showed the albums and picture board.  Cousin Donald, who organized the event, was agreeable to take Joshua around where they went.  Some went to the water park, we ate meals together, played games--it was so wonderful. 
It warmed me so much, one time when we were sitting around eating (I actually think Peggy was doing something by the sink, cleaning or preparing food) but Naomi was mentioned, she being absent, and Cousin Janie just exclaimed, "I love that girl!"  It still makes me smile, almost a year later, recalling that.
Towards the end, I enjoyed taking a walk with Buttons (one of the Sisters) and Tomika and Elizabeth.  We talked a bit, the weather was lovely, and we found a shortcut back that was probably not supposed to be used.  It was chained off at the closer end.
Adventure.  Family.  You cannot ask for a better way to spend a week of summer.

A passion for truth

     When I entered the room set aside for the seminar, there were not many people.  As more people began to come in, I enjoyed listening and observing.  There was a student who was not here because she had to, but was grateful that Franciscan hosted these conferences and that she had the opportunity to learn from the speakers.  There was a man in olive pants, tweed jacket, and slightly muddy shoes whom I judged to be a speaker.  Especially when the student who was messing with the sound equipment came up to him with a little clip microphone.  There was a student with maybe a German accent (I discovered that I was correct in that assumption later) behind me, talking about classes and theology and marketing.  I caught a glimpse of her dark, long coat and skirt, and bright blue scarf in my peripheral vision.
Most of the people on the first day seemed to be older than myself.  I overheard talk of coming from Pittsburgh and New York, but it did seem as though most people probably had some connection to Franciscan University.
     To start the conference, a priest was invited up to pray.  His eyes were mostly directed up, but were very lively and warm.  It almost seemed as though he was uncomfortable standing in front of the group.  But he prayed.  It was a very earnest prayer, not long; but just thinking back to his prayer--I do not remember any precise words--still as he prayed for the Holy Spirit to work amongst us and bless our efforts to bear to witness to the truth I felt like crying.

Then James Kalb was introduced and he did an excellent job of introducing all that was to follow.  It was a thick sort of discourse.  I am very glad I took notes, but I certainly plan to go back and do some reading, which is the idea of this sort of thing--whet people's appetites for what is true and good and beautiful, and they should then continue to pursue the true and good and beautiful.  I am afraid I do not do that enough as a teacher.  Anyway, back to the topic.
     One of the points that stood out in the first discourse was the idea of restoring a healthy understanding of Natural Law.  This was brought up as a way to confront the current technocratic approach to life and law.
What is technocracy? "the government or control of society or industry by an elite of technical experts." This definition exactly fits what Dr. Kalb was talking about.  Part of his complaint against the current liberal technocratic approach is that there is a tendency to disregard the voices of those not considered experts and expertise is increasingly defined by an increasingly atheistic humanist world-view.  What is reality is described as atoms, the void and sensation.  Also, there is a denial that they are exercising power.  They merely recognize the power and rights of every person, and act as arbitrators--the neutral protectors of everybody else.
So how do we respond?  Compromise?  Emphasize our traditions in terms of symbolism?  Emphasize functionality?  These are not adequate.  There is no compromise, because they see themselves as outside the debates about right and wrong--the "technical experts" inform us of what we need to do and if we don't understand, we must be ignorant.  Remaining loyal to tradition and defending it with symbolism and rhetoric only plays to their claim that traditionalists are illogical and narrow-minded bigots.  Functionality--well, how can we even begin to talk about function unless we agree that things are ordered to purposes?  This is where an understanding of natural law could really help.
We also need to have a renewed understanding of ultimate goods, the importance of sacrifice in society--our need for God.  We cannot merely tell the world that something is wrong; we must show them something better.  "Nothing is going to get better unless we get better."

I'm not sure if it was in answer to a question, but at the end of my notes on the first presentation was this, "Not anti-institutional
                      God, thinking, church, community
                                                                   Goal?  Christendom?"

One of the criticisms leveled against the technocratic world view is that it is reductionist, broadly-- figure out what the properties of a thing are in order to do what you want to do with it.  This stands against a more traditional approach of seeing a whole system of life that cannot necessarily be completely understood.

The next lecture was not delivered by the author as the author was ill.  While the first had been somewhat dense in information, technical, thoughtful, and engaging; the next was engaging in a very different way.

It had more of an element of anecdote--describing writing, looking out the window and remembering growing up as a "free-range kid."  He spoke of the sense of wonder in childhood that some grow out of, and some grow out of early on in their childhoods.  He spoke of the importance of wonder in accepting God and in seeing the world for what it is rather than what we can get.  He illustrated the idea of wonder and its opposite, excessive ambition, by the way of Shakespeare's Tempest.  Now, The Tempest is a familiar play to me, and one of my favorites by Shakespeare, but to hear it described in terms of wonder--think of all the magic and music of Prospero's island--made me want to revisit the play.  I would absolutely love to see an excellent presentation of it.

Another lecture that still stands out after a year was by Sheila Liaugminas, a journalist.  She spoke about the power of words and the importance of telling stories that tell truth.  In that, she also emphasized reading and writing from a heart centered on the ultimate Truth.

For a few little thoughts:
Nihilism--This word keeps cropping up as a word to describe the current situation of culture in the West generally and in the United States in particular.

Humpty Dumpty language and the LBGT movement--turning words inside out to insist that what is bad is good, what is wrong is right.

Objective good--a restoration of this idea being near impossible without the restoration of a right understanding of natural law, which also came up in various people's talks.

Ultimately, it comes back to a need to recognize who God is and what has He called us to be.

Work, Coffee, and Chess

So... This has been a good week. Challenging and enjoyable and good. Monday was relaxed and most of the family spent the latter part of the day at Uncle Bruce and Aunt Margie's swimming and eating yummy food. Tuesday at work was slow and frustrating. It was one of those days that doesn't feel like it's going anywhere. Halfway through the morning when I felt like I had run completely against a wall, I paused, sat blankly for a few minutes, wrote a haiku, and carried on.

And so much to do
But my mind just keeps wand'ring.
Sit up; push forward.

Things did get better and I did accomplish more than I thought I would considering my dullness. The next day at work was even better.

Yesterday, after a day at home, tidying up and such, Esther, Elizabeth and I went to Tullahoma. Elizabeth had a CAP meeting at 6 p.m. Esther needed to find a grade insignia, and I was transportation. The plan was to look in the shed for the grade insignia, drop Elizabeth at the meeting place by 5:55 p.m. and then for Esther and I to go to the Celtic Cup, a delightful coffee shop. The grade insignia was not in the shed. Since Esther and I were hungry and there was plenty of time before Elizabeth's meeting, we through the drive-through at Chick-fil-a.
We drove immediately from there to the meeting place, a Mexican restaurant. We sat in the parking lot, Esther and I eating our chicken nuggets and Elizabeth waiting til it was closer to time for the meeting. (We were there twenty minutes early.) When another cadet showed up, it gave him and his father a chuckle to see us eating fast-food chicken nuggets in the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant.
Once Elizabeth was headed in to the meeting, Esther and I went on to the Celtic Cup (taking the ...scenic route). We entered, ordered our Americano and yerba mate latte, and went upstairs. The table we sat at had a chess set in the center. I had wanted to play a card game, but no cards were in the little collections of games they had. In general, chess is not a game that I will play. I do not take the time, patience, or focus necessary to play it. Esther did not sound too excited about playing. However, as we were sitting chatting, she madee the first move. It seemed that it would be impolite to not return, so I moved and the game was begun.
The Americano, though. The moment it was brought to the table, the color and smell of it reminded me of the Kenyan coffee that Jonathan made when he was visiting us over Christmas. Sure enough, it had a similar bright, sharp flavor, though not as strong as the stuff Jonathan fixed. It was very pleasant!

The game continued. At first, I sincerely was convinced that Esther was going to win. She was being much more bold and adventurous. However, the tide turned and..

Check-mate.

After the chess match, we continued to sit and talk, until one of the waitresses came upstairs to turn out the lights. She told us that they were closing. They had forgotten until just before that we were still upstairs. "We wouldn't want you to get locked in here and walk downstairs and set off the alarms." We laughed a bit and left. For having stayed for half an hour after closing, they were very pleasant. Fairly soon after, Esther got a text from Elizabeth that she was done. We picked her up and after another delay (which involved Sonic, lots of chocolate, and grade insignias), we headed home.

And there you have it.

Good Friday: The power of Christ's blood

From the Catecheses by Saint John Chrysostom, bishop

If we wish to understand the power of Christ’s blood, we should go back to the ancient account of its prefiguration in Egypt. “Sacrifice a lamb without blemish,” commanded Moses, “and sprinkle its blood on your doors.” If we were to ask him what he meant, and how the blood of an irrational beast could possibly save men endowed with reason, his answer would be that the saving power lies not in the blood itself, but in the fact that it is a sign of the Lord’s blood. In those days, when the destroying angel saw the blood on the doors he did not dare to enter, so how much less will the devil approach now when he sees, not that figurative blood on the doors, but the true blood on the lips of believers, the doors of the temple of Christ.

If you desire further proof of the power of this blood, remember where it came from, how it ran down from the cross, flowing from the Master’s side. The gospel records that when Christ was dead, but still hung on the cross, a soldier came and pierced his side with a lance and immediately there poured out water and blood. Now the water was a symbol of baptism and the blood, of the holy Eucharist. The soldier pierced the Lord’s side, he breached the wall of the sacred temple, and I have found the treasure and made it my own. So also with the lamb: the Jews sacrificed the victim and I have been saved by it.

“There flowed from his side water and blood.” Beloved, do not pass over this mystery without thought; it has yet another hidden meaning, which I will explain to you. I said that water and blood symbolized baptism and the holy Eucharist. From these two sacraments the Church is born: from baptism, “the cleansing water that gives rebirth and renewal through the Holy Spirit,” and from the holy Eucharist. Since the symbols of baptism and the Eucharist flowed from his side, it was from his side that Christ fashioned the Church, as he had fashioned Eve from the side of Adam. Moses gives a hint of this when he tells the story of the first man and makes him exclaim: “Bone from my bones and flesh from my flesh!” As God then took a rib from Adam’s side to fashion a woman, so Christ has given us blood and water from his side to fashion the Church. God took the rib when Adam was in a deep sleep, and in the same way Christ gave us the blood and the water after his own death.

Do you understand, then, how Christ has united his bride to himself and what food he gives us all to eat? By one and the same food we are both brought into being and nourished. As a woman nourishes her child with her own blood and milk, so does Christ unceasingly nourish with his own blood those to whom he himself has given life.

Breaking News

So...  For the last several months things have been breaking down.   Cars, irons, microwaves, shoes....  Wearing out....

Our situation reminds me of the Israelites: for forty years in the desert their clothes and shoes didn't wear out.   That's how blessed we have been.  Maybe not forty years worth, but our 'stuff' has lasted well. 

Imagine how the Israelites felt upon entering the promised land when their stuff started wearing out normally.  "What kind of junk is this?  My last ox cart lasted over forty years and this one only ten!  They just don't make anything the way they used to..."

It feels a little like that.  Still, blessed be God from everlasting to everlasting!