Prayer for Haiti

Encompass us beneath the precious veil of your protection
And deliver us from every form of evil
By entreating Christ, your Son and our God That He may save our souls.

Akathist (litany) to the Protection of the Theotokos here.

Missionaries of Charity in Haiti

Update: All of the MC sisters in Haiti are safe - there's no more detail than that in the story.Below is an e-mail I received concerning them, by way of the Lay Missionaries of Charity in Miami:

"...the Haiti Sisters and Brothers are well in the Capital. No news from the 7 houses in the interior of the island. One of the Sisters houses was flatten completely, it was the newest House. Another MC house( Sanfield) was not damaged but is in a slope area, so very dangerous to be in, so they were instructed to get out. The Regional House (Delmas) has some damage where some walls completely fell, etc., so they have orders to stay outside of their house, but inside the compound which is fenced. They are taking care of their terminal infants and children from outdoors, giving IV's, etc. All the Superiors and Senior Sisters from Haiti, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, St. Croix and Jamaica were there at a Retreat when all happened. So the Superiors of the Haiti Houses were not at their Houses and have not been able to return. The Sisters from the other 2 Houses in the Capital were on their way trying to get to the Regional House in Delmas so that all would be together, homeless.!! I just got informed that they arrived safely. Thanks be to God, they are alive. The people there are hungry and desperate and riots are happening, which makes it very dangerous. It was very dangerous before, so I can imagine now. I have been there with the Sisters 2 or 3 times and have experience the horrible situation that exists. You also read Father Sebastian's letter about his recent trip to Haiti. My heart goes with them at this tragic time. S. Nirmala MC [the previous Superior General of the order] is trying to go to Haiti now. She would need military escort because of the riots, as I was informed. Anyway the Sisters are asking for many prayers... I sent emails to all my Spanish groups and prayers and sacrifices already started. Please, do the same with your groups so that we...can pray together...."

Ni hao

Five years ago today, I was just returning from China. I'd gone over there an idealistic college graduate, newly emerged from the Steubenville bubble and ready to take on The World. I lasted, an English teacher with only a native understanding of her subject, for five months. That idealism of mine must have been seized at US Customs, because I never did see it again: my return was the last in a string of decisions I am still less than proud of. I could have done far better than I did; I didn't; there's little else to say.

And yet, failures and all, part of me will always be Chinese. I'll always refer to we foreign teachers as the "foreign teachers". I'll always have a respect for Buddhism that I never had before trekking up to that monastery in its alcove on the mountainside, sheltered from the noise of the city below. I'll always smile when I see Chinese women on the street, with their distinctive take on Western clothing. When in DC, I'll always be drawn to the one really authentic Chinese restaurant I know of, to sit and fumble with my chopsticks and soak in its stripped-down atmosphere and minimalist service with its echoes of "home". It's not so much that we take with us the places we visit, as that we leave part of ourselves. We leave the person we became in that place, the actions and choices and daily patterns of life that will never make sense in another context. We are strangers and sojourners, some of us more obviously than others, but the very journeying leaves us incomplete.

Confessional Silence

No fun, being Zech'rias is
My larynx gripped by an iron band.
'Twas priest and penitent, pen in hand
Bound by our diff'rent silences.

Face of Christ for we poor fools
Father waits, his newspaper a loss
Till I, writing slowly, slide across
My ruled list of willfully, knowingly broken rules.

Contrition - mute, easily missed;
Penance and absolution given
In older terms, I've just been shriven.
Then Ador---I still have the list!

Pieces sift down amidst old trash
To be cast aside, unregarded
My sins - listed, torn up, discarded
Unrecycled scraps of the past.

Vocation story

Among volunteers with the Missionaries of Charity, there's a running joke that once you come to help, even to run a one-time errand, you're theirs for life. The last six years of my life, starting with a chance encounter with two MC sisters, are a grand example of the truth behind the joke.

In early 2003, I was studying at the Franciscan University campus in Gaming, Austria. I'd gone to Vienna a few days before the semester began, just to experience the city. And experience it I did – experience severe jet lag, and experience the bitter cold of an Austrian winter. I didn't do much sightseeing, but I did happen to attend the same Mass as two MC sisters. I'm not sure now of why, but I found myself volunteering in their soup kitchen that afternoon. I was in Europe, I was on my own, I was free to explore – and I spent the day ladling mugs of tea.

Come spring break, I had no money left for travel, so I arranged to spend the time as a live-in volunteer with the sisters. I got up when they did (that part took a few days); I shared their prayer and their work. I don't know if my enthusiasm was a help or a hindrance, but it did give me a look at the order. One afternoon, a very drunk man tried to demand entrance to the soup kitchen by kicking the door in. One of the sisters went to open the door and speak to him as if nothing had happened, but told him he could not come in. He slammed his fist down on the counter. She stood her ground. He left. He was over six feet tall, and violently drunk. She was 4' 10”, and never turned a hair. That moment stuck with me through the visit; but what really drew me towards the order was the perfect rhythm of prayer and work, the way one flowed into and enlivened the other, and the joy the sisters derived from it.

Back in the States, I checked out another order or two, was not nearly so attracted, and largely set the question of a vocation on the back burner. It was always there - I always intended to apply to the MCs someday – but it was not foremost in my mind. I had no more contact with the order until 2006, when I returned to the Washington DC area and began volunteering at their women's hospice near Catholic University. Once a week, I would join them for Mass, then help to sweep and mop the women's rooms. It was a privilege then, and it still is that now. I never told the sisters there that I was thinking of entering; I was not certain enough of it or myself.

Volunteering there eventually fell prey to a new job and difficult hours, all of which coincided with my drift away from the Sacraments. I never left the Church, I still attended Mass most Sundays, but I no longer went to confession and consequently did not receive Communion. Personally, it was a very bitter period in my life. It ended, by God's grace, around Easter of 2008; and it is then that I date my adult faith from. It marked the difference between passively having the Faith and actively living it; similarly my sometime desire to join the Missionaries of Charity became a perceived call.

In April of 2008, I began volunteering at the MC AIDS hospice in Baltimore – I'd moved, and had an evening job that easily allowed for morning visits. I eventually told the sister superior there that I wanted to enter, and she encouraged me to make a visit to their postulant house. That finally happened in November '08, and I was accepted to the order.

Currently, I have again had to leave off volunteering with the sisters in favor of working two jobs. One is waitressing, another is working a register; both are very humble jobs but provide many opportunities for the service that is the charism of the Missionaries of Charity. I remain in contact with the sisters, attending special events at the Baltimore house and attending meetings of the Lay Missionaries of Charity. There's a saying of Blessed Teresa's that what the sisters do, we laity cannot; what we do, they cannot – but together we can do something beautiful for God. For now, as I work towards being able to enter, I am doing what I can to meet my half of that.

Padre Pio's idea. Had to be.

Another typical morning, working a cashiering shift. Smile, chat, wish I had coffee. Scan items. Offer store credit card, get refused, take money, say goodbye. Greet next customer, smile, chat. Wish I had coffee, scan items, offer store credit card...

"Oh, that other woman dropped something." I glance up - that's not part of the routine. Maybe she dropped chocolate espresso beans, that would be nice.

My customer picks the something and hands it to me - it's a soft vinyl pouch; the contents have a familiar feel. "A Rosary?" I hesitate, between the customer in front of me and the one already out the door. I take the lazy route out. "Well - I hope she comes back for it." I probably wouldn't recognize her anyway, not with my memory for faces. And anyways, rosaries get lost. It happens. I'll drop it off at lost-and-found on my break.

During a slow period later on, I take a closer look at the rosary case. It's double-sided: one side holds a chaplet of some kind, from Kibeho in Rwanda - a Marian apparition that warned of the coming genocide. It's not just any rosary. Also there's a 3rd-class relic of Padre Pio. As for the other side of the pouch...I choke, and check quickly for any name or phone number. There's none; just the three reliquaries with 1st-class relics of Elizabeth Seton, John Neumann, and Pius X. From then on, until I am able to go back to customer service, that pouch does not go out of my sight. No way.

The lady was elderly, so probably a local; there are three parishes in town and odds are she is a parishioner at one. A few calls later, all of them will (hopefully) be running notices in the bulletin. If she doesn't come back, there's a note with the relics saying not to throw them out.
What to do with them then, considering my laziness at the start, I'm not certain.

Update: She did come back for them.

Thought for the night

"Wake up, and strengthen the things that remain, which were about to die; for I have not found your deeds completed in the sight of my God." -Revelation 3:2

"Right now three things remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love." -1 Corinthians 13:13

New Year, New Beginnings

Somebody encouraged me to post this, so here goes. Please pardon any clumsiness on my part, this is written off-the-cuff before I lose nerve and hit Delete.

Back in 2003, I stayed for a week with the Missionaries of Charity sisters in Vienna, Austria, sharing in their prayer and work. Since then I've been involved with them off-and-on, always with the thought in my mind of someday, maybe, possibly, joining. In November of last year, I made a formal visit to their postulant house in NYC, and have since been accepted to the order.

A few details on the Missionaries of Charity, for those of you who may not know much about them: they are a Catholic religious order, founded in India by Mother Teresa, in the 1950s; they have since spread throughout the world. Their convents are located in the slums, among the poor they serve. In America, they run soup kitchens, food and clothing banks, homes for battered women, emergency shelters, AIDS hospices, after-school programs. At Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas, they prepare meals and take them to shut-ins. There is no glory to the life, and they ask for none. There is no hidden agenda. It is simply and purely a life of service to the poor and to Christ.

As a sister, my day would begin at 4:40. I would get up, dress in the dark and straighten my pallet, then go to the chapel for an hour of prayer. From there I would go to do in-house chores (rag and bucket, no mops), then return to the chapel for Mass, beginning a day-long rhythm of prayer and work that is essential to the life of the Missionaries of Charity. My only "day off" would be Thursday, and even that is a day set aside for deeper prayer, confession, and spiritual direction. I would own nothing - even my two habits (one for washing, one for wearing) would be mine to use, but not mine to own. I would be transferred to a new convent every couple of years to avoid attachments to places or people - even that comfort of "belonging" in a place would not be mine to claim. What matters is the work, done the same for all; what matters is the Lord in whose name it is done. It may sound harsh or extreme; but it is what I feel called to. To that complete freedom to serve God and neighbor, nothing held back for myself.

Of course, the saying is that nothing easily had is worth having. That is true here as well. During college I borrowed a considerable amount in student loans, and while I have made good progress in paying them off, I have a large debt remaining. I cannot enter the order until it is paid in full. Until two months ago, I was certain that I could pay off my debt by myself. Maybe it would take a few years, but I could do it by age 35 (the oldest I can be to enter the order). It turns out that my debt is twice what I thought it was; I can't pay it off in time. I wanted to - I did not want to turn and ask for help. But it seems that now I have to. Anything - advice, prayers, whatever - any of you can give will be much appreciated! I know I am not the first in this situation, if any of you have experience with this or know of places I can turn to, please let me know.

(Permit me to add here that in the normal course of things, I am doing well. I volunteer, as I can, at the Baltimore convent and am involved with the Lay Missionaries of Charity. I have two jobs and a good place to live; I am not rich but neither am I desperate for money. I simply do not make enough to pay off my loans in time.)

What I can offer in exchange is my prayers, and also my participation in the work of the Missionaries of Charity. During their daily hour of Adoration, the sisters keep a number of candles lit on the altar; one of them is lit as a prayer for all of their benefactors throughout the world. To that general prayer, I would add my specific prayer for you. It is not much - but it is what I can give in return.

My thanks to all of you who have read through this - God bless you and your families in this Advent season.

In Christ,
Margaret Hagen
mcihagen(at)gmail.com

Revelation 4:11

A young girl, tugged along by Mother
Drags her umbrella to catch the rain
Skips over a mosaic of sodden leaves.
A cyclist coasts past, looking ahead
Where a couple strolls through the mist.

The story unfolds around them,
In the trees lining this woodspath -
Now straight, now bent in homage,
Casting down crowns of copper and gold.
Stripped of glory, yet still stretching high.
Their rustle, caught up on the wind,
Sounds a groaning past all words.
Here is what Francis loved:
Not nature, but Creation.
Here a world dying to self
Here a world set afire.

-Margaret Catherine
10-27-09

To change the light bulb, how many Missionaries of Charity?

A: Three. One to change the bulb, one to pray Memorares that the light will turn on, and one to find a use for the burnt-out bulb. Also a volunteer, in case any of the sisters need help.

Also from the MC front:

-I will always treasure the memory of two sisters standing shoulder to shoulder, in puzzled conference over a photo series of the many faces of Michael Jackson.

-One resident has a virtual library of Jack Chick tracts. Ouch. But, if he finds some benefit in them, insofar as they attempt to tackle inner-city life...? The men are in various spiritual places, from Muslim to Protestant to Catholic, and the sisters aren't in the business of herding any of them anywhere. Showing a way, yes - but not shoving the men toward it.

-Please pray for the soul of Jare Alejandra Ramos, the 10 year old daughter of one of the residents. A week or two back, she was found not breathing and with no heartbeat; they were actually readying her for an autopsy when she began breathing again. This past Wednesday, she had (so far as I know) another attack, but did not recover. She was his only child - and back home in Guatemala, not here in the States.

-It's wonderful to sit outside on a cool night and type away. I could probably add a couple more things. But now that I've brushed away the spider that was dangling from my hair, I think I'll go inside, thank you - and good night.

Closed.

Usual night at work. Last customers are gone, conversations normally confined to the back room have moved out front as we finish up. The assistant manager's boyfriend - evidently - is hanging out, and the two of them are showing off for each other a bit. A bit of razzing on the part of the AM, about how I'm not going to go drink and I'm no fun; then the boyfriend joins in.

"I'm going to go drink Jesus' blood. I already ate a whole loaf of His body."

...Oh, if only he would.

Talking turkey

"I need to find a new place to live."
"Hey, check Craigslist. It's how I found my place." [You know who you are.]
"Sure, thanks!"

****
Craigslist ad:
Seeking vegetarian housemate. Great house in a quiet neighborhood

Hmm. Well, for $390 a month, I can keep the meat out of the house. I work at a restaurant, after all. They have good veal.

No meat or tobacco use permitted in the house. Smoke outside all you like...

Can I smoke meat outside?

I'm not asking for veganism, though I'm vegan myself. I'll even let an occasional tuna sandwich slide.)

You've never heard of the "slippery slope", have you? No? Oh, good.

What you eat when you go home for Thanksgiving is your affair. However, fair warning: my veganism comes from an animal rights philosophy, so if your job is based on being unkind to animals we probably wouldn't be harmonious housemates.

Nope. We probably wouldn't be. So, that'll be 30 seconds per side on that filet?

I'm a 30-something professional (part-time software, part-time shiatsu "acupressure massage") as well as an amateur poet and musician. You'd have to be ok living with someone of bohemian leanings and a sort of "Zen Pagan Atheist" spirituality, though I don't care how you personally cultivate your relationship with the universe, that's your business.

Oh, no problem. I keep my "personal cultivation" in this box over here, I take it out every month or so - at night, with all the lights out, when there's no moon - just to make sure it's still there. Then it goes back in my closet. You'll never know it exists, don't worry...since, I mean, the minute I take it out of that little dusty box, it has a way of influencing my behavior. How I earn my living, what I keep on the refrigerator shelf...

...Nah, think I'll pass on this one. Thanks, though.

Between, Now and Then

From my journal, Sept. 9 2006:
"Up at 4:30 am, hour walk to catch a bus to DC, volunteer the morning away, catch bus back, rest very briefly, catch bus to work, get home at 2:00 am. My knee was screaming for mercy by the end, and again - along with the rest of my body - when I woke up at 8:00 this morning. So, I'm fairly exhausted. And I'm probably going ramble. And possibly write a journal entry that I will wince at later.

"And yet, I wouldn't have it any other way. What I do at the Missionaries' (Mother Teresa's order), mostly, is sweep and mop floors and do dishes; last time was a break in the routine since they needed me to accompany a woman at the hospice to a doctor's appointment. But mostly it's cleancleansweatcleanclean, and somehow, in that, it's the highlight of my week. What the MCs are doing there, and elsewhere, is work that so very desperately needs doing, and they have such joy in it; it's a true privilege to be part of it even if I'm the one with the mop in her hand. Pray God I can be part of it, as a sister or as a volunteer, for the rest of my life - oh, I wander here and there and poke at this job route or that career. Medical billing, sign language interpreting, others. But it's the idea of life as an MC that holds me and draws me back again and again; something that's been true since my weeklong stay with them over three years back..."

****

It's been another three years. I left off the volunteering and in general drifted from the Church, caught in a cycle of shame and hiding and more shame. I still attended Mass most Sundays, but I did not receive Communion, I did not go to Confession; there wasn't much to me except bitterness and anger. That I've been called back, that anything in that journal entry is again true, is by the sheer grace and mercy of God. Not from anything I did or deserve - it's very easy to forget that.

Musical Direction

On the way to spiritual direction this morning, I was ready to discuss any of a number of topics of Great Spiritual Import. The scandal that the Church in Ireland has visited on itself and on the Church as a whole; my recent lessons - those learned and those ignored - in humility and obedience; the upcoming departure of the Sister Superior, who has been something of a mentor to me; even the financial obstacles that lie between me and any attempt to enter an order, any order, which Monsignor had said we would discuss. It's been a long and rough week, there was plenty to hash out.

But none of that would amount to spiritual direction, necessarily. And Monsignor knows me by now; he didn't give me the chance to drag any of that up. Instead he started talking about music. Not what passes for music in the inner city, where the parish is located. Not that excretion of seething hatred. But music that is a blend of words and melody, the two coming together to calm us and draw us towards God. Monsignor is an organist, and classical/hymnal music is a particular love of his; for him it is a form of prayer. His point was simple: what role does music play for me? What one hymn, or song, holds the most spiritual meaning for me, and why? He wasn't referring to hymns as sung in church, communally, but rather to their private use.

I don't listen to music that often. Oh, I have plenty of songs, and a music player. It's called my old, broken-down laptop. It takes 10 minutes to start up and another five to load iTunes. So I don't bother, and anyway I don't have the time or inclination. I'm at work, or I'm volunteering, or I'm sacked out (read: being lazy). But - back when I did take the time, every night? What were the songs then? And what was it about them?

It's a good thing to slow down, stop, and ponder. What in the music, or the words, or both, affects us? What does it produce in us, and does it turn us towards God or away from Him?

Ciao!

In Italian, that means either 'hello' or 'goodbye' - here, it means both. Been gone on retreat to Rome, with a 2-day extension in Venice...various thoughts and musings and odd experiences (did you know it hails in Venice?) will be posted here over the next few days, as I have time in my too-soon resumed workaday life.

A Passenger Manifesto

Man is the sum of his appetites: what has conventionally been termed “free will” is but the expression of those. He should – nay, must – be permitted to do as he likes, when he likes, where he likes. Any other state of affairs is in direct contradiction to observed human nature, and is psychologically unhealthy.* It is, therefore, the role of society and government to enable the fulfillment of fundamental appetites in a manner as comfortable and safe as possible. While European governments are demonstrably ahead of America in this regard, there remains work to be done. There must be removed that lingering inequality by which a mere portion of the populace enjoys full privileges to the envy and resentment of the rest.

In light of this, Rome-Fiumicino airport must remove and replace all benches that have armrests, not only half, so that everyone who wishes to may stretch out and sleep. The proffered recourse to a 24-hour cafe is appreciated, but ultimately is as weak and inadequate a substitute as the caffe latte on hand there.

The true desire of all those remaining overnight in Fiumicino is to sleep. A disheartening proportion enjoy no success. Until this is rectified, there can be no true justice.

Penned by Margaret Catherine
The 30^th day of April, 2009
3:30 am

*Symptoms of psychological imbalance resulting from enforced insomnia include auditory hallucinations of 'Funkytown' at 3:00 am. The Italian love of American 80's music, however, is a subject for another time.

Feast of Divine Mercy - QOTD

"Mercy is as old as the first words of Scripture - 'And God said, 'Let there be light.' Mercy is as old as God creating something out of nothing." - from today's homily

Paschal homily of St. John Chrysostom

If anyone is devout and a lover of God, let him enjoy this beautiful and radiant festival. If anyone is a wise servant, let him, rejoicing, enter into the joy of his Lord. If anyone has wearied himself in fasting, let him now receive his recompense.

If anyone has labored from the first hour, let him today receive his just reward. If anyone has come at the third hour, with thanksgiving let him keep the feast. If anyone has arrived at the sixth hour, let him have no misgivings; for he shall suffer no loss. If anyone has delayed until the ninth hour, let him draw near without hesitation. If anyone has arrived even at the eleventh hour, let him not fear on account of his delay. For the Master is gracious and receives the last, even as the first; he gives rest to him that comes at the eleventh hour, just as to him who has labored from the first. He has mercy upon the last and cares for the first; to the one he gives, and to the other he is gracious. He both honors the work and praises the intention.

Enter all of you, therefore, into the joy of our Lord, and, whether first or last, receive your reward. O rich and poor, one with another, dance for joy! O you ascetics and you negligent, celebrate the day! You that have fasted and you that have disregarded the fast, rejoice today! The table is rich-laden; feast royally, all of you! The calf is fatted; let no one go forth hungry!

Let all partake of the feast of faith. Let all receive the riches of goodness. Let no one lament his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one mourn his transgressions, for pardon has dawned from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Saviour's death has set us free.

He that was taken by death has annihilated it! He descended into hades and took hades captive! He embittered it when it tasted his flesh! And anticipating this Isaiah exclaimed, "Hades was embittered when it encountered thee in the lower regions." It was embittered, for it was abolished! It was embittered, for it was mocked! It was embittered, for it was purged! It was embittered, for it was despoiled! It was embittered, for it was bound in chains!

It took a body and, face to face, met God! It took earth and encountered heaven! It took what it saw but crumbled before what it had not seen!

"O death, where is thy sting? O hades, where is thy victory?"

Christ is risen, and you are overthrown!
Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen!
Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice!
Christ is risen, and life reigns!
Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in a tomb!

For Christ, being raised from the dead, has become the First-fruits of them that slept.

To him be glory and might unto ages of ages. Amen.

Sketches

This traitor's last reward
This executioner's fee
These bloodied pieces of silver
This Iscariot, never free.

This Garden of Olives
This scene of desolation
These branches bent to hear
This cry of supplication.

This Simon renamed Rock
This bold strength crumbled
These tears of sorrow
This rashness humbled.

This place of the Skull
This tree good for food
These words of salvation
This Garden now renewed.

This Christ, Son of God
This man pierced by a spear
These waters to cleanse us
This love casting out fear.

This Friday we call Good
This time of heaven on earth
These hours of dark
This day of man's rebirth.

Margaret Catherine
4-10-2009

Living the Gospel - the outtake reel

Not so much an outtake; I just didn't expect to be cast for the role. During the reading of the Gospel, at Mass at the MC hospice:

"...Jesus said to him, "What you are going to do, do quickly."
Now none of those reclining at table realized why he said this to him.
Some thought that since Judas kept the money bag, Jesus had told him,
"Buy what we need for the feast," or to give something to the poor.
So ---"

--- the hospice doorbell rang. So Peggy put her sandals on and left at once. When she had left,

"Jesus said, "Now is the Son of Man glorified..."