Microcosm

Every day from death awaken,
Taste of wine and bitter gall.
For every morn's another Eden,
Every sin another Fall.
Every shame another hiding,
Every grace another call.

Every breath our answer giving,
Salvation writ in moments small.
If Christ be not the Lord of these,
He is Lord of naught at all.

The Acceptable Time

This blog doesn't precisely have the largest readership. Fine. Two family members. Two or three friends. An occasional drop-by, mildly curious or misdirected or just coming to plug their own blog and leave. And – alright. Que sera, sera. All that's to be found here are the poor results of my waiting, praying, and seeking. There's no brilliant apologetics; no scintillating commentary or deep insights into the nature of faith or God. Just one quiet record of one Catholic's fumbling experience of those.

I began writing shortly after Easter, with grandiose notions but no clear idea of what the purpose would actually be; lately, I've been reading back, to see what patterns have emerged. Since Easter, I've entered into – the best I can describe it as is a time of preparation. Whatever God is calling me to, right now it's for me to step back; to say I'm not ready yet (and how!); to, through His help, be made ready. Right now, it's for me to simply wait on Christ and trust in His grace, and now and again write down aspects of that waiting. Advent as a liturgical season is over; but in another sense, my life is an ongoing Advent season.

This past year has brought me to realize, among other things, the impossibility of forcing faith - not faith as a matter of intellect, but faith as a response to God. It's as hopeless a task as forcing a flower into blossom is. All that can be done is to provide the right conditions – good soil, water, and light - and then wait. Some flowers bloom in early spring, others not until autumn. Each needs the same basic conditions; each is beautiful when it does bloom; but it remains that each has its own time.

In that it is a response to God, faith is not familiarity with a collection of doctrines, to be pulled out and referenced as circumstances warrant. Those can be learned - and should be! - but they are not the heart. At its heart, faith is an encounter with a Person, Jesus Christ; and no one else can make that encounter for you. No one else can substitute their own experience of God for your lack of such; no one else will be drawn to God for the same reasons as you; no one else will have exactly the same experience of God as you. The role of the Christian is to guide others to that encounter and make introductions, so to speak – and then, very often, to step back and out of the way.

That stepping back, in humility, is very much a part of the charism of the Missionaries of Charity. By seeking Christ in the “poorest of the poor”, they cannot help but show Him forth – in their deeds, in their joy and simplicity of heart. (Ye olde 'frozen finger on the back of the neck' is not beyond them – but from love of neighbor!) Following Mary's example, they merely and always point to Christ. Anyone drawn to Him through their example is directed to a priest; they do not directly convert anyone. It is not their place; it is not their spirituality. In that I have them to thank for much of my spiritual development of late, neither is it mine. It's as humbling as it is difficult – but for a frustrated polemicist and point-scorer like me, it is much, much the better.

Coincidence? I think not!

Sometimes, God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes, He whacks us repeatedly over the head until we get the message. These past three days, for example...and who knows what He's got planned for tomorrow...

***

Beginning this month, I work early on Sundays, so am cut as a server well before the restaurant closes. Around 7:00, I'm sat one last time: two middle-aged women; nice sort, just friends out for a meal. By the grace of my God-given gift of nosiness, I ask about the calendars they have lying on the table. One of the women explains that they are from a fundraising drive and flips one open to show me. The picture is of a group of African children; the quote accompanying is from Mother Teresa. I exclaim happily at that...and it goes from there. It turns out that the woman, Pam:

- Has taken a group of teens to Africa to work at an MC orphanage there, and was accompanied by a priest I know slightly through the MCs.
- Is going again with that priest, and another teen group, to Calcutta in January.
- Will keep my contact information (and I hers) against future trips.
- Will be more than happy to take my Miraculous Medal to touch to Mother's tomb.
- Is my last table of the night, so I had plenty of time to linger at the table and listen to her tales of Tanzania and adventures with Fr. Jack and the MCs.
- Wants to give me one of the calendars, if I'm also willing to accept - more than likely - the gift of her cough. She'd warned me I'd probably need to wipe down her menu...and that had only been on the table 5 minutes. The calendar was sitting there for over an hour. (Hey, take the bad with the good!)

I was cut at 7:15; I didn't leave until after 10:00. No more sleep than usual, and even less than some previous Sundays - but oh, so worth it. Meeting her; making the contact; having my "other" world intrude into the very different enviroment of my job. Nothing I planned; nothing I expected; nothing that would have happened had I not had a table open, or had the hostess decided to take them to another table.

***

Monday, as mentioned, I go to the Sisters'. Typical day: Mass. Cook breakfast for the men. Wash dishes. Clean. Make soup and sandwiches for the men's lunch. Wash dishes. Noon prayer. Untypical day: Noon prayer and 2:00 Adoration are conflated, and begin at 11:00. In the afternoon will be the distribution of Christmas baskets, and last-minute shopping for those same. I can help with the shopping, but I can't stay for the distribution - I need to leave before dark. The house is in East Baltimore, and also I attend a praise-and-worship meeting out in Catonsville on Monday nights. Public transit gets me there, but not quickly.

Oh - those girls I've never seen at the house before, who've come to help with the distribution? They're from Catonsville, says Sister. Maybe I can stay if they can take me part of the way, thinks I. Though - I've never seen them at the house before, but come to think of it, haven't I seen them somewhere? I have, as it turns out. At the prayer meeting. In another city. 15 miles away. They can take me, if I don't mind stopping by their house first for dinner. A family dinner: Dad, Mom, six kids, and a meal worthy of a gourmet (on a Monday night!). Okay? I don't mind if you don't! I'd almost left several hours before, I wasn't going to stay at all, but changed my mind (like I never do that...) and decided on helping as long as I could. Against any idea of mine, that turned out to be for the entire distribution.

***

This afternoon, I made a stop by the Adoration chapel in Towson, to make some poor attempt to turn back to God the weekend's blessings - and the tests, certainly not absent. As I'm leaving, someone calls out to me: a co-volunteer from the MC's who I'd not seen in months and did not expect to see again. Last I'd heard, she was joining a religious order in the Philippines. She still is; leaving on December 27. We went for coffee, and a very belated chance to talk and compare notes on our respective Come-and-See visits to the MCs. And a chance to wish each other well: her as she goes to enter religious life, me as I continue to haul myself towards that same goal. A difference of even a minute on the part of either of us, and it would not have happened: we'd have either missed each other, or not wanted to pull the other out of Adoration.

***

I think I get the idea now, God. It takes me a while, and You need to speak very slowly and raise Your voice a little...but I think I see Your point. You know what you've got planned for me. Maybe I should quit whining and worrying, and just let be....

The Raving Atheist...

...is now, officially, the Raving Theist. I've lurked on his blog on and off for years; his humor could be harsh at times, but there was - and is - always an honesty and thoughtfulness to his posts that made them well-worth the reading. May Christ, who has begun this good work in him, bring it to completion.

Gloria a Dei, et Filii, et Spiritui Sancti!

"Well done, thou good and faithful servant."

Avery Cardinal Dulles, August 24, 1918 – December 12, 2008. A truly bright star among Abraham's descendants, now entered into the eternal Light.

Blessed repose and eternal memory.

Am I not here, who am your Mother?

"Lord, You have called me."

This past Monday, December 8th, was the semiannual profession of final vows for the Missionaries of Charity, held in Washington DC. Active sisters, contemplative sisters, junior sisters, aspirants, Lay MCs, volunteers, family, shelter residents, hospice residents...they fit wonderfully into the Basilica Crypt Church where the profession Mass was held. (They didn't fit quite so well into the convent where the reception was - a good many stayed outside despite the weather.)

During the Mass, before the sisters together profess their vows, the Archbishop calls each by her religious name and she responds "Lord, you have called me."

Lord, You have called me - You have called us. And this is the response we give to Your call. These are the gifts You have given us, and this is how we will use them in Your service. Whatever the struggles of the past ten years, whatever the sacrifices, whatever the joys; all those things we can articulate and those for which there are no words - they all come down to that one reality. Christ has called. And we have answered.

Monday was also the feast of the Immaculate Conception; the conception of the one who always gave her "Yes" to God. She could have said no just as Eve did - she too had that moment of decision for God or against. She too could have sinned...she could have listened to that 'trouble' inside her and shrunk away from the angel. But instead, it was yes - "let it be unto me."

Echoing that yes is not some high calling for priests and nuns; it's for all of us, every day. Even in uncertainty, when we can't see what God is doing or why He is doing it, it's still for us to say yes; to hold to Christ and trust in His absolute goodwill towards us. He can only want our good; we have to trust in that and act on it.

A Survivor's Account of the Taj Mahal

"To Whom Much is Given: Surviving the Massacre in Mumbai."

A Traveler's Lament

O little town of Ambler,
How aptly named thou art!
'Twas in thy dark and silent streets
My car* refused to start.

'Closed for Thanksgiving',
Read every sign in town
Outside the hardware store I sat,
Alone and broken down.

Tho' the Acme was still open,
The Giant on Main St. too
Of one thing only had I need
A spark plug sparkling new.

On Chestnut St. I found shelter
A floor on which to sleep
Turkey to roast, stuffing to eat
A brother comp'ny to keep.

O little town of Ambler,
How trains do pass you by!
For your TruValue my thanks I give
An offering to on high.

*Poetic license, E.S. Just poetic license.

Scenes from the Bronx

There's a serious version of my Come-and-See at the Missionaries of Charity. This, dear reader, is not it. It has not been written, and may or may not be. Instead, I offer this collection of unconnected, but illuminative, moments from my stay:

*The startled moment when I realized that Uncle Barney was not in fact a pet goat, but rather a donor (of vegetables and baked goods) who has been coming weekly to the Bronx and Harlem houses since at least 1984.

*Yes, indeed. It is possible to make soup from chicken broth, potato, sausage...and oatmeal.

*The nightly sound of either bad brakes, mournful werewolves, or a succession of sacrificial cats...I was never certain.

*Door-to-door salesmen would starve to death in the Bronx. MC's trying to visit "their" families just get really sore knuckles. And plenty of chances to pray Memorares for the intention of someone, anyone, coming to open the outer door.

*Being utterly delighted to see cheesecake for afternoon tea, and just knowing it was the best cheesecake ever - cream cheese, not ricotta, with all this fresh fruit topping...and holding my fork ready to dig in...and then hearing the bell to get up and go to afternoon apostolate (work)...And then waking up the rest of the way. Decidedly, no cheesecake.

*Regarding the above: is there another order in the world that has afternoon tea built into it's schedule? Granted that the food part could be anything from cake, to nothing, to gummi worms..still, I like!

*It was strange to be in a room where people smoked, and smoked regularly (the homeless shelter, not the convent!). I can't even tell you when I last saw an ashtray that wasn't gathering dust on a thrift-store shelf...smoking indoors is some 80's anachronism, almost.

*Meeting Sister Dorothy, one of the first women to join Mother Teresa. Let's just pass over the part where I first met her by almost knocking her over...in Adoration...while she was genuflecting...

*Glancing up at a cloudy sky and hoping, reflexively, that the laundry was in off the roof.

*This exchange during dinner, while considering a bowl of good but extremely greasy sausage:
Sister Sarah:"This looks like it might be that stuff - transfat - we should not eat."
Me, eyeing the bowl, then Sister:"When I get back to Baltimore, I don't know what I'm going to tell the sisters."
Sister Sarah:"You can tell them that Sister gave you a big bowl of transfat."

*Or this, during choir practice, whilst trying to puzzle out a melody:
Sister:"Divine and human are the same." [Pause] "That sounds like heresy."

*Returning from a drive to see the foliage, we've stopped along the way to get gas. Inside the station, a man comes up to Sister, asks if she is one of Mother Teresa's sisters, and gives her a donation. Per MC custom, she asked him for his name so we could pray for him. And that was how, back in the van, we found ourselves praying the last decade of the Rosary for "Joe the Plumber".

Sometimes...

...God gives us what we want. Until we realize what we need. And it's never a pretty thing to watch.

Venite Adoramus

Crucified shadow, cast on the wall -
Come behold this, work of our hands!
Stand below, hear His cry to all lands:
'I thirst still - for you and for all.'

In saried ranks before Christ kneel
Then rise, go in haste, by vows set apart -
Silence of heaven, silence of heart -
Handmaids of God, marked with His seal.

In grace and truth, not myth or story
The Word took flesh: we see His glory.

From my two week Come-and-See at the Missionaries of Charity.

Christian Vegetarianism of the Early Latinate Period

From the collection 'At the Lighting of the Lamps':

"...Such opulence, for Christians, is enough,
And satisfies all needs.
Far from us be that hungering lust
That craves a bloody feast
And tears apart the flesh of beasts.

"Such wild banquets made from slaughtering flocks,
Are fit for barbarians alone;
For us the olive, wheat, and ripening fruits,
And vegetables of every kind.
These make up our righteous feast."

Prudentius
5th century

Si Non Servias

Roll your heart's stone back into place
Shake the dust from your feet and move on.
Say, "Christ is not here"; seek not His face.
(Life fades to gray in the desert predawn.)
Lightless sky, endless sand; rock, thorn, weed.
Yours to wander: you are free indeed!

And around again.

Seven years ago, etc.

I don't have words today. Instead, I've been letting others' words speak - the words of those trapped on the planes, or suffocating, beyond hope of rescue, in the Towers. One call ends in silence; the plane found its target. Another in a man's scream as Tower 2 collapsed. He "wasn't ready to die"; he had "two young kids."(YouTube is just incredible, no?) Seven years ago, I spent the afternoon in prayer, knelt down in Adoration on the lawn outside the student center at Franciscan. Today, that still remains the best response to those horrors.

Between the Cracks

No good ground this, nor yet rocky:
Soil of urban concrete,
Neglected and left to harden.

Here and there an imprint lingers
A shoe perhaps, or bold hand.
Silent mem'ry - once, this was soft.

Seeds find small purchase here; rather
Scatter trampled and futile
Amidst glass shards and strewn refuse.

Now and again, slight gaps grant hope
Chance sowings take tenous root
In earth now, always hid from sight.

Straggling weeds, trod-upon grass
A tree to break the pavement
The random flower, blooming once.

Never shall be a lush garden, this:
Nor a harvest abundant.
Still life takes hold - between the cracks.

Universal Prayer of Clement XI

The below is a beautiful prayer - but it is a long prayer. And when it is being read over you, it's a rather scary prayer. It's expecting rather a lot. In fact, it can produce a clammy, cold feeling on the back of one's neck...no, wait. That's Father getting me from behind with the holy water. No warning, except that ominous splash of water leaving the bottle. Brr. (Editor's Note: Evidently I was supposed to turn around. Since I was not told that, I did not. Since I did not...brr.)

Ah well. As my LMC formation begins, so may I expect it to continue, with blessings that I just never see coming and that make me want to yelp in dismay. (And with one very unpredictable priest-spiritual director - honestly, he was clear across the altar from me!) From now on, I'll never not be wearing a crucifix...which I'm realizing is no small thing, in various ways. Pray God that I may be what this prayer calls us all to be, that I may live out the spirituality of the Missionaries of Charity whether as a laywoman or, someday perhaps, a sister. Pray God that I may not pass by or cheapen by words those things which I am to treasure in my heart - and that I may always have courage and faith to speak out when it is a time to do so.

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

Lord, I believe in you: increase my faith.
I trust in you: strengthen my trust.
I love you: let me love you more and more.
I am sorry for my sins: deepen my sorrow.

I worship you as my first beginning,
I long for you as my last end,
I praise you as my constant helper,
And call on you as my loving protector.

Guide me by your wisdom,
Correct me with your justice,
Comfort me with your mercy,
Protect me with your power.

I offer you, Lord, my thoughts: to be fixed on you;
My words: to have you for their theme;
My actions: to reflect my love for you;
My sufferings: to be endured for your greater glory.

I want to do what you ask of me:
In the way you ask,
For as long as you ask,
Because you ask it.

Lord, enlighten my understanding,
Strengthen my will,
Purify my heart,
and make me holy.

Help me to repent of my past sins
And to resist temptation in the future.
Help me to rise above my human weaknesses
And to grow stronger as a Christian.

Let me love you, my Lord and my God,
And see myself as I really am:
A pilgrim in this world,
A Christian called to respect and love
All whose lives I touch,
Those under my authority,
My friends and my enemies.

Help me to conquer anger with gentleness,
Greed by generosity,
Apathy by fervor.
Help me to forget myself
And reach out toward others.

Make me prudent in planning,
Courageous in taking risks.
Make me patient in suffering,
Unassuming in prosperity.

Keep me, Lord, attentive at prayer,
Temperate in food and drink,
Diligent in my work,
Firm in my good intentions.

Let my conscience be clear,
My conduct without fault,
My speech blameless,
My life well-ordered.
Put me on guard against my human weaknesses.
Let me cherish your love for me,
Keep your law,
And come at last to your salvation.

Teach me to realize that this world is passing,
That my true future is the happiness of heaven,
That life on earth is short,
And the life to come eternal.

Help me to prepare for death
With a proper fear of judgment,
But a greater trust in your goodness.
Lead me safely through death
To the endless joy of heaven.

Grant this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

???

I'm here in the cafe side of the Catholic church across the street from me, making use of their...ah...well, okay, I'm their beloved Internet thief, as Father White greeted me one day. But, anyway. That's not the point here. The point is, Mass is piped into the cafe via loudspeaker. 10:30 Mass just began - and the opening song was none other than 'Hanging by a Moment' (or whatever the actual name is, I don't know). It's hardly out of character for this parish, sure. And it draws you in, sure...but not to Mass. Not...quite. How you go from that to chanting the Latin Mass parts, I just don't know.

A Pandatic Conversation

This post has nothing to do with the stated purpose of my blog. It is simply pandaring to the reality that my "audience" consists of a few family and friends...who know me too well to be impressed by my more serious writing anyway. Thus the following:

Scene: Woodley Park Zoo in DC. Me, Helani, and Juli, moseying along the Asia Trail in pursuit of our prey. Having braved all variety of endangered animals and signs warning darkly of poachers and extinction, having resisted the siren song of the Panda Cafe - having, in fact, preserved our wallets from harm and our bellies from expansion - we make it at last to that king of attractions. That beast keyed to such a poor diet that it must spend 16 hours a day eating. Nature's weedwhacker, at whose approach the bamboo forests shiver in fear. The giant of giants...

The panda. Sprawled on his back for all to see, pulling bamboo branches to his mouth and stuffing them in. Some passersby stop to admire. Others continue along the path, tugged along by their unenthralled young. Eventually, the panda has had quite enough bamboo and ambles to the strategically placed stream for a good long drink. We look on in awe. Eventually, the panda has had quite enough water and ambles back to the same bamboo clump as before, there to blissfully eat bamboo paw-to-mouth. We consider his manner of life.

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

Me: "Typical male."
Helani: "Yeah. 'I'm going to go back to the couch now.'"

Silent consideration of panda, and perhaps other matters, resumes. Briefly.

Helani: "It must be an easy life. No predators..."
Me: [blinking] "No creditors?"

There are not words to convey the look Helani gives me.

Juli: "If this is Panda, press one..."

Tidings of Change

Arrow-path, water laps out
Ripples in time's wake wash us
Sunlit sparks hide the depths
Dazzle us, who are drifting
Blind, clinging to our wreckage.
Nowhere to go, we tread in place
Years pass - it is endless.

Spear-path, water flows new
Ripples from eternity cleanse us
Sunlit spark in our depths
Guides us, no longer adrift
Blind still - but to sin's wreckage.
Harbor in sight, we at last swim
Years after it is finished.

-Margaret Catherine