Joseph and Mary Among us in Disguise

 

Sometimes things are not as bad as you think they are:  they are worse.  The day I learned that true-fact is the day I almost burst out crying at work almost two decades ago.  I also learned the important lesson that you ONLY learn by experience, regardless of how many times people say to you, “Don’t judge.”  (which I hate by the way.  By default, when someone says, “Don’t judge,” they have already judged you, and that doesn’t feel good either).  I don’t remember their names, but I remember the day I met them in person.  I always think of them as Mary and Joseph now.  Yes, that Mary and Joseph.  They were young.  They were in distress.  And they were fighting a System that doesn’t always see the situation in entirety before it passes judgment.

I received a phone call from a young man asking that I produce proof of his attending a birthing class with his fiancée.  The urgency in his voice was palpable.  I became suspicious.  I presumed this was some attempt at fighting the young woman for custody of the baby.  He said his lawyer told him it would help to prove he was a good father if he could get written proof of attending the classes.  When I hear the word “lawyer” my ears perk up.  People never seem to have lawyers engaged when things are going well or are uncomplicated.  I wasn’t sure if I could find the information he needed and I wasn’t breaking any speed records to get it.  Again, I presumed he was making this young mother’s life miserable in some way. I deferred him.  But he just called back again, pleading for the proof that he attended the five classes, that were two hours each. 

The next week, the couple walked into my office.  The young woman then personally asked me for the proof that he attended the classes.  The feel of something being “off” was in the air, but I had never felt this kind of OFF before.  I asked her why they needed proof for attendance for the lawyer.  She looked at me with deep pain and said, “you don’t know?”  No. 

You can understand what rain is being inside the house and looking out the window to watch it rain.

You can understand what rain is being under an umbrella and seeing it rain around you.

But you only can truly understand rain when you are standing IN THE RAIN, outside Noah’s ark, and getting soaking wet.

I was about to get rained-on.

She told me the baby had been ill in the middle of the night and needed a decongestant.  The good young father had gotten up so that she could rest and gave the baby cough syrup.  Only … he accidentally gave the baby too much.  That is easy to do no matter what age you are.  I reflected later that I had made a similar mistake with a non-lethal medication once and was very unnerved.  But what happened to this couple is … the baby died.  And so they had some part of the Institution of our society trying to put him in jail for manslaughter when it was a very tragic accident. 

How do you know someone is innocent in a case like this?  Perhaps I would make a poor juror, but I could see his innocence with my own eyes:  as she spoke, the pain that went across his face was even painful to watch.  He dropped his chin down as if his life would be “over” no matter which way the court went with the data.  And I get that.  Haven’t we all done things in life, even much less serious, that haunt our memories?  We may be the only one who remembers the mis-placed word, the unkind event, whatever it was, that torments us?  We want forgiveness, but we cannot forgive ourselves.  In his case, I sensed his struggle would be indefinite.  And she stood by him when I handed them the proof of class attendance and I wished them healing and peace.  How I wanted to wrap my arms around both of them to show them how deeply I felt for them … Mary and Joseph seeking a place of shelter from this terrible sadness – the loss of their beloved child.

At this time of year when we celebrate the birth of The Baby in Bethlehem, let us remember in a special way all those who have lost children … in all of the many and sad ways people lose children.  Let us grieve with those who grieve, so that we may hasten the time of rejoicing to return.

Some kind of guilt

 

A frigid 29 degrees outside, my vehicle inside was only a little warmer than that as I drove down the long, dark road back to my house.  Out of the corner of my left eye, just above the steering wheel I could see the bright yellow glow of an icon on my dashboard with the “low tire pressure” symbol.  I had to decide if I would go to the station on the way home or go all the way home and deal with it tomorrow.  I do not enjoy the proverbial Sword of Damocles hanging over my head, so I stopped and boosted all 4 tires with some air.  Didn’t I just do this last week?  Darn it all.  I HATE having to inflate my tires.  Last year, I had The Guys seal around the tire stems because we determined that was how the air was slipping out.  Maybe I need to do that again.  I feel like I go through this every year when the colder weather sets in.  I know when.  I know why.  And, I know what to do to make it right.  Yet it is all ONE BIG NUISANCE.

To take this situation as an analogy, I offer you:  GUILTY FEELINGS.  No one enjoys feeling guilty.  Even the people who suffer with scrupulosity – the tendency to nit-pick yourself to death mentally about even the smallest of your own faults or failings – don’t enjoy feeling badly. 

Humans deal with this feeling in a variety of ways -both unproductive and opportunistically.  We have people that wallow in feeling horrible.  We have people who write songs to justify their guilt, “It can’t be wrong, when it feels so right…” and … we have people who label the guilt as if it is bad in and of itself, like a broken feeling attached to no piece of reality that they should be facing in and of itself.

“Catholic guilt” is a phrase that sets my teeth on edge like no other because it is a misnomer.  Guilt is not “catholic.”  It is a universal human experience of people that have at least a modicum of functioning conscience inside them.  I propose: Guilt can actually be a GOOD thing in that it points you, like the dashboard icon in your car, to something that needs immediate attention.  The most unhelpful thing for our own personal well-being is to damn the torpedoes and not address what the Guilt is pointing to.  That would be akin to me continuing to drive on tires that are leaking air … eventually the whole vehicle will be immobilized.

I was thinking about guilt the other day.  From Real Life, I offer you the various types of guilt thrown at us – actually thrown at me – in the last year.  (Maybe the headache I’ve been sporting the past three weeks is not sinus pressure, just STRESS?!)  These are not reasonable guilt-experiences.  They are based in societal judgmentalism and the current “cancel-culture.”

Ø  From FarceBook:  “This post is being fact-checked.”  (Huh.  While you are at it, why don’t you fact-check CNN, CBS, ABC, NBC and the FBI.  It’d keep you busier and be a better use of your time then chasing ME.)

Ø  From pet adoption groups:  “Don’t buy from a breeder, adopt a pet!”  (I am a breeder of AKC spaniels.   I am not a backyard puppy mill and I don’t need my business rained-on.   I am not a bad person.)

Ø  From a friend of another race:  “You don’t know what it is like to be racially profiled!”  (Yes I do.  When I get stopped for a speeding ticket I am almost guaranteed to get one.  I am sober.  I am white. I am single.  And I cannot cry-on-command.  I only got let off the time I offered the Officer some french fries…. and he refused them.)

Ø  From a certain world leader who is anti-capitalism and is critical of American prosperity as if we are all irresponsible and selfish with our finances.  My mailbox hauls in no less than 20 solicitations A WEEK from charities of every kind.  (Did someone sell my name on a list?!)  If I don’t work, the donations that I am actually able to eke out will stop.  I think that for all that is criticized about Americans, we are STILL the most generous people in the world.  My dear grandfather used to pack up boxes of clothes and send them back to Europe for our family that lived in poverty there. 

Ø  (self-imposed guilt)  My neighbors decorate for Christmas like Disneyland-East.  I have all I can do to wash the algae off the white deck posts and wrap a strand of lights around it and add a small Christmas tree by the 4^th week of Advent.

Ø  From H.R. for telling a group of us not to tell interview candidates about the weather here.  Why?  Because it STINKS for 6 months out of the year.  I am literally EATING Vitamin D’s by the handful because the lack of sun this time of year makes me feel like it’s raining inside my head, not just outside my window. 

I could go on.  You get the idea.  My point is that for all the people out there who are saying that their guilt is residually imposed due to their Catholic upbringing or schooling, they are full of baloney.  Most of the guilt thrown on us on a daily basis has very little to do with religion.  I will go so far as to say that the guilt we feel for things that we have done may actually point us to amending our life choices.  Guilt could, hypothetically, move us to be a better person.  We have to entertain the idea, at least, that we make mistakes and could actually do better. 

But what do we DO with guilt?  As I mentioned above, some people just blame an institution, like a religion, for their feelings of guilt.  Others ignore the guilt and persist in whatever it is that makes them feel guilty.  It reminds me of the story of the two farmers talking near the mailbox.  The hound lying on the front porch let out a pitiful, mournful howl.  The visiting farmer asked, “what’s the matter with your dog?”  The reply:  “Nothing.  There’s a nail sticking up from a board and he just lays down on it and howls.”  GET OFF THE NAIL, DAWG!!!

Did you ever have a heart-to-heart with a friend and come away feeling that the load was lighter?  That is the purpose of the Catholic sacrament of confession.  It is also the purpose of the 12-steps in Anonymous groups:  “Admit the exact nature of your wrongs to another person; where it is possible and will not do further harm, make amends; admit that you are powerless to change on your own volition and need a Higher Power.”  The Bible author puts it succinctly:  “Confess your sins, one to another, that you might be healed.”  (James 5:16).  St. James may have wrote that, but it was really God’s idea.  He wants you to feel better and make progress.

So, if you are looking to give yourself a great gift for Christmas or New Years’, what about that?  What about ditching the guilt in some constructive manner so that you can move forward with your life?  “Cancel” the guilty feelings by honesty, faith, and acts of charity.  You will feel better, I know you will.

 

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The Final word is never that ...

 

Obituaries, like resume’s and eulogies, never tell the whole story.  I remember being told of a man who was eulogized long and fabulous by a clergyman at the funeral.  His sister-in-law, really his closest relative since his late wife passed a decade before, commented wryly, “That was a very nice speech.  But I don’t think he was talking about my brother-in-law.”  And there you have it.  None of us ever really has the whole story on someone’s life.  But we can put the pieces together from the legacy they left behind and have a pretty good idea.  Then you can come to some kind of general conclusion that sits with you as the frosting on the cake for your own remaining days.

At the cemetery recently with family members, we had a funny set of exchanges. 

My father: “Look, the whole right side is still empty.”  (ie. There are available burial plots.)

Me: “No dad.  There just are no standing headstones.  There are flat ones…” (and I’m thinking they are less expensive and make it easier for the caretakers to cut the grass, because I am all about cost & efficiency relative to decisions.)

Some other family member: “Some of those monuments are …”

Me: “I definitely want a monument.”

My Younger – and Only – Sister: “Yeah, and do you want it to say, ‘Joan of Arc was an amateur’?”

My Mother just laughed and enjoyed the ribbing I got.

Me: “No, really.  I think I just want a statue of St. Francis and the Wolf.  That would say it all.”  (oh, on so many levels.)

As we left the cemetery later, my father commented on what a nice job the priest did at the church when he eulogized my precious aunt.  And he was right.  The priest, from meeting my aunt at church in prior days and from comments provided by the family, pretty much captured the type of person she was in the limited time he had. 

There is an old saying: “Ah, to live in heaven with the saints in all their glory; but to live with them here on earth is quite another story.”  And while that is true of, oh, pretty much everyone I have ever met, it was most decidedly not true about my aunt, my godmother.  Of her, the writer of Hebrews 11 spoke when he wrote after eulogizing great Old and New Testament saints of the past: “the world was not worthy of them.”  That was her.

So, in a sense, I just want to write a few things from those of us in the Unworthy World…

My mother remarked that her sister was “always in your corner.”  And by that, she meant EVERY FAMILY MEMBER’S CORNER.  She was an encourager.  While she lived a simple and cautious life, she delighted in our successes and sighed for our misses.  When I in my youthful drama would wail about something, she would assure me, “This, too, shall pass.”  And she was certainly right about that – but I could not see it in my younger days.  She had the gift of being a supportive friend to all of us.  She wasn’t the kind of adult that acted like a kid to be accepted by the kids; she was an adult who was aware of being in her own skin, and treated us as individuals – with respect, affection, and guidance on an as-needed basis.  She did not have the ability, nor the desire to, elevate herself or her authority at the expense of our feelings and self-esteem.  She had an almost indigenous sense of Matthew Kelly’s concept of encouraging people to be “the very best version of themselves.”  Maybe somehow she realized the true path to wholeness and holiness lies in becoming who God crafted you to be, and finding the way to that is the work of a lifetime.  Yes, she was truly “in our corner.”

She was the biggest fan of my writings.  She looked forward to getting my blog pieces mailed to her on a regular basis, I think, because she could enjoy a good story.  Really, when I started to more intently put pen to paper about six years ago, I needed just ONE person to motivate me to write.  I needed to know that from ONE person, the praise would be fair and any critique would be gentle.  This gave me the courage to let my mind flow freely.  I can pretty much type as fast as I can think – make of that what you will – so I needed to write for someone who wouldn’t further bog me down with any unfair comparisons or dampening criticism. 

I initially started writing as a young girl by leaving notes to my Uncle at his house.  He worked crazy shifts for the electric company and my mother and I would go to his house when he was gone and leave him desserts and clean a little … and then I would leave him notes telling him of any sightings of turtles at his pond or chasings of the ducks, etc.  One day, he left me a very small white-with-gold-gild diary.  It had a lock and key on it too.  As a young girl I found this very cool.  But I did not use it much.  The need to write didn’t hit me as hard as it does now.  Sometimes I wake up at night and an entire article is in my head banging to get out.

Over the years, I have kept a journal.  That was mostly encouraged by those in the spiritual/theological circles in which I traveled.  Later, in an English Communications class, our teacher who was the writer of the script for a famous Marian religious movie remarked to us: “write every day.  It will help you get better at it.”  That was the most important thing I learned in that class.  I have also realized that if I want to prevent zealots from chopping my bones into “relics” after I die, I need to leave some written ruminations and remnants of the mud in my life so they will conclude I was not their kind of saint.  I can be a saint, just not that kind of saint.

My aunt was a saint.  But she was not a plastic dashboard saint.  She was aware of her reality and it kept her humble.  She was also a saint with a sense of humor.  She stayed married, to the same man, for over 50 years.  She raised four children.  For that kind of longevity, you need a sense of humor.   She loved every grandchild, niece, and nephew, and any friend we brought in the door to meet her.  You could have hung a sign over her doorway that said, “All are welcome in this place …” Her kitchen table was always a place of hospitality.  She always had time to sit down.  “Sit down, tell me what’s new in your life…”

When I lived at home, my favorite place on Saturday night was NOT out haunting the night life with other teenagers:  it was at the kitchen table with any available family member gathered at my aunt’s house.  Later as adults, we walked in the door with wine, cheese, cookies.  She had her own stash of desserts waiting for us.  She was the hub of the wheel of our lives.  She was the center of the circle of love, but she would argue the point that it is JESUS who is in the center.  But maybe He was the center because she invited Him there, and she brought Him there by the way she loved.  In fact, in the last decade, she began to refer to us as her “special circle.”  If you thought you might be in that circle, rest assured, you were. 

I asked her once if there was a specific reason she thought of us as her circle.  She couldn’t really answer the question.  Perhaps I phrased it poorly.  And I needed to be content with that.  However, I will reference the lyrics of the famous camp hymn, “Will the circle be unbroken, by and by Lord, by and by?  There’s a better land awaiting in the sky Lord, in the sky.”  Perhaps this song is the closest that Protestants get to our Catholic idea of “the communion of saints.”  We believe that we are linked by both love and prayer to those who have gone before us.  It is not linear, it is circular.  I pray for you- you pray for me -and it all circles back around until we are united in love with our Creator.

Speaking of which, my precious Aunt had a marked deepening of her faith at one point – most likely before I came into the world because I always remember her being devout…. And that’s a 58-year memory.  As a result of her faith, she learned to ground herself – and all the rest of us – in prayer.  It was not uncommon to be visiting at her home when we were kids and be invited to join her for the family rosary.  It truly was a speed-rosary, taking maybe 15 minutes, but it was an important point of teaching the young that we can stop and pray at any point in the day and give our attention to God.  It also was fairly common for her to slip away from a conversation and say, “just help yourself to the snacks, and stay as long as you like, I’m going to do my devotions.”  And that meant she had a certain collection of prayers she would say, and then she would review her little book with her prayer intentions hand-written in it with God.  Have I seen the little black book?  Yes.  Do I remember what is in it?  Only one thing:  she was praying at one point for a tumor that had appeared on our collie’s eye.  Other than that, I suspect all contents of that book are relegated to the realm of sacred things like a Catholic confession:  once you see it, your mind erases all memory of its contents.  All you know is it is God’s Stuff and not your business.

One of her young grandsons was sitting quietly in his room at home one night.  His momma asked him, “What are you doing in here?”  He replied with all the frankness of a little guy: “I’m doing my devotions.”  Enough said.

I credit my aunt and uncle with giving me one of the best stress-reducing techniques I have in my arsenal:  the Sunday drive.  They used to just slip away on a Sunday afternoon and visit various spots in New England, and grab a sundae at Friendly’s “ice cream parlor,” and return home.  As a young teen, they often took me with them.  Perhaps that was not very romantic for them to have a niece along for the ride, but they always made me feel welcome.  It was this uncle, and my other uncle (who gave me the diary) that gave me most of my road-time as an early driver.  They had great patience with me.  As a result of their example, I myself was able to teach two other young people to drive.

On one of those drives we ventured up to Weston Priory in Vermont on a fine summer afternoon.   The grounds were lovely.  The buildings were, well, kind of barn-ish, rustic.  It fit for Vermont.  We walked around and intriguingly, saw no monks.  This was curious.  The monks had been pumping out records/cassettes for over a decade – most songs written by Gregory Norbet OSB – and here we were at their monastery and there was no sign of them.  My uncle went up to the window of a shed.  He balled up his fist and rubbed it in a circle on the window pane to get a better view inside.  My aunt chided him, “Dear, please!  What are you doing?”  He began, “I was looking to see if the pottery was here, from Brother Thomas, …. You know, I’m missing the World Series because we drove up here … and I don’t see monks anywhere (as if they were on exhibit?!)”  as the words came out of his mouth, a look of horror crossed his face: “they’re inside somewhere watching the World Series!”  My aunt had to think quickly to re-route his disappointment. She responded, “Dear.  Please.  I can tell you know nothing of the life of prayer and penance!”  He jokingly retorted, “Sure I do.  I married you!”  She gave him what I would classify as a “disparaging look.”  That was the end of that.  And we packed up and headed home.  Three months ago, I drove through Vermont and tried to find Weston Priory.  For some reason I could not, it was as if it had vanished off the face of the earth…. Or more likely, was tucked behind some mountain in Vermont.  Maybe some memories are best left in the past, but that one has always warmed my heart.

I am aware that each of us has our unique memories from the beautiful people that touch our lives.  I feel blessed beyond measure that she was godmother to me, because I know for a fact that her #1 priority was making sure my life was pointed in the right direction to get to heaven.  And in all of our restless human longings, is that not what the great ones before us have always taught us: “Our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee, oh Lord”?  The resting doesn’t mean the Eternal Rest of death; it means the resting of a soul filled with God’s Life – a soul that has no need to sell itself to a world that will give it less than God Himself has to offer.  My life was better, easier, happier because of what this amazing woman brought to the Table of Life.  Each of her family members were loved greatly – really, without measure – by her, and yet each in a unique way.  She prayed her socks-off for most of us.  I hope to God that we live in a way that is worthy of her, worthy of the Father in Heaven she devoted her whole life to, worthy in an unworthy and at times difficult world.

I will continue to write.  I will continue to think of her when I put the finishing touches on pieces that I compose.  I will remember all of the good, all of the love, all of the joy that she brought to me, to all of us.  And for that I will be forever grateful.

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ps. they are gardenia blossoms.

Breaking Grande Silence

 My time in the convent was brief, one weekend to be exact.  It was an experience of the intersection of two key things in my life:  1) my love for evangelizing teens at any opportunity; and 2) my dispositional tendency to follow rules ... until I can't.  It reminds me of that wistfully sad, yet important saying of the German monk Martin Luther:  "I cannot and will not recant anything, for to go against my conscience is neither right nor safe.  Here I stand, I can do no other, so help me God.  Amen."

At the outset it would be important to remark that going to spend a weekend at a convent was not my idea.    I was in tenth grade.  I had the usual tendencies of tenth grade girls to love horses, read books, want to live by the ocean, and begin grand ideas with the phrase:  "Some day when I get married..."  I also happen to like God.  I don't just like Him as an idea, or an abstract concept.  I don't just Facebook "like" Him.  I don't like Him because when I sing the old song "Let there be peace on earth" I get misty-eyed of what that might be like.  I don't like Him because one of my parents was markedly "religious" and the other was not.  I like Him because somehow I felt like He had an interest in, well, me.  (I think He has an interest in you too, so don't feel left out.)  In one of his recent books, Author Matthew Kelly presents God as being the One Who can help us "become the very best version of ourselves."  I am sold on that concept that the One Who made us has a design for each of our lives.  The prophet Jeremiah said it best:

"For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare, not for your woe, plans to give you a future full of hope."  (Jeremiah 29:11)

What I did not like was the idea of going to a convent ... for ANY amount of time.  In my young brain, it had the hint of "clipping of the wings" and that held zero attraction to me. In no way, shape or form did I want to give my parents the idea that this would be an amenable life choice to me.  Yet every time we walked by the "Come and See Weekend" poster at church, my mother would continue to point it out to me.  She really pressed the issue so consistently that I went just to put a period at the end of the one word sentence:  "No."  Yes that contradicts logic.  And that is when the trouble began.  I will tell you the good, the bad, and the ugly, without telling you which order of sisters because that is kind of irrelevant to the point.

The weekend was held at the Mother House.  That is a very nice way of saying:  where you go through formation to ensure you and the Order are a good fit; and, also more to the point, where the elderly nuns go to die.  For my way of thinking, for me, they were one and the same experience.  At one point in the weekend, the Sister in charge of the young women "coming to see" took us to visit an elderly nun who was bed-ridden.  She sat up and smiled, took our hands and beamed.  She said, "I have had a beautiful life.  When are you girls coming to join us?"  I felt glad for her, but the last part caused the color to wash out of my face.  The directing Sister replied, "Oh, they are still in school; they can't come just yet," and we flowed out of the tiny room into the hallway that seemed to echo in its marbled floors my own footsteps that wanted to bolt right out the front door immediately.

The other interesting thing is that the other young women there were easily two or three years younger than me.  And frankly, they weren't doing a terrific job of discerning a future vocation.  They were quite obviously there for what felt like a reunion of girls from Massachusetts and Connecticut with the cache of girls from New Jersey.  It had the makings and feel of one giant Junior High Girls Slumber Party... albeit at a convent.  Although, there was one young woman among us who was actually college age and had just converted to Catholicism. She was planning to join the Order of sisters in a few months.  I would have liked to pick her brain a bit but she didn't seem to have time to speak with us, having bigger more spiritual fish to fry, I imagine.  

I got in trouble at lunch quite accidentally.  When I think back on it, I probably saw something that was much more interesting to me than what I had encountered so far.  Among the gathering of nuns in the lunchroom, everyone sitting around in their dark colored, knee length habits with matching veils on, there was one sister wearing all-white.  She was considerably younger, like in her 30's, and her round and warm Mexican face RADIATED joy.  I mean, when you see THAT you see something that could make you actually consider HER religious order:  doesn't every one of us want to be THAT happy?  So I just said what was on my mind to our Directress, "Who is that nun?"  Answer:  "She is traveling through and stayed the night with us."  My remark, "she is so beautiful."  The iced-cold stare I got back from the Directress led me to believe we were not on the same page when I was remarking about what was clearly a spiritually-generated beauty, a beauty that came from living in the center of God's love.  But I was inescapably in the dog house.  Bigger faux pas lay ahead for me.

It was in the convent that I learned how to play the card game "UNO."  And in case you are wondering what else happens in the convent on a Saturday night, I will break no code in telling you:  Some girls watched TV.  Back in the late 1970's ... they were watching Ricardo Montalban and his butler Tattoo welcome the rich, famous and desperate-for-love on the Fantasy Island that doesn't really exist go for a shot at their "one wish."  I could watch that at home, I think.  It seemed very, um, un-holy to be on a discernment retreat and not be discerning.  So, I busied myself about checking out the bookshelves.  I found a book called "Under the Fig Tree."  It was something that really resonated with me for some reason.  The title of the book came from Nathaniel encountering Jesus for the first time who greeted him with these words:  "I saw you under the fig tree.  You are a true son of Israel - there is no guile in you."  Every time I hear that Bible passage read in church I wonder what was happening under the fig tree that was worthy of note?  Was Nathaniel praying, crying, saying goodbye to someone, or doing absolutely nothing at all?  There was something about Jesus' remark about "seeing" him, that made me think it was a comprehensive-seeing, an "I get where you are coming from" sort of thing.  And to say that he had no guile in him was no compliment to the first man Israel, whose initial name was Jacob and was a deceiver.  (Hence the name of Robin Williams' movie years later:  Jakob the Liar.)  The comment by Jesus was honoring Nathaniel for his honesty and at the same time kind of saying, "you are unique in your family because you are honest" implying others are not.  Hmmm... 

So then we get to the part where a Directress tries to get junior high girls to call it a night.  Having done lock-in's with teens years later, I want to say to her credit at least she didn't really lose her temper with them.  We stayed in a large dorm-like room with a row of beds on each of the two sides of the room, and if I remember correctly, there may have been curtains that could pull around them like in the hospital Emergency Rooms on tv shows.  Somehow amidst the silly girl talk etc., I found an opportunity to get to talk to them about the Big Things God was doing in the Church in the last ten years (which was most of their lifetimes).  I talked about the Blessed Mother's apparitions.  I talked about the birth of the Catholic Charismatic renewal in the late 60's and what was happening in churches as far as healings and miracles occurring.  It was a prime time for evangelization - they were listening, I had the good news, I was regaling them on behalf of the Big G ...  and then I got in trouble.  The whole thing got shut down under the guise of the international convent rule of "Grande Silence."  

That's when a sister with the demeanor of a tired policeman comes to the edge of the dorm room and snaps, "Silence!  Please!"  I said, "But sister, don't you want to hear about this, how the Lord is working in people's lives ... healing them and ..."  "Girls.  Lights-out."  I guess she didn't want to hear it.  

I will say this after later having decades of experience with teen ministry:  Youth Ministry is not for those who have to keep strict rules or need their sleep.  At this point in my life, I'm not sure I could do it either.  But I will say this:  when the time is right and you have the proverbial floor and they are on-board with you, you've gotta let the Spirit lead and go with it.  It is the Inconvenient Moment in which the Lord chooses to change lives.  It is the moment after He sees you under the fig tree and there's nothing left but conversation and raw honesty and a heart turning to Him.  Nothing should ever stand in the way of that.  Not even Grande Silence.

My parents picked me up the next day from the Motherhouse.  My father shook the Sister Directress' hand and I could see him passing money to her.  Nice.  But I would have used an envelope.  LOL.  As we drove home I could see tears in his eyes.  I told him not to worry that I didn't plan to go back.  There was no further discussion.

My mother and I did have a discussion about five  years later that ended with me reiterating that convent life was not for me.  When I look at all the places my life and education and ministry have taken me, I understand better why it wasn't:

"You can only say 'No' when you have a bigger 'Yes' burning inside you."

But sometimes I have indeed wondered about the order that the Mexican nun belonged to and if I could ever find it... 

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The Bump that Was

 11.18.2021

 So, like a good patient, I applied the hot pack as directed.  Gee, how I wish I had been given some specifics on what to expect.  I put it under my arm for two nights in a row and continued my typical routine of watching evening tv shows with the dogs.  It wasn’t an unpleasant task.  Then things changed. 

The bump kind of did a turtle maneuver and withdrew back into the tissue.  But it felt hot.  And it was angry red in the shape of a quarter.  I was temporarily worried.  Well, honestly for about 2 days.  Then like so many people who think the Old Ways may offer some relief, I took matters into my own hands.  If things weren’t going to come to a head, I could facilitate the process. 

You know those pads you can buy at the state fair or places like that that are supposed to detox the bottom of your feet?  Well, why wouldn’t that work on, well, elsewhere????  So, the third night I put that patch right over the red, hot angry area.  And you know what happened?  Absolutely nothing.  That was kind of good because I was worried if it backfired and something dramatic happened, I did not want to be on the receiving-end of The Look that medical providers give you when you are doing something dorky and non-medical.

The next morning, I was washing my face with this gentle, green clay cleanser.  And I thought to myself:  if this is supposed to draw out impurities from my face, then, “why wouldn’t that work on, well, elsewhere???” (see the repetitive train of logic.)  I thought that did nothing until the next day.  Then, something happened that necessitated paper towels and antibiotic bandaids.  That’s really all you need to know.  It is less red now.  The story is not over.  The little turtle is still lurking.  To add insult to injury, we are going to do a mammogram tomorrow (think slamming garage door on your chest analogy, as previously mentioned).

I am not scared.  I fully expect them to pat me on the hand and tell me it was just a cyst and it will resolve “over time” …. Kind of like when as kid I fell and bruised my knee and my father – bastion of sympathy that he is – said, “Stop crying.  It will heal up by the time you get married.”  Little did I know that I could have my whole body replaced piece by piece if I needed to … “before I got married.”  But one thing I already know about that procedure tomorrow:  it’s going to hurt – it doesn’t usually – and I am going to cry.  I am going to cry so that I don’t use any bad words.  Then I will walk out of that office, thank the Good Lord that this is no big deal and cry some more…. Because it’s going to hurt.  And I’m STILL not even engaged.

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"Is the Pope Catholic?"

 

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

It used to be the tag-line joke to whenever anyone said anything that was painfully obvious:  “is the Pope Catholic?”  Last month I asked this question in my brain again, but in a very non-rhetorical way.  It came on the heels of first Nancy Pelosi meeting with Pope Francis, and then President Joe Biden.  So, I thought maybe for the purpose of telling you a few things you might not already be aware of about, well, Things Catholic, that could shed a different light on these untenable meetings.

First let me say this:  being a Catholic is not the same thing as belonging to a club like:  Rotary (a very nice service organization), or the Ladies Auxiliary to the American Veterans (they are supportive of service members), or the Elks or the Moose or the like.  No, Catholicism is a philosophy of life that is deeply rooted in both the Jewish and Christian wisdom traditions.  A wise professor once told us, “Lex orandi, Lex credendi,” the law of prayer is the law of creed/belief.  That means that if you want to understand what a person believes, look at what their prayers are composed of.  (At this point I restrain myself from going three other directions about the content of prayers and other groups for the interest of the particular topic at hand…. A story for another day.)

If you want to understand someone who is truly Catholic, you look at the content of the Nicean Creed which they pray at Mass.  It says everything they believe about God, the Church, and the final things of life.  It really is quite a nice neat little package too, if I do say so myself.  If you want to understand how a Catholic should live, you would look at 2 sources:  the Ten Commandments (3 about relating to God, 7 about relating to your neighbor) and the Beatitudes (the attitudes you should have in daily life: emphasis on humility).  Theoretically, you should be able to look at any Catholic and see those things lived out.  Theoretically.

So, really, we can just take one item:  the abortion discussion, and disqualify a lot of people from the embrace of Catholicism on just that point … if they are aware that they are standing in direct opposition to the Church’s teaching which extends:  “Thou shalt not Kill” to the unborn.  The Didache, which is a document from the earliest years of Christianity also underscores the heinous nature of abortion.  And you have, for instance, a President who claims to be “A Catholic in good standing” who has shown himself to be the most pro-abortion president in the history of the USA in his endorsement of Planned Parenthood the Abortion Machine. 

Catholic people, indeed practicing Christians of all denominations that revere the Bible as the Word of God to us, also believe that obeying lawful authority creates peace and good order.  One could easily extrapolate that those who are creating chaos at the southern border by dissolving any orderly process by which we welcome people into American society, are going against the spirit of that Biblical mandate.  To dissolve law and order creates anarchy – and God is a God of order. 

I cannot just SAY I am a Catholic and expect you to take me seriously if what I SAY out of the other side of my mouth flies completely in the face of Catholic moral teaching and Biblical standards.  That makes me one of two things … or if we were analyzing the President of the United States … or anyone else …. You still really are left with only one of two things:  a truth, or a non-truth.  I deliberately didn’t say “Lie” because I believe that in the case of the current occupant of the Oval Office, he is not fully capable of lying (or purposefully telling the truth, either) at this point in his mental decline.  I do have a modicum of compassion for him.  It has to be a terrible experience to have moments of lucidity where you realize you just have no idea at all what you are saying… or who you are … that your clarity only reveals how unclear you’ve been for who knows how long.  That’s got to be very disorienting.

Look, it would be very easy for me to itemize people I personally think are Bad Examples of attempts at Catholicism (dare I say JFK?  I think about Marilyn Monroe and Jackie. About all that complication due to his infidelity).  It is incredible to be given the highest challenge in the known world:  to lead America and be the Major Player on the world stage for peace and Justice, only to screw up royally in your private life.  At the end of the day, you can sit at the banquet table with kings and dignitaries but if your own kids had no good example to look up to, then what is it all worth?

It would be easier -because it overlaps my field of study – to tell you about the great heroes of Catholicism, names that you would know, stories that would inspire you and lift you up (John Paul the Great, Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Dorothy Day, Francis of Assisi, and the like).  These are the great humanitarians of our age.  But this is not about that.  It is just for the sake of contrast.  Joe Biden had an opportunity and he has bungled it…. Over and over again …. And it’s not that we should add more pressure to an already stress-filled job.  It’s that you can’t be falling apart at the seams and be allowed to lead when in fact you are making huge deal-breaker mistakes.    But then you have, let’s call it, The Papal Incident.

The first clip I watched showed him presenting a warrior’s coin to the Holy Father.  And then, painfully, through a translator, explaining what it is and gifting it to the Holy Father on behalf of his deceased son, Beau Biden.  Truly, this was a touching gesture from a father’s heart that still carries the grief of loss embedded in its depths.  But watching him explain to the Holy Father what it is, was downright painful.  The Holy Father had to play a pleasant, but poker-face, because he didn’t KNOW what is being put in his hand and for what reason.  It’s like that incident in school when I laughed when I thought a person was fake-crying while reading a poem.  When I realized his movement was sincere emotion, it was ME who was embarrassed.  So, Joe put the Pope in an awkward spot.  But we can live with that one.

It’s then the other meeting – allegedly just the two of them – that he comes forth from the room claiming that the Pope has called him a “Catholic in good standing, and to still receive holy communion.”  Itemization to follow of what is wrong with this:

•  Why were two major world leaders in the room alone with no translators?

• Did you think Joe went to confession?  If so, the purpose of confessing is to speak to someone who understands and can give you wise counsel.  El Sancta Padre no habla ingles.  It’s that simple.  So, if you want some truly wise advice, go to someone who can dialogue with you, not just nod their head, otherwise your attempt makes a mockery out of the spirit of repentance and renewal.
• Does Mr. Biden’s understanding of “Catholic in good standing” encompass everything I said earlier about the Ten Commandments, the Beatitudes, and the earliest moral teachings of Christianity found in the Bible and the Didache?  Me thinks it does not.  Because if it did, either he is oblivious of the impact of his decision making, voting, legislating and pontificating, OR he is a liar.
• Did the Pope really say that Mr. Biden is a “good Catholic”?  Or was the Pope a victim of a political maneuver on the chessboard of the world stage?
• If the Pope really said that …. Does the POPE know what Mr. Biden has been up to? 
• And if so, is the Pope lucid?  Or is he a collaborating foreign power that hails from a socialist country in South America, helping to turn the tide of American life into more chaos?  Is capitalism so intrinsically evil to his sensibilities, that he would see us fall apart altogether into national poverty, bloodshed, and social upheaval, rather than remain a democracy?  (*Important side note: I go to work.  A portion of my paycheck, without my consent, is extracted to pay for the needs of the poor and indigent who do not or perhaps cannot work.  Then when my portion hits the bank, I have to sort through not just bills, but appeals from charities all across this nation and other countries to decide who I can purposefully share my resources with.  I am not the only person who does this.  If we, as a nation, get jettisoned into the poor house, the gravy train stops abruptly. What good does THAT accomplish on the world stage?)
• Does the Pope think that a refusal to hold Catholic politicians accountable to their declared faith is an act of non-judgmentalism?  If so, let me clarify:  there is a difference between right and wrong.  Both parents and teachers understand that children and the unknowing need to be educated on that.  It is an act of hatred to refuse to teach someone something that will save them from self-harm or creating misery for others.  Refusal to weigh-in on the moral responsibility held by public officers is, in and of itself, a grave moral evil … perhaps moreso for you if you are, well, say, …. The Pope.

We can excuse people from teaching others and holding others responsible for erroneous behaviors and moral judgments only if that person is also ignorant in some way of what is really going on.  Namely, if the Pope doesn’t have the clear picture on American politics by now, then perhaps his turn on the world stage is …. Over. 

This leaves us with not just one question:  Is the President a Catholic in good standing?  But also: Is the Pope a Catholic in good standing?

There will no doubt be those I love who think I have stepped too far on this line of reasoning.  But I implore you to consider that if reasoning and moral values are no longer practiced by the laity, who will guide the leadership back to where it needs to be?  It is not the cart that goes home at the end of the night; the horse himself always knows the way back to the barn.

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My Personal Bump-in-the-Road

 

November 10, 2021.

An hour from now my whole world could change.  The writer’s axiom is:  we write best when we write what we know.  For now, that is all I know:  my relatively calm little world could be completely flipped upside down…. Because last week I found a bump.  It was small, and it could be nothing, but I promised myself to watch it for a week and if that didn’t go away or do whatever they do to self-resolve, then I would “get it checked out.”  It was in the back of my mind.  The very far back of my mind.

Then, three days ago in the course of a phone call with my friend, I heard her say the words:  “I lost my 51-year-old friend to breast cancer.  She thought it was just a pimple.  She had a husband and three children…”  That JOLTED ME. The conversation continued onward, but a part of my brain was stuck in the mud like rear-wheel drive tires spinning and shooting dirt everywhere. 

I called my first choice for physicians who deal with this and happily spoke with my friend Brunetta.  She told me what to do next:  reach out to my PCP or my GYN because they have to set the wheels in motion after they see me FIRST.  I was grateful it was her on the other end of the phone, a friendly voice, a caring person I knew.  Frankly, I don’t want to be a patient at the hospital:  I just want to work here.  But it’s good to know that if I do need excellent care, I know exactly where to go.

So now I’m sitting at my desk, watching the clock, waiting for my appointment time.  Why?  It’s just a tiny little bump.  Here’s why:  because to that other lady who left behind a family, it was just a tiny little bump as well … until it wasn’t.  I don’t have the expertise or knowledge base to look at the thing and say, “it’s not a big deal.”  I want someone else to take responsibility for that so I can go on with my life without a nagging thought in the back of my mind. 

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The Next Day (November 11, 2021)

Is this the first day of the rest of my life?  The doctor was serious, but unconcerned with her initial visual of the finding.  That’s good.  To be safe, she wants me to get the mammogram re-done on that side.  That’s a bummer.  There is an old joke about how to prepare for a mammogram:  Lie down on your garage floor and strategically position yourself, and then have your good friend bring the garage door down on you.  That about sums it up. 

We had a little confusion at the office visit yesterday just before I went pale and almost passed out.  What I heard my physician say was:  “if you come back for your re-check in December and it’s still there, I will rip it out.”  (Let’s blame this misunderstanding on us wearing the stupid blue anti-covid masks.)  When I responded:  “You most certainly will NOT rip it out…” She said, “I would never RIP it out, I would nip it out….”  I shook my head NO.  She ain’t doing THAT either.  Not on my watch.

(*If you are reading this, do NOT get worried about me or call me on the phone.  Just wait-it-out with me.  I will unfold it on the blog. I’m not picking out my casket yet, and I am not freaked-out.) 

Point of telling this true story:  “Reminder:  Get your annual mammogram.”

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Last Night (November 10, 2021)

Oh, yeah, and I was also supposed to “apply heat” to it.  So I heated up my bean bags in the microwave and tucked one under my arm and laid one on my abdomen to calm me down.  The three dogs jumped up on me as we settled in on the couch to watch “Chesapeake Shores.”   (I wanted to move there until I found out it was filmed in Canada.)  I am positive that Canada is colder than New York.   Not moving there, no siree.

I was not happy with the amount of heat I was applying to the “affected area” under my arm.  So I got up, scooped up some 3-flavor vanilla Turkey Hill ice cream (Vanilla bean, Bourbon vanilla, and French vanilla).  I put Heath bar pieces on it.  (“Heat” plus an “h”).  And then I poured Kahlua over the ice cream.  That way the heat would be internal as I ate the ice cream.  I’m so clever.

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Worn out Moccasins

Honestly, I hated Junior High.  I would not relive those two years of my life if you plopped a suitcase full of filthy, gold lucre down on my kitchen table.  Junior High, for me, can be summarized in the following concepts:  rule by the Popular; denigration of the Un-popular; and ongoing, painful Hysteria (Ie. every issue and situation is bigger than life) where the adults didn't seem to know how to help the kids through it by dialing-it-down and bringing in common sense.  Maybe that is why I LOVED teaching Junior High kids as an adult.  Somehow God took the hell I lived through and made my heart soft with compassion and my mind pretty keen with how to mitigate the angst of the kids before me.  If I didn't need to pay a mortgage, and didn't dislike (most) institutionally employed adults so much, I'd volunteer to teach Junior High for free.  But from this passion to set things on a gentler course, I offer my 2 cents on the current topics related to pandemic.  Let me begin with:

Extreme positions can only be held by those unwilling to step into their neighbor's proverbial moccasins for a moment.  This concept is true not just for the Right, but also for the Left.  As much as I know it is American democracy for each side to speak their piece in a debate, I abhor with a Capital ABHOR the shout-down theatrics that it has become.  That holds true for ALL of those jokers from Whoopi at the far-left to Sean at the far-right.  I once heard a brilliant neurologist bring a room full of noisy people down to a giant hush by dropping her voice below the level of what most dogs can hear.  It was amazing... because when you are bright and you are right, you already have the might.  (can we put that on a tee-shirt?)

Recently, a dear friend sent me an email and stated that Americans are self-centered when they put personal freedom and choice before the well being of others.  Most of the people to the Right would have begun yelling at that point.  I thought it better to consider her spot - she is a senior citizen and the whole covid journey has made her nervous.  Last year, when I spoke to her on the phone, I teasingly reminded her that she can call me any time ... because you can't catch COVID over the telephone.  

I don't think the Media has done us any justice or service by the way they have managed the information and dis-information of the past two years.  Because, remember:  Media exists to sell media.  No news means no jobs for them.  So for them, No News is NOT good news.  It is morally reprehensible how they stir the pot just to keep us on the edge of our seats.  But, our-bad, we should just shut the television off.  I advise everyone:  Take a media break at least once every 3 days.  You will find a few things to be true:  They are not hailing any real scientific progress overnight.  They flip-flop who is the good guy and who is the bad guy to serve the interest of ... hooking a broader cross-section of viewers/readers, and ... therefore, selling more news.  The integrity of the Journalistic profession has come under serious compromise as a result of this trend.  They have become very good at winding a story full of intrigue and emotion, but it is a side-note to whether or not you can count it as 100% true.

I am truly tired of it.  It's a lot like Lucy vanPelt holding the cartoon football for Charlie Brown and promising to not yank it away once he goes to kick it.  He, innocent soul, believes it.  He makes the run, she yanks it away again and then apologizes as if she couldn't help herself.  That is our Media in one glaring cartoon sequence:  they seem to be moving towards transparency and integrity and then they yank the football.  Shut them off.  Take a break.  Let go of what you cannot change or control outside of voting differently next time and writing letters to your congressmen.  (although I'm not sure, given the cast of characters in my state, if writing letters/emails is worth more than gas in the wind to them.)

So back to my friend's angst about those who refuse the vaccine.  I want to remind everyone of these things (which should be neither Left, nor Right, but common logic):

> the vaccine is not a silver-bullet.  It does not work 100% of the time, due to developing variants. There will be variants because that is what viruses do: they try to survive by changing.  

>being asked to wear a mask isn't the worst thing in the world... especially until we figure this thing out.  I might actually be okay with wearing a mask in enclosed, public places if you agree not to 'card' me for my vax status and invade my HIPPA rights.  And, yes, I am fine with taking a pop quiz on my symptoms weekly to get into church or work or wherever.

>the vaccines are NOT yet approved by the FDA ... they gave it a wary "okay to use due to pandemic conditions" which means, in plain English:  "We are not sure if this will do the trick," ... NOR (and I think this is super-important and very under-played) are they sure about any Long Term Effects .... (ie. blood clots that some of them have already caused in SOME people. I take an 81 mg aspirin every other night just to feel better about that risk). Note the legal disclaimer on the Pharma websites. Hmm...

>I emphasized the word "some" because the human bodies that receive these shots are themselves a varying habitat.  Which is where a Smarter or Wiser Governor or President would ADMIT and offer exemptions for specific outliers.  

Analogy #1.  I had a friend over for dinner this winter.  I pan-seared a very nice steak in olive oil because everyone in the Nutritional world like the FDA and even Weight Watchers says how fantastic olive oil is - like a nectar of gods, if you will, that helps your body.  So here I applied a scientific presumption to a specific situation ... and was unaware of my friend's allergy until he ran flying out my front door to rid himself of what would have landed him in an Emergency Room.  Horrifying.  

And yet, every time the Media badgers the hell out of the common population saying "Everyone" MUST get a vaccine, and demonizes those who don't, they forget the principal that, "Not all medicines are appropriate for all patients."  To wit, I find it very ironic that the same cache of folks who deny a person the right to decide with the advisement of their physician what to put or not put into their body, absolutely insist  that whether a woman carries a pregnancy full term has anything to do with the wider community - it's just between "her and her doctor" and "her body, her choice."  Hmm... so I only get rights over my body when it's okay with you?  Not consistent logic.

>And speaking of a person's body ... if you have already had the illness, science says that you have antibodies that will prevent you from re-infection or at least SEVERE illness, should it recur.  And they say in the next breath that while, admittedly, the vaccine is not 100% effective, it will help LESSEN symptoms, if you do get sick.  So, do the math with me, logically speaking:  either the anti-bodies or the vaccine can help prevent severe illness .... um, except of course, if you have underlying co-morbid conditions that make any illness you get a potential for a train-wreck.  Again, I bring you, dear reader, to the point that no 2 bodies are guaranteed to react the same way to the same illness ... or the same vaccine.  So if you have already BEEN sick, it should not be pressed upon you to put vaccine in you for more "just in case" potential.  Talk to your doctor ... 

>It is because of the circuitous logic of "antibodies not being as good as vaccine" business, that I am leery about The Booster.  Are we "boostering" more poisons into our systems needlessly, when we just are NOT sure about anything 100%?  I will tell you who is doing REALLY, REALLY well with all this vaccine business:  Big Pharma.

>Go easier on your Conspiracy Theorist neighbors.  I know I have had my fill of feeling the cloud of doom hanging over me due to mistrust of those in charge, and so the CT's annoy me because they ramp angst up to the next level.  If the powers-that-be hadn't handled this so badly maybe I'd have more confidence in them on the governmental level.  Maybe.  Has this become a matter of leaders not trusting US to act with the best interest "of the herd" in mind - or us not trusting them to act with the best interest of anyone BUT the news Media, Big Pharma, and the Political machine in mind?  Just sayin' it goes both ways.

>Re-education of the masses is to be held with a certain amount of suspicion.  I heard of a workplace recently that, in an attempt to preserve the quantity of workforce, offered to have a medical professional sit down with you and discuss the vaccine.  That means, "we want to pressure you to think like us, to take the recommended action, and we are going to hard-sell you face-to-face if you give us the chance."  Really?  This sounds like just another episode of, "Welcome to my parlor, said the Spider to the Fly."  Look if you are out there and have questions - you can talk to your doctor, your pharmacist, someone at your clinic and ask some questions.  But I am guessing if, at this point, you are holding back, you already know what your own reservations are based on:  allergies, immune compromise, etc.  But I also think if you are out there and don't have any questions and just take the shot, you are a sheep.  EVERYONE should always have questions before they alter their body chemistry with anything.  That's just good stewardship.  But if you have come this far, listening to Uncle Joe and Aunt Nancy and the Pope and everybody saying what they think is right for you, I'd say to get on the Big Pharma websites and do some of your own research.  Then look at who is being "silenced" from the Media and why.  You will see why this is a bigger, more complicated issue than:  "Just get the shot, it saves lives."

>Don't forget to be human.  There are friends, family members, neighbors who are all going to be coming from different positions for different reasons on this thing.  Do not buy into the technique of badgering them because you believe a certain way.  If your vaccine protects YOU, and your mask protects YOU, then you don't need to worry about THEM.  You may perceive their choice as "rolling the dice," but they may have their own personal reasons why they can't do it.  Leave them be in peace.  "Judge not, lest ye be judged," turns out to be sage advice.

This is a tough issue and it really requires all of us being more considerate and more patient with other people.  Do not let the "US" in "USA" be divided into US vs. Them (anyone who disagrees).  Do not become Junior Politicians and demonize anyone who disagrees with you.  Let us be friendly, and walk through this according to the dictates of our own conscience.  When you listen to another person, hear the heart of that person ~ have we pushed each other into such defensive corners that we cannot say to the other person, "I know you are concerned, and I appreciate that.  We need to agree to disagree on this."?  Come out from your own corner, I will come out from mine and let us respect both the person and the process by which we make our decisions.  Do you love me less because I do not think as you do?  I hope not, because I think that is what makes me so charming ...

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