A Wisp, A Wave

           I am a rare bird. Perhaps "peculiar" is more apt! Whatever the adjective, it's not uncommon for me to view things in a light different from the norm. This capacity used to give me pause and create a wellspring of anxiety and uncertainty; more to the point, I felt as though I did not fit. However, as I grew and matured (the inevitable sign of aging), I began embracing this mystical way of observation and thought as a gem.

Before I started running down the road of spiritual pursuits, I had always found comfort and awe in nature. Smells. Sounds. Sights. All which is offered in the great outdoors, a smorgasbord of simplicity. Albeit, not very simple in the technical sense.

Embarking on my pursuit of God I experience enormous peace when praying outside amongst grass and trees, blue skies and clouds, critters and creepy crawlies. Okay, the bugs could be done without! Nonetheless, there appears to be a stronger connection with God when amongst the very things He created, the way He envisioned. I doubt God had anticipated us crafty creatures would come up with cement blocks, iron bars, and pollution spewing modes of transportation. It is suspected that skyscrapers are another oddity which were not in God's grand scheme either. Anyway, whenever outside praying, Cultivating my relationship with the big fella upstairs, the air seemingly gets into a stir. As a matter of recollection, I cannot remember a time when the wind did not rear itself. Even if it was otherwise a calm day, a breeze would develop as I progressed deeper into conversation. If my attention was somehow diverted to thoughts completely unrelated to prayer (which is common for me…. food, noises, worldly dreams) the wind would seem to dissipate. Now, I will be the first to admit that this could very well be coincidence. Then, too, it could be….  Silly as it may seem to you, I have elected to err on the side of caution and embrace that it is indeed God responding to prayer. Conversely, He may consider me a pest and is gently attempting to discourage me with fanciful wisps of air, but I am cantankerous enough to not heed such.

So, now that you think I am a kook (if you don't, perhaps you are riding the same nutty bus that I am), let's take my observations to the next level.

Leaves have always fascinated me. Well, that's not necessarily true -- there were many times in adolescence where my mother found herself behooved to point out the earthly colors of autumn and the bright greens of spring. All to no avail. I was more interested in, well, pretty much anything else. But, with maturity (there's that word again) I began to find solace and delight in the same shows of colorful brilliance. Magic. Because of nature's inspiration, it's not uncommon to find me staring at trees for extended periods of time, as if in a trance. I am particularly touched by the sounds they make - soul touching sounds. Which brings to question, do they somehow communicate? Oops, that may be an inquiry more appropriate for Native American spiritual traditions as opposed to Christianity….

Sitting atop a picnic table with my feet on the bench part (why us men choose to perch like this is unknown, but I succumb to the natural draw to observe the world pass by in this position), I prayed. It was by all appearances a particularly still day, but a breeze indeed began embracing me. After my prayer, I continued to sit and ponder. Specifically, ponder my relationship with God. The breeze did not slow. If anything, such elevated to a wind with periodic gusts. Quite comforting. But, there was something different. The trees were swaying. Which is nothing unusual, except, I was much more aware of their movement and presence. But as I watched, it became apparent that each tree had its own rhythm. For lack of a better description, they were dancing. And the leaves were responding differently, as well. Nature's symphony!

Taking all of this in, my mind recalled the following passage:

“[W]e are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses" (Hebrews 12:1 RSV-CE). The preceding chapter (Hebrews 11) sets forth the groundwork that those who have gone to the kingdom before us are the “witnesses" (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2683). Wow!

Like any other person on a spiritual quest, I cannot help but occasionally ponder whether I am wasting my time (I may be in the minority). Is this journey all a bunch of malarkey? Thankfully, these concerns are infrequent and fleeting. Nonetheless, those unsettling quagmires do need to be dealt with from time to time.

Which brings us back to my fascination with wind, leaves, and prayer. All of this culminated in the most radical, but comforting, of thoughts. The stirring wind was God's way of caressing me, letting me know that I was indeed being heard…. and, loved. The leaves, on the other hand, were each representative of individual angels and saints, as if they were spectators in the bleachers, each one of them waving and cheering me on, reinforcing that I am on the right path, to continue and persevere.            July, 2012

VIGNETTES

     Occasionally, Bible passages will provide us with windows into the everyday nuances of life, but those glances are limited in scope. Yet, I find myself pondering the everyday ups and downs, the peculiarities of their day. It is unclear when I began considering the aspects of their lives. I can only assume it is an unforeseen characteristic resulting from the way I approach Scripture and the rosary. Adapting advice from A Catholic Guide to Mary, by Fr Oscar Lukefahr, instead of merely viewing the Bible as a book or reciting prayers as a mechanical exercise, I dive in. Superimpose myself, if you will. In adopting that counsel, passages and prayers come alive.

     You may be thinking to yourself, Yeah, sure, I do that. Karl is talking about nothing new. There is no doubt that this is nothing new, except for me. As a result, my spiritual experiences are fuller, more nourishing. For instance, have you ever considered how difficult it must have been to travel back then? Ancient roads were nothing in comparison to what we take for granted today. We have comfortable shoes; whereas, they had sandals that would undoubtedly permit pebbles to periodically, and without warning, become lodged under foot. Ouch! Imagine stubbing your toe? It's also not as though they enjoyed the performance clothing that our culture does.

     Being that we are currently observing the season of Lent, there is another opportunity to explore. When Jesus was fasting for forty days in the desert, how did he manage? It's not as though he had a large backpack strapped to his back with a change of clothes, tent, sleeping bag, cooking utensils, food, and so forth. (It is plausible that he could have loped around on a camel, which would have accommodated limited creature comforts and foodstuffs.) This begs to question, at night did he curl up next to a fire and sleep with nothing more than what he was wearing? What did he lay his head upon? It's not as though he could pull into the parking lot of a hotel and rent a room, enjoying a continental breakfast in the morning.

     As for the apostles, with or without Jesus at their side, how did they interact? Did they joke around, have fun, and tease each other? When they were hungry, did each person in their traveling procession have particular tasks in order to achieve efficiency? When in the wilderness, did they sit on the ground, stumps, or boulders? What were their complaints as they sat around and ate together (it's our nature to complain, surely they did, too)? Was their life all business, no levity?

     I don't know about you, but I enjoy exploring these possibilities. Such do not really lead anywhere, other than I somehow feel more connected when pondering and reflecting on what life must have been like for them.

     As of late, each morning as I walk to breakfast, I wonder what they must have eaten, if anything. A bowl of porridge? Certainly not with a couple spoonfuls of sugar! Perhaps wild berries and flask of milk from a goat (warm milk). How did their day start? Was there water to cleanse oneself? In our culture we are constantly concerned with our outer appearance, did they even care?

     Recently, I shared these thoughts with a few people. They first looked at me like I was crazy and felt compelled to knock me down with a few condemning words. One response was, "If it's not in the Bible, such is not worth considering.” Well, excuse me (satire)! The next fella had the same look of incredulity on his face and responded in a similar fashion, “I doubt that they sat around discussing frivolous matters”! Ouch! Quite frankly, I began to wonder if they had a point!

     As the day progressed, I expressed these accounts of being knocked down with a couple of other people, half expecting they would commission that I be placed in the loony bin. Much to my delight, they too agreed with the practice of meditating on the experiences of people in the Bible, the whole of their ancient culture. In an unexpected turn, we actually had quite a long discussion on the topic. The result of this interaction gave me hope that we are not merely looking at the surface accounts set forth in Scripture, but the lives of the people who were experiencing Jesus firsthand. To me, to do otherwise would be akin to being half interested in the author. You know, when you hear somebody talking but are only listening because you have to.

     I am sad for those who have not taken the opportunity to reflect on the nuances of daily life of those persons depicted in the Bible. They are missing out on a spiritual richness. Which begs to question, do you ever superimpose yourself, or wonder……

FREE WILL

     For whatever reason, we were created with the freedom to discern right from wrong. We can consent to the high road, or the low. Why God, in his infinite wisdom, found it beneficial to grace us with the power of choice is, well, baffling. Yet, beautiful. A testament to his genius. Conversely, I think it is a curse at times (most times). However, the finer points of God’s wit will have to wait for a different time.

    Meditating on the mysteries of the rosary, it is not uncommon to find myself choking on the depth of conviction I sometimes stumble onto. The resurrection. The descent of the Holy Spirit. The transfiguration. The Eucharist. And, so on. Such can be quite riveting.

     For purposes of today, my thoughts revolve around the Sorrowful Mysteries. Most notably, Jesus being scourged; fitted with a crown of thorns, spit upon, and the crown being repeatedly struck while upon his head; the carrying of the cross (Matthew 27:26-­31); and the crucifixion (Luke 23:33-44). Those are each incredibly dark events in and of themselves, hence, sorrowful. But, these passages can also lead the mind into quite a sobering manifestation as well.

     In the simplest of characterizations, our actions amount to sin when we voluntarily perform something that we know is wrong. In other words, we thumb our nose at God. For instance, we know that sex outside of marriage is prohibited, but it feels so good that….. Or, when we know that our neighbor is struggling with this, that, or the other but instead of helping him (or her), we are selfishly inclined to go to the lake for a swim. Even something so trivial as a grudge - because Suzy Q took your parking space over a month ago. We know better than to go against the precepts of God; yet, we continue to willingly indulge in these trappings, often with enthusiasm. Thanks, Adam! (and Eve!)

     In pondering the Sorrowful Mysteries, I cannot help but visualize that every single flog Jesus experienced during his scourging was representative of a sin I have committed. This is not to say that I am a bad, bad person. No, unlike how we categorize various levels of unacceptable behavior, God sees sin as sin (or, so that is what I am told/read). Whatever the wrong, such separates us from God. Lessens the grace of salvation, if you will. In like fashion, each thorn on his crown was representative of a sinful thought, that such being struck on his head only brings it that much more to the forefront. The pain suffered. The initial shock. The burn of salt from his sweat pouring into the wounds. The blood running into his eyes and blinding him. The humiliation. The suffering. All because I exercised my free will and elected to thumb my nose at God.

     What is our penalty? Through repentance, it is realized that this happened to Jesus out of God's love for us, that Jesus willingly subjected himself to this incomprehensible level of torture. Thus, hypothetically, we have a front seat to watch as he is again laid on the cross, as spikes driven through his wrists and ankles. The cross again being lifted up and dropped into the hole of its resting place, the sheer force of the abrupt stop only exasperating an already unimaginable level of pain. And then, hanging until his eventual death.

     Jesus endured such because we continue to sin. What a horrific travesty. All we can do is wallow in the maliciousness we just imposed. That is our penance.

     To make amends, we voice our misgivings and God wipes away our erroneous behavior(s). But, this hardly seems equitable. Talk about an incredible outpouring of love. Yet, though beautiful as this should be, it is mind numbingly difficult to move beyond the severity of Jesus consenting to such. Our response? To cultivate that wretched feeling in the pit of our soul which beckons us to understand (if that is even possible). To love, to accept the salvation which is being offered.  This begs to question, how often are we going to continue committing the same sins?

     I cannot help but think each time I sin (of course, this is afterwards), Jesus has just been scourged on my account. It is as if I have taken the lead tipped whip in my own hands and lashed Jesus across the back. That I stood face to face, and spit on him. Or, through choosing to sin, by proxy, I elected to beat Jesus upon the crown of thorns.

     In recognizing the necessity to repent, how do we ever begin to apologize? I'm sorry, just doesn't seem enough, not even close. Ultimately, like love, proof is in the pudding. How we move forward will shed light (or, darkness) on whether we are genuinely overcome with remorse and choose God the next time we tangle with the struggles of good verses not so good.

     The moral of this diatribe is: The next time you are confronted with exercising your free will and are leaning towards an immoral act, is it worth inflicting Jesus with another thorn? A whipping? Or, what about reminding Jesus that the spikes that were driven into his body meant nothing to us. That his efforts were wasted?

     PASSING NOTE: Please do not think that I am claiming to have this down pat. I don't. These thoughts only represent where I am at in my journey. Still struggling and disappointing God.

MARK 14 - I AM

   In the past I have mentioned my struggle with referring to God as, well, God. Much of this reluctance stems from the appearance that His title/name has been so misused and generally lacks the reverence to which He is entitled. For whatever reason, while reading Mark 14:62, the passage struck me as peculiar.

      Jesus said, “I AM” (NLT)

   What a strange way to refer to oneself. So: on a whim, I searched to see if there were any other such occurrences. Sure enough, the same type of grammatical intent had been applied in Exodus 3 14.

God replies to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM. Say this to the people of Israel: I AM has sent me to you. (NLT)

   Perhaps God, and in direct correlation, Jesus, struggle with titles as well. Without doubt, God is fully aware that humans utilize titles to create boxes. Being what we are, we find comfort and order in placing everything into categories. Even so, there had to be more to this whole choice of using the phrase, “I AM". An underlying message, if you will.

   Please bear with me as I stray from the beaten path for a moment. How would we pray without relying on the names of God, Jesus, Holy Spirit, Yahweh, and so forth? In private, individual prayer, this approach works pretty good, it is unnecessary to use God's name because we know to whom we are speaking. For comparison, consider how you engage a friend when others are not part of the conversation; you seldom, if ever, use their name. However, I cannot imagine journaling a prayer or praying in public without using a name. To do so, people would have the capacity to become easily lost or disconnected.

   Now, let s get back to the premise of “I AM”. Not being fully aware of how this little nugget of insight developed (perhaps the Holy Spirit can be given credit), I came to realize that “I AM” is much bigger than merely a person or entity, much more than a name or title. Organized into a context which we can understand, if only briefly, “I AM” conjures thoughts of everything. No, not just everything, but EVERYTHING. “I AM” is air. Light. Water. The bread of life. Life itself. The blue in your eyes. The aroma of a char broiled steak with sautéed onions and mushrooms. A tree. The clouds. Galaxies. Happiness. Love. Okay, it is possible that I stretched the presence of God in the color of your eyes or the pleasant smells of tantalizing foods, but God did provide us with the capacity to recognize and appreciate such! As I said, “I AM” is everything. Thus, the nature and presence of God. No matter what you see, hear, smell, taste, or touch, “I AM" is somehow invested.

   Having that perspective, close your eyes (not until you are done reading this passage, of course), and sense God's arms gently wrapping around and holding you safely. Remain in that state for a while, push all other thoughts out of your mind, it is just you and God. “I AM” is present in His fullest form. Open your eyes ••• He is still there, everywhere.

PRAYER REVEALED

     You may recall a couple years ago I attended a spiritual retreat (cf. SPIRITUAL RETREAT) and was none too enthused to be there. Quite frankly, I wanted to be anywhere else. Hell would have even been a better alternative! Not being one to quit, I stuck it out and was profoundly touched. Though I had been embarking on my spiritual walk prior to the retreat, such resembled a blind wander. The result of the retreat was an experience that filled me with an enthusiasm that has not waned.

     While participating in an open discussion at a non-denominational hootenanny, a friend, Darrin, shared a tidbit that really resonated. Did it ever. The topic of the evening gathering was prayer.

     To be forthcoming, I struggle with prayer; my efforts do not appear to produce fruit. I sometimes wonder why I bother. More often than not, I pray because such is what is expected of me. Then again I would be remiss if I did not confess that on occasion I feel drawn to pray. Even this is not quite an accurate depiction. See, I always pray, that is, in the technical sense. Seemingly, most of my day, in one form or another, is spent thinking about God or His creations, me merely throwing comments His way thank you for this, that or the other, wow, that was pretty cool, did you do that, what were you thinking, and all sorts of other whatnots along those lines. In contrast when it comes to formal prayer the type where we kneel or sit down, where we are completely focused on God for an extended period of meditation and listening, those are the prayers with which I struggle. These forms of prayers seem inconvenient and time consuming. Yet, even when I don't receive answers, which is most of the time, I walk away feeling closer and more connected with God. More holy, if you will grant me such latitude. However, for whatever reason, I continue to shy away from these formal times of prayer. Perhaps my anxiety is a result of having absolutely no privacy, my faith not being strong enough to overcome the potential stares of passersbys. All my struggles notwithstanding, I continue to be passionate in regards to my prayers.

     Anyway, every so often a person will share with me that they have prayed for me. I am never sure how to respond. The whole concept makes me feel uncomfortable. So, the typical reply is, thanks! Whatever it is they have prayed for on my behalf, apparently such was not answered, as there is no notable change in my daily life.

     Also there are always those people who say their prayers were fulfilled from a whole array of petitions. To me, this is so irritating. Are they living in some bubble of fantasy? Aren't answered prayers simply coincidence? (Yes this is very cynical of me.)

     As has happened to me time and again on this spiritual journey, I have had to eat my jaded views. This day is no different. Apparently, God has a sense of humor.

     During our table discussion it was mentioned that during the weekend retreat there was a group of individuals praying that I would be changed, inspired, come to God, or something along those lines, the exact parameters of the prayers are not what is important. Darrin had revealed that the retreat prayer group selected two candidates in which more prayer focus would be placed on their behalf. As he said it, giant goose pimples began to develop on my arms and a shiver went through me like a jolt of electricity. Wow! For the first time, I began to truly believe in the power of prayer.

     Reflecting on how uncomfortable I truly felt participating in that retreat, only to be bowled over by the presence of God half way through, nothing else could account for my embracing the last half of that retreat. It sure wasn’t accomplished out of my own desires. Coincidently, from that retreat weekend the other candidate that was the recipient of extra zealous prayer and myself are the only two who have continued our spiritual pursuit of Christ (perhaps more appropriately, pursuit for Christ).  This is only further evidence of the power of their prayers.

THE TOMB IN GOLGOTHA

     Holy Communion is proving to be a time of curious revelation and interaction with God. Aside from the obvious (reception of the Body of Christ), other facets are coming to light. See also, CONNECTED TO JESUS.

     Prior to the start of Mass we, the assembled faithful, typically set aside a half hour to collectively pray the rosary. One of the meditative mysteries in particular was that of the Resurrection of Christ. You know, everything from burial in the tomb, coming back to life, and ascending into heaven. As can be imagined, the meditative prayers of the rosary can be incredibly enriching depending on how deeply a person opens themselves to the mysteries of the Scripture. Often times, these reflections can carry over into the celebration of the liturgy itself. When this occurs, the Mass is all the more meaningful.

     If you are wondering, yes, these visuals remained with me throughout Mass. In fact, such intensified. (Note we’re talking meditation and prayer here, not a total disconnect from reality.)

     Having participated in the holy observance of Communion, I was kneeling and praying while the Body of Christ reconstituted Himself on my tongue. While this was transpiring, I thought of how the breathless body of Jesus was placed in the tomb at Golgotha, a boulder rolled in front to seal the opening. In comparison, not unlike the Body of Christ laying motionless in my closed mouth.

     As we all know (if you don’t, you're in worse shape than I am), the body of Jesus eventually came back to life (resurrected) and ascended into heaven. Humph! How does such apply to my eccentric meditative journey? If you will, please grant me a smidgen of leeway. Okay, more than a smidgen! For starters, the Body of Christ was becoming reconstituted on my tongue. Essentially, Jesus was coming back to life! Just like in the tomb. As for the ascension into heaven, when I consumed the Body of Christ, He spread throughout my body……

     SIDE NOTE: So peculiar are these moments of spiritual grace, I cannot help but wonder what thoughts and experiences other communicants (parishioners) entertain or are exposed to during the celebration of the Eucharist?

CONNECTED TO JESUS

     What follows is in no way to be construed as sacrilegious; I am merely divulging how my mind sometimes interprets spiritual moments with a peculiar twist. You know, those unwitting thoughts which we would never dream of sharing with another soul.

     It was a cold winter morning, the beginning of January to be specific. While attending Mass, standing before the celebrant (priest), I offered a slight bow as a gesture of prostration before God. This gesticulation is an adaptation of being in submission before God. An act of veneration. However, due to the size of contemporary congregations, literal prostrate postures are not practical. This bow is also a signal to the celebrant that we have examined our conscience and are prepared to receive Holy Communion.

     Placed in my hands as if a little cradle, the Body of Christ was gently embraced. Saying “Amen”, I reverently took Jesus in, accepting him into my body. Returning to my seat, I proceeded to kneel and pray.

     Instead of chewing the Sacrament (such phrasing is crude, but I am unaware of another way to convey this thought), I typically permit the Host to slowly melt on my tongue. However, on this particular morning I had a stuffy nose and keeping my mouth closed would have otherwise placed me on the edge of suffocation (could have left my mouth gaping open, but it did not seem appropriate to have Jesus dangling there ... much too reminiscent of his experience on the cross). Not enthusiastic over the idea of suffocation (am not eager to find out if heaven awaits me, or that dreaded other place), I slowly began to chew. Unexpectedly, there was a loud crunch that I knew reverberated beyond my own sense of hearing. Mind you, this is all unfolding during prayer.

All I could think was: "Wow, Jesus, you sure are crunchy this morning!” Almost laughing aloud, I was happy that God had a sense of humor and I was reveling in the notion that we were bound together in this moment, connected.

     It is realized that this view into my perception of the liturgical feast may come across as irreverence towards God. (I thought that, too.) But, in retrospect, while these events were unfolding, I was completely focused on God no other unrelated thoughts had crept in to cause distraction (a rarity for me).

     In conclusion, I smiled and thanked Jesus. We were inseparable….

READING SCRIPTURE

     Up until recently, I typically read the Bible as a book. Sure, it undoubtedly possesses stories that strengthen my spiritual journey, but my approach had been that of a book. With a touch of reverence, of course. After all, this “book" contains stories about God and incredible revelations. Unknown to me at the time, a road map to life.

     This impassive method of embracing Scripture notwithstanding, every once in a while I would find myself pondering mysteries contained within the pages. A passage would reveal a layer of something profound, or a verse would open itself to be understood like it never had before. Yet, these instances of enlightenment were far and few between. Just enough of a taste to keep my attention. Not being easily discouraged I felt compelled to continue digging - there had to be a rational reason why so many people find comfort in this "book".

     Then, as if out of nowhere, I was reading a spiritual book by Fr Oscar Lukefahr, Catholic Guide to the Bible, and the following question was posed: “When you read the Bible, do you approach it as if God is speaking to you?” Humph! No, I had never considered such a concept. Never. In retrospect, however, this seems to be a natural progression, being the Word of God, and all! To be

honest, the next few times I read the Bible I forgot to apply this principle. Like pretty much anything else in my life, I eventually came around to applying this theory (that’s the problem with doing things at my pace). Wow, what a difference. Don’t misunderstand, it's not as though every time I dive into a verse something is revealed to me. No. I am not that fortunate. However, when I seem to really need something, whether I know it or not, a passage comes to life. Those moments, as you can surely imagine, are quite profound.  Perhaps, the Word of God really is alive…

GENESIS 22 - FAITH

     I don’t know about you, but there are many occasions when perusing the Bible that I seem to be mechanically reading the words. Perhaps therein resides the problem: reading verses studying Scripture! Anyway, whatever the message is, such is not clear. Or, if I am searching for a meaning, such is elusive, especially in the Old Testament.  Goodness, there are particular passages, which I must have stumbled through plenty of times, and the events still do not make sense. Or, for that matter, have any significant impact. However, there are occasions when I do read a verse or chapter for the twenty-fifth time and - shazzam, the clouds part, the light shines through, and I am able to discern something tangible from an otherwise obscure passage.

     Take for instance the Book of Genesis. I could write volumes on what I don't know or understand. Which, as it happens, is pretty much everything. In any event, one passage in particular has caused me discomfort. Actually, not merely the passage, but the whole chapter. Genesis 22. It is/was so dark and seemingly evil.  The account where Abraham's faith was tested when God asked him to prove his conviction by giving up his son as a burnt offering. If the sheer audaciousness of that request was not horrific enough, Abraham displayed every intention of following through.

     “When they arrived at the place where God had told him to go, Abraham built an altar and arranged the wood on it. Then he tied his son, Isaac, and laid him on the altar on top of the wood.  And Abraham picked up the knife to kill his son as a sacrifice”; (Genesis 22:9-10, New Living Translation)

     Wow, what was Abraham thinking? This boggles my mind. I mean, to begin with, how did he know for sure that the request to relinquish his son was from God? Could this have just as easily been a cleaver ruse by Satan? I surely would have thought so. Even if I realized such was God, I wouldn't do it.  Yet, Abraham is fully committed.

     Thankfully, immediately before Isaac's life is forfeited, an angel intervenes and counsels Abraham to stop.  Which in itself I find crazy, for how does Abraham recognize the angel as doing the bidding for God?  He could have very well thought Satan was trying to prevent him from fulfilling God's will.

     As mentioned earlier, this passage and its purpose have always been troublesome for me. Too many variables. It's just a horrible, horrible story.

     Bumping into this passage one day, I reluctantly read through it. My pace was a little quicker than usual, but I was hoping to avoid all the ramifications. Not to mention, very much laboring to avoid remembering my demons of past. As strange luck would have it, the meaning of the chapter revealed itself: Abraham’s faith was so resolute that he could accept God's request without question or hesitation. Whatever God’s will, Abraham possessed the fervor to embrace such. Conversely, when comparing his faith to ours, we fail in contrast. Grievously, we struggle to accomplish the simplest desires of God. Not that I would expect any of us to go to the extremes that Abraham was willing to endure, but at least we could be more faithful than we are!

NEIGHBORS

     “You shall love your neighbor” (Matthew 22:39; Luke 10:27, New American Bible). How many times have we been treated to that command in one form or another? Well, I don't know about you, but sometimes I just don't like my neighbor! Tolerating them is tough enough, but loving them? I don't know, that is a pretty tall order. Anyway, how important was/is this decree, the “second” commandment delivered by Jesus. The first is the easy one: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind" (Matthew 22:37; Luke 10:27, NAB).

     No problem! After all, I am human and God surely anticipates failure on our parts. Or, this is my justification! Admittedly, this rationale is flawed, but such is a creative way to excuse my dislike of particular individuals. Begrudgingly, however, I have begun to question my strategy.

     Listening to a lecture of Fr Larry Richards, he stuck his foot out and tripped me with a scenario that I had been successfully skirting around. Here is the essence of Fr Larry's message: "If we can't love our neighbors, those individuals who we can see, how can we logically pledge our love to God, whom we cannot see?”  Humph, so much for being content in my brooding! His question really caused me to stumble. Simple and practical; yet, so difficult.

     While mulling over this hypothesis, I was inundated with a flurry of thoughts (particularly of individuals whom I possess no desire to “love”). With little time to place anything into perspective, Fr Larry cajoled the congregation to write a list of ten people they disliked, from “not so much to “worst”. Ha, that was easy enough, especially since these “less desirables" were presently in the forefront of my mind.

     Let's see, whom shall I begin with? My roommate, who is impossible to contend with regarding the use of room lights or his predisposition to listen to excessively loud music? Next, the not so nice gentleman who served an undersize portion of food during lunch?  The nincompoop who punched me in the face because I called his friend a thief after he ripped me off? Punched me twice. You get the gist. As you correctly assume, he is at the bottom of my list and has been for several years.  Yes, I realize that such amounts to a grudge. What can I say, my ability to forgive is predicated on conditions: so long as I don't see him, I don't remember how unstable he is!

     Within no time my list was complete. But, the order is tentative. Depending on how my day is going, a couple of the honorees may switch positions. Ah, but this exercise was not as it initially appeared. I was tricked. Misled. Fr Larry bamboozled me (I suspect others, too). That stinker of a priest made the following correlation to our choice to dislike, loath, or hate: “We love God as much as the person we love the least!" Ouch’ how could this be? Yet, deep down, I knew he was right. In order for my relationship with Christ to mature, I must learn to love my neighbor.

     The lecture did not conclude there. Fr Larry was not content with merely tripping me (us), his goal was to humble. No. He went on to quote several more Scripture passages, which really pulled together the significance of what Jesus was seeking to convey to us.

     Most notably:  "I [Jesus] give you a new commandment: love one another, as I have loved you, so you also should love one another. This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another^” (John 13:34-35. NAB).

     "Whoever has my [Jesus] commandments and observes them is the one who loves me” (John 14:21b, NAB).

     "This is my [Jesus] commandment: love one another as I love you. No one has a greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you” (John 15:12-14, NAB).

     Now, I do not think that last passage meant that we are expected to actually lose our actual life on behalf of another, though admirable as that may be. No, I think this means that when a neighbor is in need we are to stop whatever it is we are doing and help that individual. Not with angst or reservation, but out of love.

     I don't know about you, but Fr Larry has given me much to work on. How do I love someone who irritates me? How do I love someone who assaults me? How do I not be selfish and turn aside from whatever I am doing to help a neighbor? All of this before I can honestly claim to love God…….

Peer Presssure

                      Peer Pressure

Like all periods of contentment, such must come to on end. Usually, abruptly and without warning.

While recently viewing a video discourse on spirituality, I was challenged to evaluate my willingness to admit faith in God. The following query evoked some deep soul searching, the results of which I am not proud:  “Would you rather be embarrassed in front of your friends because of your belief in God?  Or, embarrassed in God’s presence for sheepishly placing your friends before Him?”   (Paraphrased)

Ouch, that really stung. It stung because I indeed kick God aside under the guise of peer pressure. Sadly, it is so conveniently easy to toss him into a ditch whenever the whim arises.

When in the company of individuals who are not interested in God, I tend to quickly scoot Him under a veil of secrecy. I am not so crass as to verbally voice disbelief in God, but neither do I stand firm. Guilt by omission. No doubt, this is distasteful, though not enough to prevent this practice. Well, that is, until I began reflecting on how shallow this behavior is.

Slowly, albeit at the pace of a tortoise, I am becoming more diligent and steadfast in placing God first. Admittedly, this is tough for me. People pose questions that I cannot even begin to answer, other than responding: “I have no tangible proof, I simply believe”.

In this process of learning how to place God first, an anomaly has begun to toke hold: as more and more time passes by, I care less and less about the perceptions and intentions of others (as applies to my spiritual walk). Don't misunderstand, I am still very much cognizant of their negativity; thus, I do not skip around flouting the peace I have been exposed to. That would be foolish. Yet, conversely I am finding a certain level of comfort in letting naysayers see how my “walk” is evolving.

In passing: thankfully God is patient and does not give me the brush-off.    December 2011

Judas - Revisited

                   JUDAS - REVISITED

For the past few months I have advanced my contention that Judas, the ever so infamous apostle had begun to repent for his knuckleheaded choice of turning Jesus over to Roman soldiers and temple guards to be arrested. Realizing his errant judgment, Judas unsuccessfully attempted to return the money paid for his deceit. Unable to live with his actions, he hung himself. There is no need to rehash the events that followed, such have been ingrained in our psyche since childhood. Nonetheless, I am of the impression that Jesus had compassion on Judas and forgave him. Note - this is merely speculation on my part. (See JUDAS, September 2011.)

As can be expected, many individuals ridiculed this notion. However, knowing what it is like to hit rock bottom, I tend to recognize opportunities to exercise empathy where others would typically scoff. This adversity notwithstanding, just as many people were, dare I say, intrigued. Then again, they could have thought me to be kooky and in turn, appeased me in an effort to avoid any further conversation on the subject. Not discouraged, I continue to explore the accounts of Judas.

Although Judas was a cog in the calamitous plot that led to the arrest and crucifixion of Jesus, he was only a trivial player. Scores of people were outraged by the teachings of Christ, their beliefs and spiritual traditions were being subject to attack. Thus, Jesus' life was in peril even without the polluted morals of Judas.

From time to time I hear it debated that Judas was predestined to fail. That it was incumbent he betray Jesus in order to fulfill the prophesies of the Old Testament. Perhaps. But, this conjecture has never set well with me. Seemingly, a proponent of this theory would have to be credulous in their belief that God would sacrifice an innocent person for the purpose of satisfying a prophecy. Such a concept is inherently flawed if for no other reason than irate political and religious leaders would have eventually caught Jesus on their own initiative.

Now, if you will, an alternative view as to the necessity of Judas' participation: if Jesus would not have been singled out of the group by this impious apostle, there is a reasonable chance that the Romans and temple guards would have arrested or slaughtered not only Jesus, but the apostles, too. In consequence, Judas' life could very well have been scapegoated for the survival of the others (unbeknownst to him, of course), not the fulfillment of prophecies ... which would have happened anyway.

Why is this relevant? Without the remaining apostles it is possible that Christianity would not be as we know it today ....

Judas

It is the Easter season. Wait. Actually, this is a misnomer. Contrary to common perception, the Easter season occurs in the weeks immediately following the resurrection of Christ. How can this be? I do not know. Anyway, to be accurate, it is the Lenten season.

The last week of Lent is traditionally regarded as Holy Week. During this week, each day preceding Easter denotes some historical and religious commemoration. Holy Thursday is no different. Huh? Holy Thursday. A memorial representing the day before Christ's crucifixion. More popularly viewed as the day Jesus shared the Last Supper with his disciples. Though the Last Supper is profoundly significant, a considerable amount of time was alternatively spent reflecting on Judas. What! Yes, I said Judas. That despicable disciple who assisted Roman soldiers and temple guards in the arrest of Jesus (Matthew 26:14-15, 48-49). Of course, we know the details of what happened after his arrest...

I have yet to meet a person who sympathized with the plight of Judas. After all, here was a person who walked side by side with Jesus. He witnessed firsthand the miracles performed. The compassion shared. The love. Yet, for whatever reason, perhaps greed, Judas, through his own malignant initiative, approached the Pharisees and betrayed Jesus for a bag of coins.

Yeah, that was a pretty malicious thing to do. And, of all people, Judas turned on Jesus, Son of man, Son of God. Whoa! Surely, Judas needs to burn in hell, freeze, and then burn some more. Thorn bushes would do well to grow through his body, each subtle movement of limb and breath resulting in a sharp poke. Nothing is too torturous to impose.  Or is it?

Judas was human, just like us. Sure, he had a front row seat to the inception of Christianity. But, by proxy, don't we also have a small window in which to view certain particulars of the same beginnings... the Bible? Looking behind the curtain, there's no doubt that Judas made a selfish, boneheaded choice. Yet, in comparison, haven't you ever experienced your own regrets?

Please understand, I am in no way attempting to justify the catastrophic actions of Judas, but we have all succumbed to poor decision-making. Probably, more than we would care to admit. After all, we are sinners.

Because of the severe tragedy of Christ's death (some Christians do not envision the crucifixion of Jesus as grim, but I do not understand that point of view), Judas has been looked upon egregiously. Understandably so. Nonetheless, I find myself identifying with him. Like Judas, I have mode some horrible, horrible decisions. One in particular will undoubtedly haunt me through eternity (visit my website). Also like Judas, I similarly felt remorse afterwards, on a very grand scale. Remember, once he realized the gravity of his choice, he returned the coins to the priests and Pharisees (Matthew 27:3-40). He wanted nothing to do with what he had set in motion. I, too, would like to revisit the past and take back what I did. Tragically, I cannot.

Living with our choices can sometimes be overwhelming. Judas was so overwrought with guilt that he hung himself. Me? Although I did not commit suicide, I emotionally beat myself. I refused to defend myself. Quite frankly, for years I hated who I was, defining myself by that one single act of malfeasance. Even to this day, twenty-five years later, I continue to struggle with my errors of youth.

That being said, all of this reflection and comparison has caused me to wonder if Judas is being treated (viewed) too hatefully, condemned without due consideration? Doesn't scripture teach us to forgive (Luke 24:46-47)? To love our neighbor (Matthew 23:39)? To help the weak in spirit (1 Corinthians 9:22, 1 Thessalonians 5:14)? Albeit a couple thousand years too late to have any beneficial effect on the mortal life of Judas, but shouldn't we cultivate these intentions of mercy in our hearts? It seems plausible that our intercessions of love would impact his life in a favorable way (cf. 1 Timothy 2:1, 2 Maccabees 12:42-46. Catechism of the Catholic Church 1032)? After all, Judas was obviously repentant, an indication that a sinner is in need of forgiveness (Luke 15:7). Surely, Jesus forgave Judas (Luke 23:34, 24:46-47)?

I don't know about you, but I am admittedly sad for Judas. He could not fix what he had done wrong (we can seldom make amends for our scarlet misdeeds). He is despised, where instead he should be forgiven (1 Peter 3:9). Ultimately, as difficult as this is to say, Judas should be shown love! Isn't that precisely what we want for ourselves...

September 2011

Another Blunder

It was the nineteenth Sunday in ordinary time (the liturgical year is divided into several segments), and what follows are my experiences from Mass that day. By the way, the unusual date reference is an antiquated and complicated method used to express the seventeenth day of August, two thousand eleven. Customs!

Adjacent to my left, the ambo (podium) loomed not far in the distance. It was like a giant tower lying in wait to fall upon my shoulders. With each step closer I became slightly more filled with anxiety. Wobbly legs that felt like jelly (perhaps, pudding). Sweaty and trembling hands. And, a mind that was entertaining thoughts of flight before humiliation. See, I was approaching the ambo to conduct the first reading and responsorial psalm (scriptural passages which signify the beginning of the liturgy). Before committing myself before the assembly, I silently offered a humble prayer that my performance would go without a hitch ... that focus would be on the message, not me or any of my stumbles.

Undoubtedly, this behavior possesses every appearance of being pious and responsible; however, such reverence emerged from a comical lesson (perhaps sacrilegious, depending on your take).

As it so happens, my previous experience of being a lector (one of a couple individuals selected to perform readings) was a car wreck. I had been filled with pride and a little cocky because of my ability to read, speak, and present well. Plus, like this day, I had also spent considerable time preparing: familiarizing myself with the meaning of the story, its cadence, and unfamiliar words. I was confident ... over confidant. Low and behold, as if response to my self-admiration, I was walloped by a force seemingly bigger than my ego. Apparently, God found it necessary to give my smugness a few lumps. Lesson learned, I hope.  Hence, the humble prayer that I emerge from this experience unscathed.

The passage for the first reading was from Kings. The short of this scripture can be compactly summed up by the following: Elijah was hiding in a cave from the wrath of Jezebel when God encouraged this righteous prophet to leave his shelter in order to see the Lord pass by. Abiding God's request, Elijah encountered uncharacteristically harsh environmental conditions. Heavy winds. An earthquake. And, fire. Ultimately, this inclement weather was dismissed. In spite of giving little heed to the intense blowing, shaking earth, and curtain of flame, Elijah associated a mere whispering sound to that of God (1 Kings 19:90, 11-130).

Initially, Elijah's saga did not resonate with me. There was nothing illuminating or exciting in these historical accounts. Big deal! That is, until I read the eight verses from Kings leading up to the passages chosen for the liturgy. Though, the importance of this reading had yet to hit home; I was left wanting. Thus, it was annoyingly obvious that I would need to dig deeper, but procrastination won out. In that it is meant: I knew.... I simply knew that the essence of the first reading would reveal itself prior to Mass if I twiddled my thumbs. Ah, yes, relying on one's laurels, having complete confidence in fancies and whims. Well, as it so happened, my laziness kept me in the dark. This notwithstanding, I did my best to deliver a genuine and impassioned reading. Instead of accepting defeat, I placed more emphasis on time worn and proven edicts. Making eye contact, minding my cadence and not rushing. Simply seeking to maintain a natural feeling. Yet, when returning to my seat, I continued to question the significance of the first reading.  Hopefully I did not convey these doubts to the assembly.

Frustratingly, the relevance of this passage did not register until after the service. Well after. It was not until I backtracked to the beginning of chapter seventeen and poured over what turned out to be an uncharacteristically unknown but epic story that made the text come to life. Oh, how this insight would have assisted greatly in the authenticity of my liturgical delivery. Once again, this revelation has caused me to realize that I was not sufficiently ready. That my actions were little more than mechanical, a trait that I abhor in other people.

Should I be granted the privilege to be a lector again, I hope this failure will remind me to prepare more thoroughly.

August 2011

Breath of God

During the Liturgy of the Eucharist (stated another way, the preparation of the Host), much time is spent kneeling in obeisance. As our chapel employs individual metal chairs in lieu of pews with padded knee rests, we plummet all the way to the floor ... a hard floor. Oh, how I miss those padded thingamabobs on the back of pews. Not only are those buggers six inches off the floor, they are attached to a backrest which doubly functions as a grab hold to aid in getting up and down.

Due to the instability of the chairs (plus, due to space being at a premium, we are smooshed in close proximity to one another), a goodly portion of the assembly elect to remain seated. However, where the greater number of congregants reverently bow their heads with eyes closed during this time, I am usually alert, bug eyed, and observing the priest perform the epiclesis (invoking the power of the Holy Spirit) and anamnesis (preparation of the eucharistic sacrament).

My visual approach is not borne out of disdain. To the contrary. I am in such awe during the gestation of the Holy Sacrament that I feel compelled to watch, to breathe in the energy surrounding transubstantiation. Mind you, at that particular point in the consecration when the words of Christ are spoken, "Take this, all of you. Eat, drink.... " (Matthew 26:26-28, cf. Mark 14:22­24, Luke 22:19-20, John 6:22-58), etiquette suggests that I close my eyes in order to fully immerse myself in the mystery. And, I did.

In like fashion, for reasons that continue to be unclear, I bowed my head with lids clamped tightly shut during the entire narrative of the Last Supper. Interestingly, I experienced that fuzzy, floating, supernatural sensation. You know, like when you first walk into a cathedral or some other holy place, the presence of God can be recognized and immediately permeates every aspect of your person. As it so happened, I had a taste of the Almighty's presence and was eager for more. If that meant bowing my head and closing my eyes, the so be it. In the process ... um, hoping that I would not blindly topple over while on my knees. Through sheer luck, or Divine intervention, I did reconnect. Hallelujah! By happenstance, I remained planted upright too.

As I was kneeling, in my own little spiritual dimension, I felt a wisp of breeze pass by my person. This will sound demented, but I was of the mind that someone donning robes had walked by. Though the priest and deacon were both wearing vestments (which are somewhat similar to a robe, in a convoluted sort of way), it would have been impractical to approach or pass by. Because of where I was kneeling, perhaps impossible.

Being roused from my prayerful state, I could not help but wonder who was in my immediate vicinity. There was no other way to confirm the passerby unless I peeked, requiring me to abandon the battle of wills between curiosity and fighting to remain spiritually focused. Possessing a weak constitution, I peeked. Nothing. Conceding that I may have missed the obvious, I looked around the chapel. Nadda. Everyone was kneeling or seated. Thus, could the light and gentle caress of wind have been....

I know what you are thinking: the sudden movement of air was caused by a door being opened for a congregant to enter or exit. Kudos to you, that is a fair assumption; albeit, misplaced. As it so happens, the door makes a very recognizable sound; of which, there was no such trumpet. Alternatively, perhaps the phantom wind was the result of an open window? That's an admirable inference, but such a deduction won't fly. For starters, the morning was calm. More telling, the windows were not open!

Shortly after Mass concluded, I enthusiastically shared my thoughts with the deacon in training. A smile came across his face as he brought my attention to the theme of this morning's liturgy: the essence of faith and recognizing the presence of God. This became clearer when reflecting on the first reading. God asked Elijah to leave his shelter because the Lord would be passing by. After summarily dismissing heavy winds, an earthquake, and fire as capable transcendental signs, Elijah recognized a tiny whispering sound as that of God (1 Kings 9:190, 11-130).

When the deacon in training so plainly connected these dots, my grin mirrored his.

It's unknown when the Book of Kings was written, but the same God who made a light whispering sound recognizable to Elijah had potentially revealed Himself to me in a passing breeze!

August 2011

Bittersweet

One of the beautiful aspects of praying the rosary is that the exercise creates an opportunity to meditate on various passages in the Bible. What? Yes, I indeed said "passages in the Bible." Plural ... multiple passages. Although the rosary is generally associated with Mary, its reach is much broader. Sure, we recite the Hail Mary and the Our Father (Last Supper). A lot. But, more often than not, we tend to reflect on the mysteries.  There's a bunch of them that fall into several categories: joyful, light, sorrowful, and glorious. Embarrassingly, I have only committed a handful to memory. Hey, I've got a lifetime to grasp them! And should I ever accomplish this feat, there are a slew of other prayers, meditations, and biblical reflections.  The sky is the limit!

Just the other day, while the fellowship was praying the rosary as a collective group, the second glorious mystery drew me in. This particular mystery focuses on the ascension of Christ into heaven (Mark 16:19). The following thoughts were cultivated as a result.

Did Jesus consider his ascension to be bittersweet? On the one hand, he had to be overcome with Joy about returning to heaven. (I can appreciate what it is like to want to return home: the yearnings. desires, dreams, and so forth.) Likewise, he was surely content in the awareness that his goal of teaching us a new and enlightened way to live had been accomplished. Conversely, however, was Jesus disheartened in regard to leaving behind his friends and the many souls that had yet to be saved? (Though I would excitedly return home as if skipping along on Cloud Nine, there would be good people left behind in this environment that would be missed.) Factor in the great efforts spent in winning the faith of others only to ascend back to his heavenly self and watch the church struggle in his physical absence, did Jesus experience some level of grief?

Watching his followers mourn and cope must have been heart wrenching for Jesus. Even now, we continue to fumble about.

August 2011

God's Ear

Every week before the commencement of Mass our Catholic fellowship prays the mysteries of the rosary. As it so happens, I do not know the concluding prayers, which we use to complete the litany. Talk about embarrassing.  This deficiency is through no fault of the individual leading us. No, not at all.

Such negligence is out of laziness on my part. Do not misunderstand, I am completely absorbed in the Marian mysteries. Well, sometimes. There are always those days in which the mind wanders and no matter what one does to focus, the efforts are futile, at least for me. Nonetheless, regardless of how I attempt to disguise my slothfulness, this lack of preparedness still comes down to procrastination.

Even though the rosary prayers are common, such are not familiar. Foreign. I've heard the concluding invocations a hundred times, probably more, but I just haven't taken the time to commit the words to memory. And, at this moment, those prayers are nothing more than a sequence of words. I realize that particular statement comes across as callous and irreverent, but there is much more to a composed litany than memorizing words and phrases. Of greater significance, I prefer to understand what is being prayed before committing myself with an “Amen". Really, can you imagine arriving at the Pearly Gates, or wherever final judgment will take place, and learn for the first time that you absentmindedly subjected yourself to a slew of promises which were never fulfilled ... that you agreed to do this, that, or the other, but instead chose to do something contrary? Ouch.

So, when the meditative sequence is being brought to a close, which takes several minutes, instead of moving my lips and mumbling as though I know the ending words and their inherent importance, I elect to embrace that span of time for my own personal offers of gratitude and petition.

As it so happens, on this particular morning I was in a capricious mood. Fully cognizant of the fact that the rosary is Marian in nature, I thought it would behoove me to ask Mary to intercede on my behalf to Jesus. In other words, to be my intermediary. (No different than asking a friend to pray for you.) Thus. I proceeded to do just that.

For whatever reason, while engaging Mary as my emissary, it dawned on me that the most foolproof way to reach someone or gain their attention is through their mother. Let’s face it; no matter how mature (old) and independent we become, our mothers possess the uncanny ability to know us better than we know ourselves. This string of thought reinforced my occasional reliance on Mary to intercede. Who would know Jesus better!

Nothing too bizarre about these events so for, right? Ha! Remember, I was feeling whimsical ....

While inviting Mary to deliver my petitions to Jesus, an innocent picture unfolded in my mind. Such was a vision (imaginary) of Mary gently grabbing her son by the ear (which mothers are prone to do), his head cocked sideways because she had his full attention and he had no other choice, Jesus or not, while Mary whispered into his ear, “I’m coming to you on behalf of Karl, he is begging for .... " (Please understand, there is no disrespect intended.)

July 2011

Seething Parishioner

For whatever reason, the etiquette prior to the commencement of Mass has been contemptuous. That is, by my accounts. Gossip. Scatterbrained conversation. Restlessness. Nothing that had anything whatsoever to do with reverence towards God. I could be mistaken, but I am of the accord that when an individual enters the inner sanctum of a church, such would be the opportune time to prepare for the beauty of what will undoubtedly present itself. You know, taking advantage of that interval to dispel any anxiety prior to the service. Calming oneself. Ridding the mind of selfish and indulgent thoughts: "Gosh, I could have slept in this morning… the ball game will have started before Mass is over…um, I could be doing anything else."

My senses had been assaulted. Matters could only escalate.

On the one hand, I was in the company of nincompoops lacking veneration. Conversely, I also was confronted with the typical wandering thoughts of my own spiritual journey: Am I doing enough? (No!) Do my prayers pass muster? (I don't know.) Was I in the right frame of mind when executing the Sign of the Cross over my chest? (I hope so.)  The total disregard of my fellow churchgoers had me all jumbled. Yet, I had been cognizant of why I was there. Actually, I was eager to be present. Why? I wanted to worship God in a particular way. Not to socialize or make a grand show, but rather to offer myself.

My immediate thoughts amounted to: Gosh, who was I about to share the Bread of Life with? Where were their hearts? We were about to receive Jesus -- in our thoughts we should be laying prostrate on the ground in a gesture of humility, of unworthiness. Nothing else in that moment should matter, just us and God. Would my connection with Jesus be nullified because dorks were mucking up matters? Would God be disappointed because I had the opportunity to address their lack of gallantry, but instead chose to mire myself in pity and righteousness? And, why ••• why wasn't the Holy Spirit chirping away in their ears to “shut up”?

Normally, I would have walked away from any elevated level of nonsense, but doing so would result in missing out on the reception of the holy sacrament. No way. The Eucharistic celebration is one of the beautiful observances that drew me to Catholicism. Abstaining from such because of a few knuckleheads hardly seemed rational. In turn, perhaps I should have thrown a tantrum and stomped away in a flurry of protest. (Unfortunately, I suspect many would not be the wiser to my absence.) But, and here is a huge proverbial “but”, who am I to judge (Matthew 7:3 NLT, “Why worry about a speck in your friend's eye when you have a log in your own")?

While the priest receives confessions from penitents, the assembly utilizes that window to recite the mysteries of the rosary. Oftentimes the depth of prayer can be hugely intense and thought provoking. But, there are those days when I glean nothing. On Father's Day, for instance, whew, on Father's Day I achieved a level of bitterness not anticipated -- a couple congregates were periodically whispering during the prayer, albeit, at a low whisper. Even so, talk about disturbing. (No pun!) This lack of social grace burned my chaps. It's a wonder that a dark cloud did not descend on us or a bolt of lightening did not seek me out specifically, leaving behind a smoldering pile of ashes where I was seated. Poof! 'Where did Karl go"?  I was livid.

When confessions had finished, the priest entered, donned his vestments, and Mass commenced. However, considering everything that transpired prior to his entrance, I could not seem to focus. Segments of the prayers resonated, but most escaped me. I was so discombobulated that I errantly recited the Lord's Prayer (Last Supper). That was absurd, I have known the sequence of that prayer since being knee high to a grasshopper. I might as well have been speaking in tongues!  Thank the heavens I had studied the readings earlier in the morning; otherwise, I would have missed the message. This is not to say that all went smoothly thereafter. Not at all. To my bewilderment, I blanked out during the homily (sermon).  The words went in one ear and out the other, lost in outer space, floating somewhere in the cosmos.

If you have not figured it out, the lack of solemnity being exhibited was eating away at me. It was easy to understand why Jesus cleared the Temple of malefactors by overturning tables (Matthew 21:12-13). Oh, how I wanted to open the gates to a torrent of chastising words. Though, permitting my vocal expressions to lash out at these individuals would abruptly fly in the face of that whole love your neighbor as you love yourself tenet (Mark 12:31). But, gosh, I could not help but wonder whether it would have been acceptable to look for a loophole. Consider this: if I discontinued loving myself for a few moments, could I not have then justified unleashing the whip of my tongue? In other words, if I didn't love me, there would be no basis in loving them! Okay, okay, I was really grasping at straws, but haven t you ever fancied similar acts of retaliation?

What about rebuking them with Mother Superior's infamous wooden ruler?  Gee whiz, I am beginning to sound like an old, crotchety, fuddy duddy.

Conclusion: In the days which followed, I took time to reflect on the lack of harmony and reverence during Mass. Whether I like it or not, these perceptions are wholly my problem, not theirs.  They are embarking on their own particular journey at a pace that suits them. Possibly on different roads! It is unfair of me to impose my own expectations upon them (no matter how much smoother the universe would be). Quite simply, I need to practice patience, humility, and understanding. Perhaps, I should have gone to confession, too!

June 2011