Lackluster Abstaination

   During the Lenten Season I try to make an effort to abstain from certain activities. This usually has some impact on my eating habits. Oh, how I do find comfort in mindlessly pushing food in my mouth and licking my fingers. Of course, such overflows into the various facets of fasting.
   Because of my penchant to find abandonment in all things tasty, fasting is near impossible for me. Okay, not impossible. But, torture for sure. This year's Lent started off with every intention of fasting through the whole season. However, a few days into this act of devotion which better disposes me to our Lord and his will, it became clear that the Holy Spirit was not providing the strength to carry out this offering. In conjunction therewith, it had been discerned that a long fast is not practical in this environment - our nutritional needs are sub par, to say the least. So, I prayed and encountered a different form of self mortification: Instead of fasting, I alternatively consigned myself to eating everything served by the institution.        Also, I would abstain from snacking or supplementing my diet throughout the day (note, a small snack was scarfed each evening, typically a few slices of bread saved from my previous meals). If you think this was no big sacrifice...oh, how wrong you'd be, but then again, you have not been privy to the indelicate foodstuffs served here.
   But why choose this particular avenue of sacrifice. I don't know, ask the Holy Spirit! Actually, this may have been an opportunity for growth. See, my roommate and others who are impoverished have no choice to eat what they are served. They, sadly, do not have the option of being finicky. What is slopped before them is their only.... If they are hungry, well, they sit at a dining room table near a garbage receptacle and watch patrons walking by to dispose of their trays, begging for leftovers before such is dumped! Observing them as Lent approached, feeling my heart break for them, I opted to commit to eating the food plopped on my tray (mind you, I did not sit near the garbage bins). Perhaps the Holy Spirit was pressing me to develop a fuller appreciation and deeper empathy for the marginalized, the forgotten, the disposed!
With seasoning in hand, I indeed embarked on this journey. Oh, my, how repulsive some of this food is. That is, if such slop even amounts to food. The irony? Eventually my mind and body adapted and I seldom became overwrought with anxiety and disgust.
   Within this exercise there has been another nugget of illumination: We, as a culture, tend to feel sorry for those who do not live to our standards. But, have we actually placed ourselves in their shoes before attaching such emotions?
   As it so happens, Lent is over and the Easter Season is well on its way and I have not abandoned the discipline which had been initiated in the preceding weeks. No doubt, I feasted on Easter Sunday. Did I ever.... However, it was noticed that I felt better with the program which had been my embraced throughout my sojourn. Plus, there was a noticeable difference in resources not being squandered because I refrained from being particularly picky about this, that, or the other. Don't misunderstand, there are dishes which continue to make me squirm and gag, but such keep me in communion with the forsaken (there is a certain oddity in myself, a marginalized person, recognizing a subclass of persons in a more disadvantaged state).
   There is an added benefit. So often after we have reached the summit of Lent, we enter Easter with relief and celebration (which is apropos), but we many times fail to re-embrace those observances which drew us closer to God and neighbor; instead, being content to return to where we were before Lent began.
   Please, pray that the Holy Spirit continues to provide the strength for me to continue this wonky expression of community and submission.
Marana tha....

Life as an Oblate

   "Oblates are committed in a special way to make our whole lives an offering of love, praise, and thanksgiving to God" (Lessons from Saint Benedict, Fr. Donald S. Raila, O.S.B.)   . * * *
   Embracing the tenets of my Benedictine oblation is, well, a work in progress. Reciting the words of this promise is one thing; living such is quite a different story. One component in particular can be either taxing or rewarding, depending entirely on one's fortitude at any given moment: "I...promise to dedicate myself to the service of God and mankind according to the Rule of Saint Benedict in so far as my state of life permits."
   As it so happens, I am spiritually lazy. Conversely, I also am very spiritually acute. An oxymoron? No. Such is simply a reflection of two extremes of a particular disposition.
Invited to celebrate the memorial of Our Lady of Mount Carmel by a Carmelite friend, we met publicly for Vespers. Being that we are incarcerated this meant that we gathered in the least intrusive location, a hallway! This unusual substitute chapel carries its own peculiar distractions, but we entered the protective cloak of the Holy Spirit and commenced to pray with the whole Church.
   The Rule of Saint Benedict counsels us to renounce ourselves in order to follow Christ (RB 4.10), not to injure anyone (RB 4.30), and to turn away from our desires (RB 7.19). These are fine nuggets of wisdom, but the ugly vices of selfishness and pride are always lurking in the dark crevices of my fault lines. How easy it is for me to become not only distracted by the temporal, but engrossed.
   My oblation and study of the Rule helps me stay grounded, but even these anchors tend to be dislodged from time to time. See, I did not feel like denouncing competing interests in order to pray the Office. Worldly comforts, mind you. Sure, I could skip out on the evening prayers (cf RB 4.10); nobody would know...uh, that is except for God and our holy Mother. Ouch, the Community of Saints and Church Suffering and angels would know, too. This is horrible to admit, but it is easier to turn on them than it is my friend. Nonetheless, I really felt like doing something else (cf RB 7.19), but to do so would result with intentional injury of my friend (cf RB 4.30).
   With parched enthusiasm I succumbed to the prodding of the Holy Spirit to fulfill my obligation to love. Not myself, but God and neighbor. Aargh, it was with an empty heart in which these liturgical prayers were entered. Sadly, there was even a smidgen of resentment (it is a wonder that I have not been forsaken).
   Tugging and wrestling, once settled into this sacrifice of self in order to glorify God through ardent recognition of his Mother, my angst melted away. As we progressed deeper into the liturgy, the more I died to self and embraced Jesus, Mary, and my Carmelite brother (or would he be my cousin). When we had finished there was that familiar sweetness which our Lord rewards us with when pesky obstacles are overcome. In this instance, I was the obstacle!
   The Christian walk is not easy. Far from it. Why I would complicate my journey with oblation is beyond comprehension (you'll have to ask God). Well, this last sentiment is not necessarily accurate. On its face, oblation would appear to hamper one's spiritual formation. However, nothing could be further from reality; obedience to the guidance offered through the Rule has enriched my relationship with Christ, Mary, neighbor, and self. No doubt, I continue to kick and scream when the Holy Spirit infringes too far into the way I think life should be, but when I finally submit, it is amazing how much richer and sensible life becomes. As my local priest, Fr. Lou, is wont to say, "Karl, God is not finished with you, yet."  * * *
    The aim of Benedictine prayer is to assist the monk (Oblate) to live his whole life in eager receptivity to God's will. He is to become a 'living prayer.' He is to live a life progressively dedicated to God and responsive to grace" (Raila).
Marana tha....

One Unified and Pierced Flesh

   "But after you have received your Lord, endeavor to shut the eyes of the body and open those of the soul, since you possess His very person within you" (The Way of Perfection, St. Teresa of Avila).   * * *
   Our spiritual journeys can be turbulent and exciting. There are those times when Christ seems so close that we can sense his breath; yet, for me anyway, there exist frequent periods where his absence is felt. Most often this aridity can be, to some extent, a result of my own inner struggles and the proclivity to rely on my own will. Of course, we all can relate to how well that disposition works!
   Approaching Jesus in the Holy Eucharist this morning I could not help but be drawn to his unity with the Father, "I and the Father are one" (John 10:30 RSVCE). Total focus had been on his presence throughout the service, but none was more palatable than when drawing near the altar and genuflecting before our Lord as the extraordinary minister reverently placed him on my tongue. Time stops, the temporal fades, the body enters the ethereal - this delicate passage is brief, a taste of what awaits beyond the narrow gate.
   Returning to my closet (chair/pew) to pray and ingest what was transpiring, it was realized in that moment how unified the Son and I were. Quite literally. See, he was stuck to the roof of my mouth!
Recognizing the necessity to consume our Lord completely (the concluding hymn was soon approaching and it would be uncouth to attempt singing with the possibility of Jesus being unceremoniously flung out), the gentle process of dislodging him commenced. I was flooded with a rush of imagery when my tongue tore a hole in his flesh: Immediately, I became present at the Crucifixion when the "soldiers pierced his side with a spear" (John 19:34 RSVCE). That flesh was united with mine!
   The initial thoughts were dark and heavy, each drawing attention to how many times I had pierced our Lord through inattentiveness to him and indulgence of self. But such did not correspond with the message of this particular morning.          Then the extraordinary minister, during her reflections, had given emphasis to the mercy of our Lord by gesturing towards the Divine Mercy artwork which depicted the saving graces of blood and water gushing forth from his side. From this perspective, notwithstanding that I had pierced his side, Jesus was sharing his willingness to forgive and embrace, to become one with me. Wow.
   In this same artwork there is a mantra inscribed on the bottom: "Jesus, I trust in you." Is this not the foundation of our faith? But how do we cultivate trust? As Fr. Donald S. Raila, O.S.B. has so eloquently shared: "[Jesus] uses all circumstances to encourage us to die to self, to be converted in His love" (Lessons from St. Benedict).
   To let go of our wants and selfishness is difficult, to say the least. There are always those lingering doubts to contend with: Does God really exist? Am I truly redeemable (assuming he does exist)? How can I sacrifice known comforts to follow a path which is riddled with failure and persecution? Trust. It all comes back to trust. A significant component of my belief is derived from encounters with the Holy Eucharist. "[R]emember that the risen Christ comes to us in the least expected people and situations" (Fr. Raila).
    If we routinely recognize his presence in our lives, how can we deny his existence or the responsibility to respond!
Marana tha....

Before My Eyes

   Up until recently, I had never really grasped the significance of Eucharistic adoration. For those who are not familiar with this form of worship, it is a solemn opportunity for the flock to reverently gather before the consecrated host and worship Jesus in the form of the Eucharist. Meditation. Prayer. Reflection. My only exposure to this tradition has been through television. Well, to be frank, the practice conveyed across the screen appeared more than a little awkward and antiquated.
Attending a Communion Service because a priest was not available to celebrate a full Eucharistic Mass, I was a bit miffed. I happen to enjoy the pomp and structure of the Mass!
   There before me, not but three or four feet away, there was a paten containing the consecrated host on the center of the altar. Candles were lit. The air was filled with tranquility and peace. In a sudden flow of energy it dawned on me that Jesus was right there. I had always realized this, but it never really resonated until that moment. Wow, Jesus was right there...I could reach out and touch him. All I could do is stare and take this revelation in. So many Christians pray and plead to somehow meet Jesus in the flesh. There I was, an arm length away, able to see him. Able to talk with him. Sure, he didn't speak to me in a conventional way, "Yo, hey Karl, how ya doing!" But, there was an energy. And my thoughts were being arranged as though never before (or, so that has ever been recognized before). Yet, there he was, under the appearance of a little bread wafer. A wimpy cracker! But it was Jesus nonetheless, the candlelight gently flickering across the paten.
My thoughts were running at an unmeasurable pace. Yet, such were not frantic. There were images of how he died for us.      My sins. His love. His compassion. His warmth. The reality that he was right there.
   Eucharistic adoration no longer looked antiquated. Oh, how wrong I was. This practice is indeed a very special opportunity to spend time with Jesus.
   Curiously, my only opportunity for Eucharistic adoration is when a priest is not available to perform Mass. Strangely, I now look forward to those times when the priest has responsibilities elsewhere...I then, selfishly, have an opportunity to spend time in the company of our Lord, offering myself to him, trying to be a better Christian, all before he gives himself to me.
   The next time your worship does not seem to unfold the way "you" think it should, open yourself to other riches.
Marana tha....

(Note, these reflections were written several years ago)

Too Ashamed

   During a Holy Communion service the extraordinary Eucharistic minister set aside a segment of worship for ten minutes of silent adoration before Jesus on the altar. It must be admitted that I was excited about this opportunity, though also harbored secret reservations that the majority of our little community would not be a left to sit quietly. Yes, my struggles with being critical of others continue - especially of those whose veneration is not sufficiently reverent!
   Anticipation for the service to reach that point where the Liturgy of the Word would be suspended while we collectively adored our Lord was distracting: We could not arrive at that zenith in a sufficiently prompt enough fashion. Flutter and impatience seldom compliment one another! My focus on the holy scripture had waffled as I kept thinking about all focus being on Christ. Hopefully, our Lord was not offended by my inattentiveness to the words being spoken, his very words....
Collectively perched on our seats, we looked upon Jesus with awe. There he was, right before our very eyes. Twenty-five souls so unspeakably quiet and still that the pages from a missal being mindlessly massaged reverberated through the ethereal.
   The wisp of those pages, the gentleness of which may resemble the softness of angel wings, were not all which I heard. No. Indeed, there was a voice. A prominent nudging. The Holy Spirit was tenderly prodding me to approach the altar and prostrate myself before Jesus!
   I was saturated with anxiety. See, I have always wanted (since entering the Church) to lay at our Lord's feet. But, such has been a private desire. Sadly, I am too weak in my faith for peers to witness me adoring our Lord in such a way. Why? Because I am susceptible to the tomfoolery of caring how I am perceived by others. The fears consisted of onlookers thinking: "Look at Karl, he thinks he's holier than thou!" Mind you, a phobia of derision from my brothers, not non-Christians.
   As the Holy Spirit continued to poke and encourage, I attempted to barter with kneeling in the isle beside my seat. But, honestly, I was too ashamed of my love to suffer ridicule. So, I didn't. I simply sat there bantering with the Holy Spirit, never actually committing to either.
   Knowing my disposition for our holy Mother, the Holy Spirit caressed me with the proposition and honor of approaching the altar to prostrate with Mary at my side. Just like at the foot of the cross during those last breaths.... Whew, what an enticement. What an honor. But, I was yet too weak. A coward. I resented this lack of character.
   Another hesitation concerned the possibility that any visible actions on my part may cause the the faithful who were present to recoil and fill with disdain. Thus, I grappled with whether it had been Satan pushing me to make this public show of affection or, conversely, whether it was God drawing me (us) closer to his embrace. In the end, I remained invisible and without conviction. My faith was silent. Negligent.
   There is a certain irony? The energy spent prejudging our community convicted me of the very same. Embarrassing. I should have assessed myself. Humbling.
   It is hoped that next time, if graced with such an opportunity, I will muster the courage to lay at our Lord's feet and weep.    May our holy Mother be kind enough to grace me with her presence. Please, I need your prayers.
Marana tha....

Sitting With Jesus

   Our makeshift prison chapel does not have an altar. Well, that's not a fair assessment; our altar consists of a rickety folding table and a borrowed altar cloth. There are no seasonal altar frontals. Ah, but we are blessed to possess a Lectionary. This may sound dismal, but it's not. See, with this richness we have bilingual missals for the faithful and two battery operated candles (which do not work) adorn our meager altar. A tattered and battered crucifix, too. Oh, and of more significance, we are blessed with extraordinary ministers who being us Jesus in consecrated form.
   There I sit, front and center of the altar. As congregants sporadically arrive, I am drawn to a little plastic container resting on the altar. It is a clear food dish with a translucent blue lid which sports a lapel pin cross affixed to the top. For all intent and purpose this hokey pix is our paten. For those of you who do not know, the content consists of the consecrated host - such is brought from a Mass at some downtown parish so we may participate in Holy Communion with the whole Church. This delivery is carried out by Eucharistic lay ministers.
   On the edge of my seat staring at Jesus in that little plastic container, just a mere few feet away, I feel moved to approach. As I do, collecting my thoughts, I drop both knees to the floor in order to kneel. Reverently, I dispense a couple of drops of Holy Water from a plastic squirt bottle into my palm, bow, recall my venial sins, and plead that such be washed away as I perform the Sign of the Cross.
   Silently returning to my seat, I cannot help but ponder how my actions with the Holy Water were reminiscent of my baptism...also, when Jesus was baptized by Saint John. Also, how the Sign of the Cross also reconfirmed my covenant with Jesus.
   Composing myself, I think of that Christ has done for me. Complete selflessness. I am conversely confronted with all that I have done to him - every time there is a failure to respond to God's will and instead chase base desires, I inflict pain upon Jesus.
   There I sit, admiring Jesus. How awesome. We have a God who created the universe. Spoke living creatures into existence. Out of all that lives, God selected us to be his friends, to carry out his divine plan. He gifted us with free choice (albeit, sometimes such feels like an impossible curse). Jesus performed miracles like walking on water, curing the blind, bringing the dead back to life. Able to make everything out of nothing, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, he elects to make himself available under the appearance of bread and wine, body and blood - he can call anything into being, but chooses to reveal himself in the most basic and accessible food. He makes the universe, but presents himself as a piece of bread! Humility.
   These ponderings beg to question: When we are in the presence of our Lord, well, do we die to self and offer every part of our being to him? Or, do we instead concern ourselves with secular nonsense and make small talk with the person next to us? Do we prepare ourselves, singularly and corporately, to receive Jesus into our bodies (and live as though we have)? Or, are we more interested in bumping elbows with the priest, making sure he sees us? Conversely, why not sit with Christ and be open to his presence and work!
Mariana tha....