Inconvenient Prayer

   The obligation to pray can at times be a pesky thorn. Especially if we have other, more appealing whatnots luring our passions (will God, Mary, and Church ever rank as number one in my life...I feel like such a weasel, not loving them the way that they deserve, only partially giving them me). Yet, if we shirk these responsibilities and such devolves into a habit of self over God or others...well, then that would be a travesty.
   Returning from dinner this evening, thirty-five minutes were available to pray the Liturgy of the Hours and the Chaplet of Divine Mercy before my weekly television show aired on the Public Broadcast Station. There was time to do one devotion with the reverence necessary, but two would be rushing it and...well, what would "I" get out of it. Ah, but then a quick lump on the head was received, as if the Holy Spirit was saying: "These prayers are not for you - no, the liturgical prayer is for the Church and the chaplet is for those experiencing Purgatory!" Fair enough. Grumbling, I reluctantly committed to pray both and anticipated nothing more than emptiness and nausea. Again, the Holy Spirit repeated that these devotions were not for me.
   At the outset, the Liturgy of the Hours had been difficult to get started; there was a gaggle of disruption and distraction outside my door. But, reflecting on how obnoxious onlookers must have been when Jesus prayed or how there are scores of people who do not have the ability to pray, to engage in conversation with our Lord, who are prevented from worshiping, or whatever, all of the hoopla outside my room dissipated and I was able to proceed in silence. Hmph, it's funny how fastidiously God will intervene!
   The Chaplet of Divine Mercy was riddled with exclamation points of our Lord's dabbling. Praying the Apostle's Creed at the beginning sequence of this devotion, when reciting the words, "Creator of heaven and earth," a gust of wind caused me to look out my window. At that moment, a robin hopped into view a mere two or three feet away (my first spotting this spring) and, if I didn't know better, was staring at me. Taken aback, I paused. The bird simply looked at me. When I resumed the prayer and settled into the rhythm she flew away. Being that this is Holy Saturday (the day after Good Friday, for those of you who hadn't connected the dots), the folklore of the robin is poignant. Only able to recall fragments, a sparrow had landed on our Lord's shoulder while he hung on the Cross, that moment as he transitioned from the earthly to the heavenly. Blood had touched the robin. Somehow, as a reward and to symbolize that day, to not look plain, our Lord imbued robins with red breasts....
   Continuing to thumb the beads while praying (a rosary is used for this chaplet), I periodically looked out my window. The evening sky was overcast and the clouds were heavy, looking ready to burst with snow. The bars on my window and the surrounding fences offered a stark impression of purgatory. To the side, my vignette revealed a heavy duty trash receptical...perhaps, a metaphor for hell. Ah, and a gate does exist at the crest of the hill. Soon, lights would flood the same outdoor area with rays not quite ethereal, but a comparison for this story. As the wind gusted, leaves danced around like choreographed swirls, not unlike happy souls transitioning from purgatory to heaven, the Church Suffering becoming the Church Triumphant!
   Though I had resigned myself to plod through devotions which would prove dry and unfulfilling, I was rewarded with rich graces. Thank you, Jesus.
   On a side note, the television program which caused all of this angst and nearly resulted in me dumping the evening devotions was...uh, Fr. Brown! Ha, I did indeed catch Fr. Brown.
Marana tha

Applause for Mary

   Our small Catholic community was gathered and we were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Father Lou. Knowing that it is not uncommon for our guests and volunteers to be delayed as they attempt to enter the facility (prison staff are tasked with many responsibilities, some of which are unforseen, requiring their immediate attention), we waited for a little while after their scheduled arrival.
   As the fellas were becoming antsy, like a bunch of rambunctious male adolescents, an attempt was made with staff to ascertain the whereabouts of our priest - was patiently awaiting entrance or had he never arrived. As it turned out, there was no clear answer. Admittedly, this proved unsettling.
   Returning to our ragtag mini-mob of Jesus freaks, it had been suggested that while we wait, in the interim, we should consider praying the Stations of the Cross or the Rosary or the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. Something spiritually stirring! It would be wonderful to share with you that there was much excitement and eagerness to offer any one of these devotions, but the response was minimal, at best. Lukewarm (a pun coming next). Fittingly, as the Gospel of Luke contains the framework for the "Hail Mary" prayer (Luke 1:28b, 42b, 43b, 38), a couple of fellas liked the idea of praying the Rosary. The others were still lukewarm, but non-hostile to corporate prayer.
   As we seldom pray devotions as a community - a very frustrating aspect of our contingent - it took a humiliating moment to find our bearings. Jesus was no doubt holding shaking his head in embarrassment! Once we found our groove, it was nice to recognize that everybody participated and prayed with reverence. The responses were audible and firm, not mumbled, grumbled, or abstained from. There was purpose in the Sorrowful Mysteries being prayed. A sense of euphoria and togetherness, a family was discernable. We were a whole, not a fracture.
   When finished, I held up my rosary and said "thank you" to the fellas - much like Sir William Wallace in Mel Gibson's character in the iconic movie "Braveheart," where he thrusts up a fist and confidently screams the mantra type war cry - "Freedom!" - to his warriors.      Okay, my rosary thrust did not carry the same oomph amongst my Bible thumping compatriots, but it was just as genuine. I was proud that all participated.
    As I walked out the door to once again check on the arrival or cancellation of our guest, somebody started to clap and then abruptly stopped, as though he sensed improper etiquette. Turning with a smile to see who had committed such a heretic act (hyperbole), my eyes were treated to see a new face who was presently shrinking in his seat. I began laughing aloud and then championed: "Yeah, let's give Mary a big round of applause!" All joined in with similar elation...we were once again children.
   Exiting on that note to find out the disposition of our volunteer, I encountered him walking down the hallway towards us. Was that timing, or what!
Marana tha

Unexpected Whispers

   While attending an impromptu Holy Communion service, there was a certain unusualness about it. Typically, our makeshift chapel is a space used as a classroom. But, on this occasion, we were shoehorned into a tiny area where crafts are made.
   So last minute was this gathering that none of us were anticipating Jesus to be brought to us in the Eucharist. How can this be? Well, for all intents and purposes we had been scheduled for the Rite of Reconciliation (Confession). Father Lou, a return retired priest who serves this community of thirty souls when he can shoehorn us into his schedule. Well, he was feeling under the weather and could not make it. In Father Lou's stead, a volunteer arrived with Jesus so that we would not be left in limbo. (For those if you wonder how we could take part in the Eucharist if we had not been to Confession - there is a special dispensation for those whom it is impossible to receive the Rite of Reconciliation.)
   Unprepared, we neither had Holy Water, missals for those in attendance (save the one copy which the volunteer brought), altar cloth, or crucifix. There was a certain throwback to the early Church when missals and Bibles and general literacy did not exist!
   As we proceeded with the Holy Communion service, there was a place where we simply stopped and sat in silence. This deviation was not planned, such simply happened organically. As time elapsed, there was a level of silence, non noise, which we seldom, if ever, experience in the prison environment. Off in the corner was a sink used by those who craft. The silence was so deafening that we could all hear the drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet. Being that this is Holy Week and in the middle of Holy Communion, one could not help but smile at the correlation and symbolism - the woman who washed our Lord's feet with her tears, Jesus crying out in the Garden of Gethsemane, the apostles washing the feet of the disciples, the tears which flowed from our holy Mother, the cries of the repentant thief on the corresponding cross (Saint Dismas, the patron of prisoners), the water which gushed forth when our Lord's side was pierced by a solders lance....
Marana tha