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  • Holy Thursday

     

    My favorite time of the year: the Triduum.

    Holy Week.

    If one were to see the Mass as the Wedding Feast of the Lamb (which it is) and the Church as a Bride (which she is!), for me it is like Daily Mass would be the Bride running up the aisle in her jogging clothes, just having arrived. Though she is dressed plainly, simply and is somewhat on-the-go she is no less beautiful for it and the Feast no less satisfying. But it is brief, to the point, and once it is over you are off and running. Daily Mass is surely the Passover ideal: eat with your loins girt, sandals on, staff in hand, ready to get back to work.

    Sunday Mass is the family meal where once a week all your relatives from around the local area gather at whoever has the biggest house. The Bride wears a nice Sunday dress and is gorgeous as always and really takes some care not only in what is being served but also in the presentation. Sunday Mass is a bit longer than Daily Mass, especially since there is usually music and a slightly longer homily, plus an extra reading and more people who receive the Eucharist. Sunday Mass is the highlight of the week, something to look forward to.

    A Feast Day, in particular a Solemnity (basically a major feast) like, Christ the King, Corpus Christi, The Assumption of Mary (a personal favorite!) is a bit more magnificent. It is like a Sunday Mass that falls on a different day of the week though some dioceses and parishes are given permission to move the feast to the Sunday after so that more people can come and celebrate. Depending on the occasion there will be certain songs sung, certain prayers, liturgical colors (normally white), and other special touches. These liturgies are like family get-togethers that take place once a year for very special occasions, like the birthday of a grandparent, a wedding anniversary. Actually, I think Thanksgiving would be a good comparison. It isn’t the biggest family gathering of the year and perhaps not the fanciest, nicest meal, but it is a step above the Sunday meal. The Bride is wearing that special dress she only wears on certain occasions and she is just glowing, singing to herself as she goes about serving all her guests. What a pity there are so few solemnities in the year!

    Christmas is a massive feast, possibly having become the most anticipated and celebrated one of the year. A huge banquet, ancient and cherished traditions, special music we only sing once a year, a glorious liturgy, and memories that tug at our hearts. It is joyful; how could you not love a little baby, especially since we already know His future? The Bride is wearing her best dress, her hair is done specially for the occasion, and there hasn’t yet been a feast to match this one. This is more than a simple family affair; all the friends and neighbors come to this as well.

    But the Triduum–Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil–this is all quite different. You see, we have three distinct celebrations but, really, it is all one massive liturgy. All three celebrations blend into one another, leading us through the Last Supper, the Lord’s Passion and Death, the quiet of the tomb and the sudden, eye-popping, heart-stopping magnificence of the Resurrection.

     

    Yesterday was a day of special greatness. 

    Firstly was the Chrism Mass, which traditionally takes place on morning Holy Thursday, though some dioceses celebrate it earlier. This Mass is wonderful because priests from all over come to concelebrate, and it is during this liturgy that the oils used for baptism (oil of catechumens), anointing of the sick and the special, perfumed chrism used for the three-fold purpose of anointing the confirmed, ordaining a priest and consecrating a bishop are blessed. At the Cathedral Basilica nearly the whole place was filled with over fifty seminarians, some Domincans and Jesuits in studies (including myself), goodness knows HOW many priests (easily two hundred) not only from the archdiocese but also from various religious orders, nuns and sisters, hundreds of Catholic school children in their uniforms, and hundreds more lay people. In the sanctuary was the archbishop, two auxiliary bishops and even a mitered abbot from the local Benedictine abbey. The choir filled the whole, massive space with glorious music and it was all just absolutely spectacular.

    Most moving was the part of the Mass when all the priests renew their promises. The archbishop asks:

    “My brothers, today we celebrate the memory of the first Eucharist, at which our Lord Jesus Christ shared with his apostles and with us his call to the priestly service of His Church. Now, in the presence of your bishop and God’s holy people, are you ready to renew your own dedication to Christ as priests of His new covenant?”

    The many priests assembled say, “I am.”

    “At your ordination you accepted the responsibilities of the priesthood out of love for the Lord Jesus and His Church. Are you resolved to unite yourselves more closely to Christ and to try to become more like Him by joyfully sacrificing your own pleasure and ambition to bring his peace and love to your brothers and sisters?

    “I am.”

    “Are you resolved to be faithful ministers of the mysteries of God, to celebrate the Eucharist and the other liturgical services with sincere devotion? Are you resolved to imitate Jesus Christ, the head and shepherd of the Church, by teaching the Christian faith without thinking of your own profit, solely for the well-being of the people you were sent to serve?”

    “I am.”

    And to the rest of the people present the archbishop asks:

    “My brothers and sisters, pray for your priests. Ask the Lord to bless them with the fullness of his love, to help them be faithful ministers of Christ the High Priest, so that they will be able to lead you to Him, the fountain of your salvation.”

    We all pray: “Lord Jesus Christ, hear us and answer our prayer.”

    “Pray also for me that despite my own unworthiness I may faithfully fulfill the office of apostle which Jesus Christ entrusted to me. Pray that I may become more like our High Priest and Good Shepherd, the teacher and servant of all, and so be a genuine sign of Christ’s loving presence among you.”

    “Lord Jesus Christ, hear us and answer our prayer.

    “May the Lord in his love keep you close to Him always, and may He bring all of us, his priests and people, to eternal life.”

    “Amen.”

     

    Later that day my brothers and I returned to the Cathedral to prepare for the Mass of the Lord’s Supper.

    What a Mass! There was the Bride in her wedding dress, veiled and glorious though shrouded in mystery. It was all so solemn yet joyful, and my goodness what a brilliant grace it was to sing the Gloria again! During the season of Lent the Gloria is only sung on Solemnities so this year it was twice: the Feast of St. Joseph, Husband of Mary and the Feast of the Annunciation. Ah to have the organ thundering and the choir crying out “Glory to God, glory in the highest/peace to His people, peace on earth!”

    After this, however, all the music was done, beautifully, a capella. Everything quickly took a turn from exuberant to solemn (not sad, mind you, but sort of bittersweet); even the bell that is rung to signal particularly important moments during the Eucharistic liturgy is replaced by a sort of wooden clapper that makes a loud, unsettling “clack! clack!” And so the table was set, the meal prepared, the Bride still glowing and beautiful standing by as she awaited the Groom and thus He came and stood beside her. 

    And then.

    Once the guests had partaken of the feast, just before the Bride and Groom exchanged their rings, a strange thing happens. The Groom is taken away.

    The ciborium, which is sort of like a golden chalice with a lid upon it, is a special vessel in which we keep the Blessed Sacrament. Were you to open a tabernacle, this is what you would see. It is also often brought out during the Mass, right before communion, in case more Hosts are needed so that Christ may be with each person present, and likewise in which to reserve whatever is not consumed (since you do not simply put the Body of Christ back with the normal bread, nor do you toss Him out!). 

    At the end of this Mass, however, the archbishop dons a humeral veil (a large cape-like vestment), takes the ciborium, wraps it up within some of the veil, and follows a long solemn procession through the cathedral, led by the choir which sings:

    PANGE, lingua, gloriosi
    Corporis mysterium,
    Sanguinisque pretiosi,
    quem in mundi pretium
    fructus ventris generosi
    Rex effudit Gentium.
    SING, my tongue, the Savior’s glory,
    of His flesh the mystery sing;
    of the Blood, all price exceeding,
    shed by our immortal King,
    destined, for the world’s redemption,
    from a noble womb to spring.
    Nobis datus, nobis natus
    ex intacta Virgine,
    et in mundo conversatus,
    sparso verbi semine,
    sui moras incolatus
    miro clausit ordine.
    Of a pure and spotless Virgin
    born for us on earth below,
    He, as Man, with man conversing,
    stayed, the seeds of truth to sow;
    then He closed in solemn order
    wondrously His life of woe.
    In supremae nocte cenae
    recumbens cum fratribus
    observata lege plene
    cibis in legalibus,
    cibum turbae duodenae
    se dat suis manibus.
    On the night of that Last Supper,
    seated with His chosen band,
    He the Pascal victim eating,
    first fulfills the Law’s command;
    then as Food to His Apostles
    gives Himself with His own hand.
    Verbum caro, panem verum
    verbo carnem efficit:
    fitque sanguis Christi merum,
    et si sensus deficit,
    ad firmandum cor sincerum
    sola fides sufficit.
    Word-made-Flesh, the bread of nature
    by His word to Flesh He turns;
    wine into His Blood He changes;-
    what though sense no change discerns?
    Only be the heart in earnest,
    faith her lesson quickly learns.
    Tantum ergo Sacramentum
    veneremur cernui:
    et antiquum documentum
    novo cedat ritui:
    praestet fides supplementum
    sensuum defectui.
    Down in adoration falling,
    Lo! the sacred Host we hail;
    Lo! o’er ancient forms departing,
    newer rites of grace prevail;
    faith for all defects supplying,
    where the feeble sense fail.
    Genitori, Genitoque
    laus et iubilatio,
    salus, honor, virtus quoque
    sit et benedictio:
    procedenti ab utroque
    compar sit laudatio.
    Amen.
    To the everlasting Father,
    and the Son who reigns on high,
    with the Holy Ghost proceeding
    forth from Each eternally,
    be salvation, honor, blessing,
    might and endless majesty.
    Amen.

     Here is a sample: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-rF1rGoJJmo&feature=related

    The procession eventually leads to the Blessed Sacrament Chapel, the archbishop then placing the ciborium inside the tabernacle. Dozens of lit candles fill the room, tiled from floor to ceiling in golden mosaics, with light. The rest of the Cathedral is plunged into darkness, the altar is stripped of its linens, plants and flowers are removed, any crucifix and many statues are veiled and all is left bare. Imagine if you were are a large celebration and, just after you’d finished eating, a mob came, took away the guest of honor, and took everything away.

    More devastating yet, imagine a wedding at which the priest says “You may now kiss the bride” and just as the couple leans in to kiss, right before their lips touch, the Groom is spirited away by brutish men all in black. This is the feeling of the end of this particular Mass. Oftentimes, for example, this liturgy will be followed by a prayer service, all candlelit in a dark place, called tenebrae, at the end of which there is a period of time when a huge racket is made–in this case all the seminarians pound books along the backs of their seats, filling the space with quite a thunderous sound–and then it suddenly stops. The end. Go home.

     

    I don’t know about you, but were I that Bride or were I in attendance, I’d go looking for the Groom! 

     

    Wouldn’t you know that there is just that kind of tradition in the Church? Of course there is!

    So a group of my Jesuit brothers as well as a few friends piled into a big 15-passenger van and went about the city to visit seven different churches and to pray for a few minutes with Our Lord, the main tabernacle of every church with their door hanging open, empty, sad in a way, while a side chapel or some special place was set up on the side where the faithful may go and find Him. It was so much fun driving around in the sad, cold rain, knowing that Our Lord has been taken away and is being led closer and closer to the Cross of Good Friday, searching for Him and, unlike His terrified apostles, finding Him everywhere we look. We did this from after the two-hour Mass (around 9:30pm) until about 11:45, at which time we went to get a bit to eat before the day of fasting began.

     

    Today we spent the morning in prayerful reflection (or trying to write a reflective blog entry for you!), and this afternoon at 3pm I will be at the Cathedral Basilica again for the Good Friday service. Here the Bride will be dressed in mourning, having traded white for black, no less beautiful but her joy so very dim. There is NO MASS on this day; it is the only day of the year when the Mass is not celebrated (otherwise, around the world, throughout the 23 churches all in communion with one another, Mass is celebrated in every language around 300,000 times a day, and even more often on Sundays!). Instead we receive communion, being given the Body of Christ as it was consecrated the day previous, again having the grace of being with Him on this day whereas His apostles were left with nothing. Today is a day of fasting, a day of quiet and if you are in St. Louis, a day of clouds, rain and storm. I will try and post later about the Good Friday service this evening. God bless all of you this sad day, and remember what He suffered not so that you would owe Him anything, but simply because He loves you…

  • Gratitude

    HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HOLY FATHER!

     

    Please pray for Pope Benedict XVI today on his birthday; being the pastor of over a billion people ain’t easy work, especially when I’M one of them!

  • Full Body Challenge

    “Take this, all of you, and eat of it. This is my body, which is given up for you.

     

    Eternal Father, I offer you the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, of your dearly beloved Son Our Lord, Jesus Christ, in atonement for our sins and those of the whole world.

     

  • How Can I Keep From Singing?

    Where will you be this weekend? I’ll be singing HERE!

    Friday, Saturday and Sunday I’ll be performing with the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and Chorus as we offer Samuel Barber’s “Prayers of Kirkegaard” and Gustav Mahler’s 2nd Symphony, also known as his “Resurrection” Symphony. It is going to be spectacular!

     

    http://www.stlpublicradio.org/listen.php

     

    From here you can pick which option you would like as far as Windows Live or Streaming goes, but I believe the actual station you want is “90.7 FM KWMU-1″

    Enjoy!

     

    PS- For those of you who will be tuning in, make sure to hang in there for the end of Mahler’s 2nd Symphony; the vocals are heart-meltingly beautiful. Here is the English translation:

    Rise again, yes, rise again,
    Will you My dust,
    After a brief rest!
    Immortal life! Immortal life
    Will He who called you, give you.
    To bloom again were you sown!
    The Lord of the harvest goes
    And gathers in, like sheaves,
    Us together, who died.
    O believe, my heart, O believe:
    Nothing to you is lost!
    Yours is, yes yours, is what you desired
    Yours, what you have loved
    What you have fought for!
    O believe,
    You were not born for nothing!
    Have not for nothing, lived, suffered!
    What was created
    Must perish,
    What perished, rise again!
    Cease from trembling!
    Prepare yourself to live!
    O Pain, You piercer of all things,
    From you, I have been wrested!
    O Death, You masterer of all things,
    Now, are you conquered!
    With wings which I have won for myself,
    In love’s fierce striving,
    I shall soar upwards
    To the light which no eye has penetrated!
    Its wing that I won is expanded,
    and I fly up.
    Die shall I in order to live.
    Rise again, yes, rise again,
    Will you, my heart, in an instant!
    That for which you suffered,
    To God will it lead you!
    Resurrection Symphony indeed!

     

  • Family Reunion

    PART III

    I returned to my cabin after returning my dishes and such from dinner, and it began to rain very steadily. I am a tremendous fan of rain on a tin roof, so I was in heaven from Moment 1. However, as I began preparing myself for the triple colloquy, I realized that the rain could be a potential distraction. My past experience of the triple colloquy I imagined taking place in an enormous castle and I intially considered “going back” there. However, being deep inside a great castle would make it difficult to hear the rain, and my little cabin was full of that sound. So I decided to have this colloquy elsewhere, some place that would incorporate the sound of rain into it so it wouldn’t be a distraction. I decided to meet my Mother here where I live so that I wouldn’t have to try too hard to imagine anywhere else. I remembered that in the dining room of my house is a skylight above a nice couch, which would be a perfect place to meet. I pictured the very familiar place in my mind as I sat on my bed, and let myself enter into prayer. I will just type up what I wrote after my time of prayer:

     

    I imagined waiting in my room. I’d just closed my laptop and looked to see what time it was. Almost 2pm. I knew that Mary would be arriving soon and would meet me in the dining room, beneath the skylight.

    (The view of the sidewalk outside my window)

    Sure enough, through the pouring rain she came, carrying a black umbrella. She was wearing a light blue habit and a white veil. I heard the door to the house open and close, and I waited several minutes before walking down the stairs.

    (The couch in the dining room, beneath the skylight)

    As soon as I saw her through the doorway, sitting there on the couch looking out through the stained glass, my heart melted. She looked at me and smiled, rising to her feet.

    She embraced me and I felt so tangibly consoled and my eyes brimmed with tears. I kept saying, “O Mother, my beautiful, perfect Mother,” over and over again. After a time we say and I offered her my Hail Mary before sharing my request: I desired to know God’s will regarding my father. She offered to accompany me to see her Son in the chapel. Before this, however, I asked if I might remain here with her a while longer, since it had been so long since I had spend any real time with her. So I lay my head on her lap and I recounted that time during the Exercises when I visited her in the castle, and how different I was then when she was only my queen and not yet my mother. Everything has changed so much.

    Soon I was giving her a tour of all our houses before we came finally to the chapel house. She had me wait  in the dining room for several minutes while she spoke with her Son. I saw quietly and prepared myself by reflecting on the sins I would confess before asking Him my favor.

    (The side chapel…………………………………………………………..the tabernacle)

    Mary soon returned and led me into the chapel. I knelt outside the bars of the side chapel and said, “Bless me, Lord, for I have sinned; it has been about two weeks since my last confession.” I told Jesus all the sins I could think of and after a time of silence He asked to have my act of contrition.

    “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you, and I no longer deserve to be called your son. Yet you throw the robe of salvation about my shoulders and above all you give me the Body and Blood of your Son as a feast. Therefore I confess my sins and promise to do penance in gratitude for all your labors on my behalf, that I may more fully accept the abundant life you offer me as your son.”

    Jesus then raised His pierced hand toward my head and said, “Jacob, by the power of the Holy Spirit and the authority my Father has given me, by my suffering and death on the cross, I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

    I felt such a peace and a rush…and I rose to my feet to enter the side chapel and immediately knelt to kiss His feet…I then knelt where the tabernacle normally would be (since Jesus was there already!), with Mother beside me. She shared with Him the favor I was seeking, and He suggested we walk together to the Basilica to speak with the Father about it. We then rose and embraced each other, and Mother embraced us both. A few thorns of His crown pricked my head and I asked, “Will I have to wear that crown one day?” Not a word was spoken but I felt a rush in my body and knew what the truth was. “Yes,” I thought, “My God, of course; if I am to be your son I must be a king and wear the crown He wore…just promise to prepare me so that when the day comes I may say ‘yes’ with a joyful heart.”

    (Interior from the main entrance, looking toward the sanctuary)

    (You can see the confessional behind the baptismal font and Easter candle.)

    We then walked to the Basilica and Mary had me wait on the bench outside the confessional while Jesus entered. Eventually she led me to the curtained side for “face-to-face” confession but put a black cloth over my head. (I understood that she didn’t want me to behold the face of God, since that only gets to happen once!!) After she guided me carefully into my seat I offered an Our Father and presented my request. There was only silence. I asked Him if perhaps He has entrusted things to my Mother on the matter, since I received such consolation when going to her in the beginning, of course only to help me come even more fully to Him. I then realized that, of course, if I am to be God’s son I must be raised by her as He was. She brought Him up and did not lead Him astray, and so she would do with me. I knew then in that moment that God my Father would always be with me and would never fail to provide for me. I thanked Him and asked if He would give me His blessing. I felt His hand resting atop my head and…I have never before felt such bliss and joy coursing through me as in that moment, and I do not know how long it lasted. There where moments when I was so consumed by the experience that I utterly forgot everything else, including where I was, that I was kneeling on the floor of my cabin, that it was still raining, etc. and slipped as though beneath the surface of the waters of joy, losing everything but the feeling of His love in my whole self.

    When He withdrew His hand I offered a Glory Be, kissed that hand, and departed for home. My last sight was from my room, watching Mary depart under her black umbrella in the rain.

    Praise God forever, you are so kind to me.

    Earlier today you made me aware of two important things:

    First, that St. Joseph died while Christ was yet young. Thus He came to rely on His true Father all the sooner. You affirmed your Fatherhood at His Baptism. To more closely conform to your Son, you have worked similarly and with much mercy in my own life. What father do I have now, save the Father that adopted me at Rebirth?

    Second and most vitally, while contemplating the Finding of Jesus in the Temple, I realized that my perspective on the matter is all wrong. It is not that my father is removing himself from me or even that you are taking him away. Rather, as with your young Son in the Temple, you are removing me from him, drawing me more closely to Yourself. This is all your doing, all of it. At first I thought you were bringing me consolation amidst brokeness–”reacting” as it were. But I see more clearly that this is what you have desired all along. You are so good to me, Father, so very good.

     

     

    So there you have it, my Xanga brothers and sisters. Please accept this very personal sharing as a gift, and do not be crest-fallen or envious. I promise you that the Father has the same love for each of you, though He will teach each of you according to who you are and where you are in your life with Him. Not all of us can step out of the world for a couple of days like this but I promise you, if you make a habit of silence in your life, even just several minutes every day and just try to be quiet and listen, you’ll hear Him.

    God bless all of you.

  • Our Father, who art with me…

    PART II

    In the last entry I shared a bit what was weighing on my heart as I looked to making that little retreat. I felt very much orphaned, as though my father was little by little abandoning me. Now no one just dives head-first into a silent retreat; you ease into it. Would you do a cannonball into a hot tub? Of course not! You slowly go in so that once your body has adjusted to the extreme difference, you can actually enjoy it. Silence is the same way.

    I arrived at the retreat area on Friday morning. It was a series of little, prefabricated buildings on a ridge, tall trees rising up everywhere. The sisters and brothers used a bell to communicate with everyone else, with a certain combination of rings and pauses signalling a specific person or noting a certain time for prayer. Once I met up with the sister in charge of getting retreatants settled in I parked my car and followed her to the little cabin I showed in the previous entry. Here is the interior: 

    My bed……………………………………………………………………….my desk (and breviary and water bottle!)…………………………closet and bathroom.

    So this was my little home for the next couple of days. Perfect! I spent Friday just reading, writing letters, praying and eating at meal times. Meals were prepared in advance and you would come to the kitchen and grab the styrofoam cooler with your cabin’s number on it and take it back to your hermitage. The food as well was simple but hey, it keeps you going! Friday was simple, restful and quiet. By the time I awoke early Saturday morning for Mass, I was used to the quiet. No laptop, no phones, no music, nothing. Just the sound of wind in the trees and birds.

    This is the chapel:

    Outside………………………………………………………………………inside………………………………………………………..what a blessing to have JESUS RIGHT HERE!!!

     

    One of my favorite things about this simple chapel is that the tops of the chairbacks have the lacquer and paint all worn off from years and years of people kneeling to pray and resting their arms on them. I don’t know if you can see that well in this picture or any of the others, but I’ll never forget that touching detail.

    After Mass I began my day of prayer. I had previously arranged for four, one hour periods of prayer during which time I would contemplate four aspects of Christ’s life. Since I was seeking the grace of knowing just how I ought to love and relate to my father now, “I” decided (thank you, Holy Spirit!) to first contemplate part of the Last Supper Discourse from John where Christ talks about His Father. Then after a time to rest (I napped off-and-on all day; I was so exhausted) I spent an hour contemplating the Finding of Jesus in the Temple, where even there looking St. Joseph in the face Jesus identifies who His Father really is. During the afternoon I went on a glorious hike:

    Down the steps (though this is a view looking UP the steps!)….through the trees………………………..a charming brook…………

     

    …..the waterbugs are out!………………………………………….continuing on the path………………………….Our Lady of the Spring………….

    ………..the deep forest…………………………………………..a very fall-like day…………………………………..a lonely leaf……………….

     

    ……….a reminder that my Mother prays for me…………………a sign of spring!

     

    When I returned to my cabin I re-centered myself and contemplated Christ’s Baptism and after dinner I spent my final prayer hour contemplating His resurrection, when He tells Mary Magdalene that He is ascending to His Father and her Father…

    During the contemplation of Finding Christ in the Temple, I realized that Jesus, too, lost St. Joseph at a young age. How young we’ll never know, but it happened. I began to understand that since I am called to live the life of Christ, I will share in all of His joys, yes, but in all of His suffering as well. I was so consoled by this reminder because not only did I realize that Christ understood what I was going through, but He was with me through, with and in it. I also realized that it was not so much my father that was separating himself from me, but rather that my Father in Heaven was drawing me closer to Himself, which means that there will be people in my life that I will experience a growing distance from. While it is still a painful reality to let go of my father, to know that this is all God’s action comforts me tremendously. These were two of the graces I received on this retreat that I feel could be helpful to just about everyone (at least, I hope so!). Remember that you, too, are living the life of Christ and will at times share in His suffering; never forget that He is right there alongside you! Also remember that as you grow closer to God you may find a distance growing between you and some of the people in your life, even people that mean a great deal to you. Do not be afraid! 

    These realizations fed directly into the following contemplations, reminding me that God has chosen me as His son at my baptism and that He loves me (me?!?!?) and likewise if I share in Christ’s suffering and I am yet faithful, I will also share in His rising (I cannot wait!). 

    One would think these graces were enough to tide me over for quite some time. But, as we often discover, God never doles out His grace in amounts considered “good enough;” He is always over doing things. That night I dedicated the last hours of my day to what is called a “triple colloquy.” You enter into it first seeking a particular favor of God. Then you imagine the place where you will first approach Our Lady and talk the matter over with her. Then when you have, with her loving help, sorted things out the both of you go to Christ and converse with each other regarding the same matter. It is, believe me, such a grace to have His mother there with you; especially since you are basically telling Jesus “I have no wine” and His mother can give Him the eye and say, “Remember Cana? Help this one, too!” Finally, when you have had a fine conversation with Christ, the three of you go and talk to the Father. It is a prayer form that was gifted to the Church through St. Ignatius of Loyola and is used frequently throughout the Spiritual Exercises. I remember them being so fruitful when I made that retreat so I decided this time, on my very little retreat, to give it another try.

    This is where God particularly outdid Himself.

     

    NOTE: So apparently the pictures are crooked/don’t match with the words like they did when I was writing the post. But you are smart!

  • Abba

    (Thank you all for your previous feedback; I hope that this story proves to be helpful and healing for everyone. I try very hard to not blog too much about myself, but if something occurring in my life might prove spiritually beneficial for others, I will make an exception. I hope this is one…)

     PART ONE

    First I must go into some background.

    While I was growing up, it was my father who was the one from whom I learned all of my most basic beliefs, especially regarding religion and morality. He taught me how to be a man, how to make tough decisions, how to stand firm for what I believed in. So, keep this in mind.

    In February of 2010 I was praying and thinking about how in the future I will be called “father.” Even now when I am wearing my Roman collar, many people address me as “father” because, well, I look like one. While I am quick to explain, deep inside of me whenever someone calls me “father” I am so humbled…already I realize that while I am not technically a father yet, already God is cultivating inside of me a fatherly heart, and even moreso He has already brought several spiritual daughters into my life, most of whom who are younger than me or around the same age, a few of whom are many years my senior. Yet I feel as though a father to them, and they often look to me for such support. So humbling; who am I to receive such trust from them, or from God for that matter?

    As I took all of this to prayer I asked God to teach me how to be a good father for His many children. Holding onto that prayer it struck me that a man learns to be a father from his own father; in other words, from first being a son. In order to learn to be a father, a son must permit himself to be fathered, to be raised and taught, disciplined and loved. If I desire to love God’s children as He loves them, I must lend myself to being taught by Him to be such a Father, and thus I must lend myself first and foremost to being His son. This realization hit my like a ton of bricks, and my whole world turned upside down.

    You see, as a Jesuit and even a little before I entered religious life, my image of Christ was that of a King and my relationship with Him was one of service. What I felt so deeply called to in this experience of prayer was to cast aside my armor and enter that special place where Christ normally stands, not that I would suddenly become King but that I would enter into that special school where God the Father is the teacher and I am more and more made to resemble Jesus Christ (really the goal of every Christian!). And so my relationship with Christ, my whole way of praying, simply would not do. Christ did not desire me to be a servant any longer, but very much a friend and a brother, and not in a kind of soldier-comrade kind of way. A blood brother, a baby brother of sorts, heir to the same upbringing as He received. In the months following that experience I experienced a long stretch of frustrating, dry prayer. I had a very difficult summer as a hospital chaplain, and while my interactions with patients were for the most part wonderful (some were utterly life-changing), prayer was pretty much impossible. I knew God was out there, but where was my Father? So I just kept forging ahead as best I could figure how. Once in a while something would click and I’d get the sense that I was still on the right track, but it seemed like the dry spell would never end.

    Meanwhile my father (here on earth) was experiencing some changes in his own life which did not concern me too much at all; really I was pretty indifferent.

    Then just before Christmas I received a phone call from my sister, who was very upset. She shared with me that she’d had a discussion with my father and discovered some things about him that seemed completely contrary to the man who raised us. We were both totally heartbroken, and as I hung up the phone I felt this gaping sinkhole forming in my heart. However I wanted to give my father the benefit of the doubt; I did not want to judge or condemn him just yet. Over Christmas Break this past January, however, all doubt was dispelled and I indeed had to come to terms with the fact that I nolonger knew the man and that it was time to mourn the father I once knew, in the hopes of having space in my heart to learn who he had chosen to be now. I felt very much orphaned.

    But college life waits for no man and especially would not wait for a mere pseudo-funeral! Classes began and I did my best to get right back into them. Constantly, however, I was thinking about my father and the decisions he had been making, mourning quietly in my heart and in prayer for the “loss” I was feeling and wondering what I was to do. I updated my superior about everything and at the end of our meeting he recommended that I look into possibly going on retreat for a couple of days during Spring Break just to rest and to take all these things to a deeper time of prayer. I was more than happy to oblige.

    I had no idea that two days alone in this little shack…

    …would change my life forever.

     

    Part Two coming soon! (In case y’all thought this was all there was; there is much more!)

  • Wondering

    Hello my Xanga brothers and sisters!

    So I have a free moment to blog more than merely a copy-paste of something wonderful. Yet I’m afraid that I will likely leave you unsatisfied with this as well since I have more of a question as opposed to anything profound to share, though I hope that this entry is merely the antechamber to an actual post.

    I was considering writing about the retreat I went on recently but I became very hesitant. Why? I am concerned that were I to share about it, some of those who read of it might be disheartened because they have not had similar experiences of prayer, or think they see a person for whom prayer comes easily, etc. Basically I’m concerned that though I would share simply for the sake of sharing and in the hopes that my own experiences would encourage others in their own spiritual pilgrimage toward Heaven, others might become disheartened or maybe a bit envious. I would be heartbroken if such sharing led to the further hurt and sense of abandon someone might be experiencing out there. 

    I also realize that by even bringing this up your curiosity is likely frothing at the mouth. I remember back in 2007 I posted the journal I kept during the Spiritual Exercises and while I’ve considered taking those posts down for the above concern and also because many of those thoughts and insights have since matured a great deal (praise God!), they have yet proven to be of help to many. But before I add anything like them, I thought I would get a sense of what you all think.

    So what do you think about people sharing personal, life-changing experiences of God? Have you ever read such accounts and felt even more neglected by God, less special, less blessed, etc.? Do you think that such experiences are private gifts and are not meant to be shared abroad, should be shared or does it depend? 

  • Retreat…

    Hello all my brothers and sisters, 

    I will be on retreat starting tomorrow morning and will not be checking my email, Xanga or anything else until Sunday evening. Please know that I am praying for all of you. Have a very blessed weekend!

    Two full days.

    Hermitage in the woods.

    Complete silence.

    Prayer.

    Rest.

    I.

    Can’t.

    Wait…

  • Something Edifying for the First Sunday of Lent

    No secret here; I love J.R.R. Tolkien. I was an instantaneous fan of the recent films, which eventually inspired me to read the books two summers ago. I tried reading them in high school but I could never finish Fellowship of the Ring. I then felt a powerful tug to read them again when I was doing the Spiritual Exercises during my novitiate, and I had a difficult time not thinking about Aragorn while contemplating the Call of Christ the King!

    When I finally did read the novels my heart just melted; they are so beautiful. I realized that God knew that words like Tolkien’s would touch my heart deeply, and so I think He gently maneuvered my life around so that I would not read them in their entirety until I came to appreciate something else first: my Catholic faith. Once I had begun to understand the work of God throughout history, began to know Christ and to know His Blessed Mother, began to love the Eucharist, the Church and everything else I think my heart was ready and open to the whole depth of Tolkien’s story. I was hardly surprised at all, then, when I discovered that he was a devout Catholic with a very, very deep devotion to Mary and the Blessed Sacrament (Galadriel and lembas, anyone?). The story takes on a whole new richness and relevance for me now that I am reading them with the same “eyes” with which Tolkien wrote them in the first place!

    All that being said, I recently checked out a book of his collected letters and read one that was both beautiful and heartbreaking. He is writing to his son, Michael, who among many things is really struggling with his faith. Tolkien, now a very old man, tries to encourage his son but also shares his own regrets where he feels he failed as a father and as a Catholic. Here are some sections of that letter for your enjoyment, contemplation and edification.

    “You speak of ‘sagging faith’, however. That is quite another matter: In the last resort faith is an
    act of will, inspired by love. Our love may be chilled and our will eroded by the spectacle of the
    shortcomings, folly, and even sins of the Church and its ministers, but I do not think that one who
    has once had faith goes back over the line for these reasons (least of all anyone with any historical 

    knowledge). ‘Scandal’ at most is an occasion of temptation – as indecency is to lust, which it does

    not make but arouses. It is convenient because it tends to turn our eyes away from ourselves and our
    own faults to find a scape-goat. But the act of will of faith is not a single moment of final decision :
    it is a permanent indefinitely repeated act > state which must go on – so we pray for ‘final
    perseverance’. The temptation to ‘unbelief (which really means rejection of Our Lord and His
    claims) is always there within us. Part of us longs to find an excuse for it outside us. The stronger
    the inner temptation the more readily and severely shall we be ‘scandalized’ by others. I think I am
    as sensitive as you (or any other Christian) to the ‘scandals’, both of clergy and laity. I have suffered
    grievously in my life from stupid, tired, dimmed, and even bad priests; but I now know enough
    about myself to be aware that I should not leave the Church (which for me would mean leaving the
    allegiance of Our Lord) for any such reasons: I should leave because I did not believe, and should
    not believe any more, even if I had never met any one in orders who was not both wise and saintly.
    I should deny the Blessed Sacrament, that is: call Our Lord a fraud to His face.

    If He is a fraud and the Gospels fraudulent – that is : garbled accounts of a demented
    megalomaniac (which is the only alternative), then of course the spectacle exhibited by the Church
    (in the sense of clergy) in history and today is simply evidence of a gigantic fraud. If not, however,
    then this spectacle is alas! only what was to be expected: it began before the first Easter, and it does
    not affect faith at all – except that we may and should be deeply grieved. But we should grieve on
    our Lord’s behalf and for Him, associating ourselves with the scandalizers not with the saints, not
    crying out that we cannot ‘take’ Judas Iscariot, or even the absurd & cowardly Simon Peter, or the
    silly women like James’ mother, trying to push her sons.

    It takes a fantastic will to unbelief to suppose that Jesus never really ‘happened’, and more to
    suppose that he did not say the things recorded of him – so incapable of being ‘invented’ by anyone
    in the world at that time : such as ‘before Abraham came to be l am’ (John viii). ‘He that hath seen
    me hath seen the Father’ (John ix); or the promulgation of the Blessed Sacrament in John v: ‘He that
    eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood hath eternal life’. We must therefore either believe in Him
    and in what he said and take the consequences; or reject him and take the consequences. I find it for
    myself difficult to believe that anyone who has ever been to Communion, even once, with at least
    right intention, can ever again reject Him without grave blame. (However, He alone knows each
    unique soul and its circumstances.)

    The only cure for sagging of fainting faith is Communion. Though always Itself, perfect and
    complete and inviolate, the Blessed Sacrament does not operate completely and once for all in any
    of us. Like the act of Faith it must be continuous and grow by exercise. Frequency is of the highest
    effect. Seven times a week is more nourishing than seven times at intervals. Also I can recommend
    this as an exercise (alas! only too easy to find opportunity for): make your communion in
    circumstances that affront your taste. Choose a snuffling or gabbling priest or a proud and vulgar
    friar; and a church full of the usual bourgeois crowd, ill-behaved children – from those who yell to
    those products of Catholic schools who the moment the tabernacle is opened sit back and yawn –
    open necked and dirty youths, women in trousers and often with hair both unkempt and uncovered.
    Go to Communion with them (and pray for them). It will be just the same (or better than that) as a
    mass said beautifully by a visibly holy man, and shared by a few devout and decorous people. (It
    could not be worse than the mess of the feeding of the Five Thousand – after which [Our] Lord
    propounded the feeding that was to come.)

    I myself am convinced by the Petrine claims, nor looking around the world does there seem
    much doubt which (if Christianity is true) is the True Church, the temple of the Spirit dying but 

    living, corrupt but holy, self-reforming and rearising. But for me that Church of which the Pope is
    the acknowledged head on earth has as chief claim that it is the one that has (and still does) ever
    defended the Blessed Sacrament, and given it most honour, and put it (as Christ plainly intended) in
    the prime place. ‘Feed my sheep’ was His last charge to St Peter; and since His words are always
    first to be understood literally, I suppose them to refer primarily to the Bread of Life. It was against
    this that the W. European revolt (or Reformation) was really launched – ‘the blasphemous fable of
    the Mass’ – and faith/works a mere red herring. I suppose the greatest reform of our time was that
    carried out by St Pius X: surpassing anything, however needed, that the Council will achieve. I wonder what state the Church would now be but for it.

    This is rather an alarming and rambling disquisition to write! It is not meant to be a sermon! I
    have no doubt that you know as much and more. I am an ignorant man, but also a lonely one. And I
    take the opportunity of a talk, which I am sure I should now never take by word of mouth. But, of
    course, I live in anxiety concerning my children: who in this harder crueller and more mocking
    world into which I have survived must suffer more assaults than I have. But I am one who came up
    out of Egypt, and pray God none of my seed shall return thither. I witnessed (half-comprehending)
    the heroic sufferings and early death in extreme poverty of my mother who brought me into the
    Church; and received the astonishing charity of Francis Morgan.

    But I fell in love with the Blessed Sacrament from the beginning – and by the mercy of God never have fallen out again: but alas! I
    indeed did not live up to it. I brought you all up ill and talked to you too little. Out of wickedness
    and sloth I almost ceased to practise my religion – especially at Leeds, and at 22 Northmoor Road.
    Not for me the Hound of Heaven, but the never-ceasing silent appeal of Tabernacle, and the sense
    of starving hunger. I regret those days bitterly (and suffer for them with such patience as I can be
    given); most of all because I failed as a father. Now I pray for you all, unceasingly, that the Healer
    (the Hælend as the Saviour was usually called in Old English) shall heal my defects, and that none
    of you shall ever cease to cry Benedictus qui venit in nomme Domini.”

     
    Anyways, I thought it good, fatherly advice for Lent. God bless you all! Sorry if the formatting is a bit off; I was copying and pasting from a .pdf!