Monthly Archives: December 2015

Dec062015

Sunday fellowship, a source of furthering recovery

An incredible post-mass coffee and donuts today. I was speaking with Mary, entertaining Keith, an intelligent young man I speak with randomly after Sunday mass when two couples moved to the table. Keith offered them his seat. Mary was occupying my full attention so I was unable to greet properly as the four sat down as one. I will state that St Paul Shrine has proved to be a spiritual home. The people presenting themselves are closely examined as to why God is placing them in my life. The couples–first let’s be clear it was wonderful to socialize with married people, husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, leaders of healthy Catholic families–I have noticed attending Sunday mass quite regularly. The woman are quite attractive marking them easily for attention. The one gentleman immediately poured himself out to me, obviously a strong articulate working man of a humble disposition. It turns out he is an executive with a crane company doing business with my employer. He knew my boss by name. The conversation progressed incredibly smooth, the natural talk, soothing to the religious experience of mass. I knew instantly I was amongst adult company, proud to engage. The table flowed with conversation. Humbly and forthright, I felt the need to tell the woman to my immediate right about my Hospice volunteering efforts. I was a bit uncomfortable, yet I followed the urging of the Holy Spirit. I was avoiding speaking directly to the woman as I found her extremely beautiful, difficult not to look at her and be overwhelmed by her beauty. Once male bonding was soundly established with the husbands, I directly addressed the woman, slightly away from the main conversation, while not excluding others. She absorbed everything I said looking closely at me, fully present to my words, yet not responding. Matters continued and the woman disappeared speaking with the extern sisters in the gift shop. I commented to the woman’s husband that I forgot my Rosaries, desiring to go before the Eucharist and pray, yet possessed no beads. He insisted that I allow him to run out to his car and retrieve a Rosary. I tried to prevent him, yet his determination to please me forced me to comprehend it was an opportunity for him to bless me with a personal favor. It is important to be a generous receiver as well as a giver. Parting, he told me his wife’s extreme devotion to the Rosary, her association with Jan Marie and the Tilma bookstore in Berea, his wife being a founder and leader of a Rosary group in East Cleveland, active in the promotion of praying the Rosary. In his absence, his wife sat down, directly speaking to me. She heard none of her husband’s words, the fact they were working on me as a team, conjoined while unaware. Speaking with purpose, I knew the woman had discerned precisely regarding her approach, telling me of the importance of St Paul Shrine in her life, her marriage being conducting there. My mission with Hospice became forefront. It turns out the woman and her husband are highly involved with the Cleveland Clinic serving as ministers. The woman was a long-time volunteer for the Hospice of the Western Reserve. She said many things, coming to the bottom line that she felt there was a reason we meet specific people and that her and her husband would be looking for me during the Advent season. I am not sure regarding the future, praying for grace regarding patience and understanding, although I feel so spiritually satisfied to have spent such lengthy time with mature adults on the natural and spiritual level, comprehending God introduced something inspiring. Walking away from the encounter, another table called me over, proving just as marvelous. A woman I invited to lunch months and months ago, leaving me with the response her and her husband would love to have lunch with me insisted I sit and speak with her. Mary was at the table and my friend John, the retired high school teacher, interesting with his knowledge and adventures as an amateur photographer traveling the world capturing images of holy places, specializing in Spanish and French monasteries, as well as a fourth, the professional operatic singer Jason who performs during Sunday mass. The woman, Cuban by birth overwhelmed me with conversation, dissecting my mind, while supplying a splendid view into hers. She is an amazing highly educated woman married to an amazing doctor, doing so much social and service work I cannot even begin to describe. The woman and I spoke easily and freely. She talked about ministering to one another, being a brother and sister to one another. She parted with words she never had a brother before and maybe she will take special interest in me. Truthfully, she embarrassed me. I do not see why she was showering me with such attention. I loved her cultured talk though: classic music, poetry, museums, saints, and religious orders, all expressed with complete humility. I was not the only one receiving her attention as the single Jason, a Taiwanese by birth, she also tendered to, implying that Jason and I should become friends, doing things together. We both chuckled, yet I feel we both thought she presented an interesting idea. All in God’s hands, for still out their implanting himself within my spiritual life is Chris. After all this healthy fellowship, I felt warm, overwhelmed a bit, startled by the presence of the Holy Spirit, so I sheepishly walked over to Sister Clare Marie telling her how wonderful coffee and donuts were today. I realized it was like being home, seeking out my sister in order to sort out a social gather transpiring within our home. She smiled, supporting and cleaning up the donuts I furnished. Delivering the donuts in the morning, a quick meeting with Mother superior graced, the presence of the Poor Clares bolstering my life, invigorating my spirit with familial love and nourishment. It is good to have a spiritual home. And in parting, everything comes together in silence and stillness, the Eucharist radiating, a Rosary recited before the immensity of life and eternity.

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Dec062015

Vessels

Vessels

A photo of the vessels that have become symbolically important to the deepening of my Advent season. I find it ironic that as they became prominent in meditation a noisy man who wins my heart, Tony, a man of a genuine heart, asked during lunch ‘what is the idea behind the vessels?’ I would also like to point out there are four of the vessels, two on each side of the tabernacle. In a post, I described three. In reflection, I imagined there were three. I enjoy being wrong. It is good for the spirit to humbly accept a mistake. Even looking at the photo, I can feel grace pouring forth from the spilling vessel, the other standing, containing proud.

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Dec062015

Mary, present, silently forming

‘By her action Mary enters therefore into our lives as bearer of the Divine. In the whole course of our lives, from the cradle and before it to the grave and beyond it, there is nothing of grace in which she had no part.  She shapes us to the likeness of Jesus.  She leaves her mark on everything and adds to the perfection of what passes through her hands.  I have said that we are sustained by her prayer: we are similarly sustained by her action and, if one may say it, have our spiritual being in her hands.  Every Christian is a child of Mary, but a child is not worthy of the name unless it is formed by its mother.’  Father Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange

velut-rosa

Advent Antiphons

From Mary’s sweet silence
Come, Word mutely spoken!

Pledge of our real life,
Come, Bread yet unbroken!

Seed of the Golden Wheat,
In us be sown.

Fullness of true Light,
Through us be known.

Secret held tenderly,
Guarded with Love,

Cradled in purity,
Child of the Dove,

COME

*          *          *          *          *         *

Sister M. Charlita Order of the Immaculate Heart of Mary

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Dec052015

St Teresa of Avila’s prayer of quiet

In sweet quiet….”the will alone is captivated” by the living light that manifests the sweet presence of God in us and His goodness. At this moment the gift of piety, which is in the will itself, disposes it to an entirely filial affection toward God…..We experience the greatest peace, calm, and sweetness in the inmost depths of our being….The whole physical part of our nature shares in this delight and sweetness….Then, says St. Teresa, the will should “take no more notice of the understanding (or imagination) than it would of an idiot.”

This sweet quiet, called also the prayer of divine tastes or of silence, is, moreover, often interrupted by the aridities and trials of the night of the senses, by temptations which oblige the soul to a salutary reaction. The effects of the prayer of quiet are greater virtue, especially greater love of God and ineffable peace, at least in the higher part of the soul.
The prayer of quiet described by St. Teresa in the fourth mansion has three distinct phases: (1) passive recollection, which is a sweet and loving absorption of the will in God by a special grace; (2) quiet, properly so called, in which the will is captivated by God, whether it remains silent or prays with a sort of spiritual transport; (3) the sleep of the powers, when, the will remaining captive, the understanding ceases to discourse and is itself seized by God, although the imagination and the memory continue to be disturbed.

The conduct to be observed in the prayer of quiet is that of humble abandonment in the hands of God. No effort should be made to place oneself in this state, which can come only from a special grace of the Holy Ghost, who at times inclines the soul to a loving silence, at others to affections which gush forth as from a spring. If the understanding and imagination wander, the soul must not be disturbed about it, or go in search of them; the will should remain and enjoy the favor it receives, like a wise bee in the depths of its retreat. –Father Reginald Garrigou-LaGrange

I would like to focus on prayer. The writing of Father Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange on Teresa of Avila’s prayer of quiet fits in nicely with my rambling imagination during prayer today. My prayer life has taken a bit of a hit as I took to the life of a teenager, occupying my time with lunches and socializing after mass, talking about the spiritual life and having fun becoming a focus. I do not see the spiritual life as entertainment, a source of socializing and amusement. There is joy, yet something solemn, serious, and mature; a strict prayer life demanded if one has been called to an advanced life. It is not a matter of superiority rather a chore, accountability a severity. If one is to advance it is not through conversation. I embrace fellowship, loving brother and sister, yet spiritually I am a mature Contemplative, working hard at my vocation. My spiritual life is not lived out in the life of others. I am detached from having others hear my religious thoughts and opinions. There are few I find who nurture through conversation. I have been enjoying a wonderful balancing of devout worship and fellowship at St Paul Shrine. After mass and adoration, I have been sitting with the extern sisters watching religious movies in the lobby, ‘The Reluctant Saint’ the latest. There have been numerous wonderful healthy individuals sharing the joy of the season, while also touching on the passing of Roger. It all comes together to heighten and deepen faith, hope, and charity. I understand the last frontal assault by Satan was conducted due to my opening of myself to a life of chatter, shallowness, and mediocrity. During the completion of Advent, I determinedly intend to return to a spiritual life of prayer. I will not give my Advent season away to fickleness and a lack of direction and the boredom of others. I am not playing at life. I interpret my week of no Hospice activity as a serious breach in my spiritual life. I wandered into frivolity and nonsense.

My thoughts driving to work, reflecting upon the Holy Hour, centered upon an extensive interior cave, marveling at the wonder of the Rosary and other prayers to create a centering for my imagination and memory, occupying the two with activity, interior stillness created. Ironically, the words are the essence of a quieting, their manifestations an eliminating, their repetition and holiness soothing, their guidance a sheltering and protection, their reality a transcendence of concepts and intellectualizing, their exercising a revealing of faith, hope, and charity–a sublime adoration and trust in God.  Symbolically, thy are Mary taking me behind the hand, guiding me to the Trinity. This is important for those developing a prayer life, a description of what to aspire toward. Take in the commentary of Father Reginald on St Teresa of Avila’s prayer of quiet above, reread the words two or three times, than consider what I am describing closely. It is merely descriptive, nothing to be learned, a predilection pointed toward, practice the mastering, the fulfilling absolutely divine: God, the Creator, exercising Divine Will. Before the Eucharist, the verbal prayer becomes only a part of consciousness, something greater exist, an interior space created, surrounding and enveloping the mental reciting of words. My being, individual consciousness is beyond the silent or spoken verbal words. The Eucharist fills. The Eucharist becomes forefront and center, tangible and effervescent. It is why I am absolutely enamored with the vessels the sisters have decorated the altar with, a filling artistically and beautifully represented, interior emptiness and space symbolically identified. I have been trying to get a photo of the purple vessels, yet complications have arisen the past two days. Today, I will get one. Let’s review, sitting still before the Eucharist, comfortable, no stirring, holding a single position, I recite Rosaries, prayerfully mouthing the words, the instinctual and practiced words flowing forward, roses tossed at the feet of the Immaculate Mary. Yet now something greater emerges. There is space, emptiness surrounding the interiorly sounded words. Once again, the prayed words are only a backdrop, sounds within a cave, echoing, bouncing around consciousness before falling at the feet of Mary. As the space surrounding the words becomes larger, ever moving outward it becomes obvious a cave, which once seemed the proper interpretation by the imagination, is no longer defining. Everything is greater. The emptiness is expansive, unable to be filled by my being. Everything goes on and on and on. Everything progresses slowly, motion imperceptible. Sensual perception, acute attention, is turned off, highly aware, open and effective nothing is beholden. Vision blurs, things coming and going in focus. The Eucharist is held firm in sight, gazed upon, quieted by the words of the Rosary. The words of the Rosary are only a part, emptiness envelopes the words. Beads held and passing through fingers, rolled circular round tips, are rhythmically stimulating, slow in advancing. The Cross, the Crucifixion, the head of the Rosary beads is grasped firmly in the other hand, held steady and strong–the death of Jesus prominent and proud, his sacrifice soothing digging into the palm, the cross squeezed extreme during moments of fleshly irritation. It is the best I can do in honoring and calling out to the Queen of Heaven, while the presence of her Divine Son, the Eucharist hovers in magnificence, omnipotence and omnipresence granted their undefinable glorious grandeur within simplicity as an edible Host. More defining to Mary is the space she is elevated within. Mary, Queen of Heaven, is who she is by all that surrounds her. The space within being filled by the Eucharist, the expanding dimensions existing within my being, a flowing out of myself occurs with the filling of myself by the Eucharist, unification is hinted at yet seems far out of reach, a future to come. I know I am called to be here, right now at this moment, sitting at St Paul Shrine, adoring the Eucharist.  Calm joy arouses the interior expansion, the word rapture enticing, yet it sounds too dramatic, there is no drama involved. God loses all proportion and identity during infusion, everything is being swallowed by the emptiness, a roar silently bellowing, words of prayer ceased, complete, everything moving outward, a beckoning on into……

saint-teresa-of-avila

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Dec042015

Tangible

Physicality
The celebration of mass
Five senses alert

Abandonment now
Careening serene worship
Heartbeat tuned silent

Focus acute time
Vessels altar reposing
Emptiness filling

Standing and kneeling
Refined breathing immersion
The mind undisturbed

Images singing
Ascending the incense burning
Taste the Host Divine

I have always been intrigued by the physical nature of mass, experiencing a sensuality to Catholic worship.  A delightful experience of corporeal arousal.  It is never better then when olfactory participation includes a head full of incense.  The smell of the burning accentuating consciousness, coalescing with the sounds, sights, and participation of an individual within the body of the Church, the tabernacle forefront, lording supreme.  It is metaphysical and transcending.  St Paul Shrine has added another dimension, one multiplying through attending.  Singing with the Poor Clares, tuning myself with their voices, absorbing myself within their consecrated life quiets my mind, opens me to grace, the Holy Spirit caressing so smooth.   Bonding, the sisters have become blissful in sharing, human interaction of sublime exchange.  Sister Mary Joseph leading hymns and responses, studious in her regard for preciseness, detail oriented in skill and performance.  My prayerful graceful awareness, one-on-one acknowledgement, from one of the Bangladesh sisters.  The past week has been rough, a period I must keep forefront, seeking accusatory while looking in the mirror,  supernatural in terror.  It is obvious where my strength arises: St Paul Shrine a source of wonder and nurturing, the home of the Eucharist standing perpetually.  Yesterday, while sitting and talking softly with the holy woman, mother of fourteen, grandmother of forty-two, joined by a Filipino woman leading Saturday prayers, the thought of the passing of Roger upon Wednesday, silent fellowship, watching ‘Mary of Nazareth’ with the extern sisters—a treasured experience to watch movies with the sisters, Father Roger walking past, smiling and waving, Sister Mary Thomas, the world renowned artist, came feebly walking out into the parlor.  After our one-on-one meeting, the sight of the bent woman, suffering abnormal curvature of the spine, poured graces into my heart, an actual physical delight tickling the hairs of my spine.  A smile today was all we shared.  The exchange of holy people within my life has become profound, appreciated, diving deep during my involvement at St Paul Shrine.  There are others attending.  The last week, I am convinced Satan unleashed a horrid attack, yet I quickly pull forth the wisdom of Dr Nichta: ‘maybe I am right and maybe I am wrong in my conviction, what does it matter?’  It matters in the sense that I must look in the mirror, comprehending I am culpable, contrite in compassion.  My strength comes from St Paul Shrine, the source and summit of my faith on display, I wandered away, allowing chatty conversation based in entertainment, exterior dallying replacing devout practice, distraction, and a shallowness to overtake my attention.  I am to blame.  Satan took advantage, working through a specific individual I care too much for.  It was dangerous and should have never been employed without the intercession of the Church, a direct meeting with Father Roger involved and officiating.  I did not flee from the wrath of Satan even when a blatant sign was given.  St Alphonsus Liguori marked me with the simple direction that one must flee from sin.  I must not think, presumption that my spiritual life has become strong, losing a fear of evil, curious, brave, bored, and seeking satisfaction ruling my better judgement in pursuing that which I should never come near.  St Teresa of Avila, the extraordinary one, writes of those weak in practice, aberrations, corrupt in delusion, authentic only in self-perception and socializing, interiorly a mess, as being weapons for Satan within the church, the means for evil to wage internal warfare through intimate or casual human interaction.  I am convinced Satan made a serious frontal assault under such conditions.  The table was set and he dined ravenously.  This is the second holy season, the previous Lent exact, this individual has wrecked havoc, tainting and soiling to the extreme portions of the year that have been set aside by the Church as devout in concentrated worship.  It is unbelievable, a harsh and penetrating reality of diseased proportion.  The matter must be tendered its proper grave respect, understood for its severity.  I am still exhausted.  I am even going to shut down from looking back, simply content in knowing where my strength exists, aware that I must hold myself accountable.

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Dec032015

Emptiness poured out

Thus from the spiritual point of view, many souls are quickly, even too quickly, satisfied by a very relative perfection, which seems altogether insufficient to others. The latter feel a need for the eminent exercise of charity and of the gifts of the Holy Ghost. Certain very passionate temperaments and extremely vigorous intellects seem to find peace only in a lofty perfection, even that described by St John of the Cross. With still greater reason, this is true of souls which received early in life a superior attraction of grace. They will find rest only after the painful purification, in the transforming union, in which they will no longer be disturbed by the devil, the flesh, and the world. –Father Father Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange ‘Christian Perfection and Contemplation According to St Thomas Aquinas and St John of the Cross’

It is difficult to give Father Lagrange due diligence as life spreads me thin in energy, demanding much, allowing little time for reading. I accept the matter with grateful scrutiny, understanding God is demanding the living of life in order to fully be humbled and healed. Being a contemplative is not mastering knowledge.  I must live the life God presents.  I must be myself fully, a passionate man of seeking, a man going deeper, acceptance essential.  Being open and vulnerable, acquiescing aspirations to the reality of failings, shortcomings softened by an opening to the Holy Spirit, I think of the wonderful earthen vessels painted purple the extern sisters at St Paul Shrine utilize to decorate their altar. Wonderful, colorful, seasonal gold accented, flowing pieces of fabric run down from the high altar, grace descending, water falling, the fabric cascading from both sides of the tabernacle and standing Eucharist, merrily moving past the three earthen vessels. The lower two vessels, positioned lateral, pouring out, emptiness spilling, grace dispensing to the adoring. The highest vessel stands erect, proud in stature, still and filled, the emptiness within defining interior space. The earthen vessels, beautifully shaped, colorful and attractive, are defined majestically by interior emptiness, the lacking being its greatest space. The vessels emptiness containing the potential for filling. I love the imagery during the Advent season, a time of preparation and concentration. It is a blessed time of the year.

Then he brought me back to the door of the temple; and behold, water was issuing from below the threshold of the temple toward the east; and the water was flowing down from below the south end of the threshold of the temple, south of the altar.  Then he brought me out by way of the north gate, and led me round on the outside to the outer gate, that faces toward the east; and the water was coming out on the south side.  Going on eastward with a line in his hand, the man measured a thousand cubits, and then led me through the water; and it was ankle-deep.  Again he measured a thousand, and led me through the water; and it was knee-deep. Again he measured a thousand, and led me through the water; and it was up to the loins.  Again he measured a thousand, and it was a river that I could not pass through, for the water had risen; it was deep enough to swim in, a river that could not be passed through.  And he said to me, “Son of man, have you seen this.” –Ezekiel 47

Going Deeper, by Louise Bass, based on Ezekiel 47

Going Deeper, by Louise Bass, based on Ezekiel 47

Sometimes God asks us to do nothing more, and everything within, to extend ourselves only so we can be crushed on our deepest level, to be hurt so badly everything seems to collapse within us, to understand that the things I want the deepest will never come true, my profoundest loves never allowed to be nourished, to accept the fact we are nothing special, a simple lonely life within a complex wonderful world, a stranger in a strange land, nothing more than a man struggling, never seemingly able to achieve or attain the things I desire, a man of sorrows, even the goodness in life I aspire to being a futile attempt, always running late as a broken man, brokenhearted, beaten on every earthly level. I am a thirsty man diving to deep, my tongue parched, sore and weeping, unable to understand, determined to never cease, life amounting to a severe humbling, a hurt so penetrating it calls and cries out to God with a voice so loud it causes His Son to bleed eternally, the blood of Christ washing away my tears.

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Dec022015

Vocational discernment, pursuing a life of prayer, seeking serenity

Other souls, after struggling for a long time, become discouraged, says St Teresa, when they are within a few steps of the fountain of living water. They fall back and, since without prayer they no longer have the strength to carry the cross, they lapse into a superficial life in which others might perhaps be saved, but in which they run the risk of being lost because their powers will carry them to excesses, if indulged outside of God, would be their ruin. For certain souls of a naturally lofty turn, mediocrity is impossible; either they give themselves wholly to God, or wholly to themselves in opposition to God. They wish to enjoy their ego and their abilities and, as a result, run the risk of setting up self instead of God as their absolute end. The angels can know only ardent charity or unpardonable mortal sin….Angels or devils, very holy or very wicked, for them there is no other alternative. Certain souls have something angelic about them; for them it is very dangerous not to preserve in prayer, or at least to be at prayer only bodily without any act of true love. This amounts to the abandonment of the interior life, perhaps ruin. The saints tell us that, if we are to persevere, we must, first of all, hope in our Lord who calls all devout souls to the living waters of prayer. –Father Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange ‘Christian Perfection and Contemplation According to St Thomas Aquinas and St John of the Cross’

This elaboration on prayer by the immensely intellectual Father Reginald sketches upon an idea I possessed regarding myself, and others of a creative nature. It is either fully in or fully out—no middle ground. The angels are passionately adoring God or they are devils in violent conflict and rebellion against God. It is obvious in the modern chaotic secular world of pop culture, over-sexualization, intellectual selfish exploration, and an overall fantasy life of the imagination that consciousness is being taken to the extreme. I always point to the proliferation of movies and fascination being concentrated upon superheroes, zombies, vampires, and an overall reality devoid of a basis in reality. The simplistic natural life of Christ, a natural life empty of grand endeavors and individual greatness, tenderly introduces the sacrificial supernatural reality of the most sublime and refined transcendence. A simple solitary humble life in acquiescence to the will of God produces the greatest supernatural endeavor. There is no need for superheroes and the fantastic. There is a need to make simple choices between servitude and rebellion.

My line of thinking centers this morning after another rough day at work, experiencing turmoil and inner-frustration. Conclusions are not forthcoming, patience and clarity arising important. Touching upon details, I performed a large task the other day, doing a good job, feeling proud in my effort, only to arrive at work yesterday to find third shift rejected my work, replacing everything I did. I was stunned. This came on top of two of my coworkers exploding in a nearly violent argument, taking everything into our boss’s office and creating an overall disruption of departmental dynamics. This all on top of the fact my ninety day probation period comes to an end in weeks, thus demanding an evaluation and testing of my skills and acumen. Everything is overwhelming and sadly I become even further discouraged when I realize others in the department feed off the chaos, especially the combative state of the two men in verbal conflict. One of the men was sent home for the day as he had become so worked up. My work environment trends toward total absorption. Yet overall, it is not that bad. I comprehend my coworkers like me, respect me, especially my boss. If anything I feel the third shift gentleman, a lurking dominating physical and intelligent man, who keeps following up all my efforts and improving them, writing everything up and the other day taking credit for discovering a problem that has been plaguing a CNC machine that I identified and showed him, conducts the effort because he thinks our boss has his eye on me. He is making the clear statement that he is superior to me in skill and strength of personality. He is really a good man exercising his instinctual need to dominate. I have no problem with the fact, in fact, I must be careful in my reaction because I tend to surrender and beat myself up in conjunction of his efforts of putting me in my place. I am willing to join him in defeating myself.

My overall point concludes with the realization that this is my recovery effort becoming a reality. Ann, remerging, endured a barrage of text messages, experiencing firsthand the turmoil I place upon my back, the instinctual need I have to defeat myself, calling my skills immediately into question. I expressed to her the need to bring peace, harmony, and prayer forefront into my life. She responded with a condemnation for pursuing an easy path, the intellectual concept of the cross and suffering being the mature way. In words and idea, I respect and honor her words, yet also I am moving beyond concepts and intellectualizing, fixating my spiritual life within reality, aspiring for the simple natural life of Christ, becoming a man of prayer. Christ did not accept the cross as a superhero, an intellectual man of ideas choosing and creating his destiny. He was a simple man, a carpenter, the son of Mary and Joseph, a teacher of a small band, working miracles, healing others, while remaining small in worldly stature, surrendering to the will of the Father in a longing of love and desire to establish eternal peace. He made himself small, modest and artless in ideas, telling parables, gently working his ways upon the earth.

This is taking too long, and the Hospice calls, presenting another patient needing tending, leading me directly into my conclusion. Is it spiritually beneficial to give so much of myself to the world through my employment? I am able to enjoy a lucrative paycheck, worldly enticements allowed, or is it more in service to God to pursue a pastoral vocation, allowing my passions to rule.  I cherish and feel invigorated by all my exchanges with Hospice personnel. To be honest, I am not sure. Day by day, I advanced forward in prayer, grateful within the Advent season, seeking the solace of God through daily Mass and the Eucharist, blessed by the reality my soul and life crushing rebellion is dissipated. Small bits of heaven are allowed to mingle with the aftertaste of damnation lingering, a mixing of black and white into a calm shade of grey. It really does not have to be all or nothing. God is good and all giving.

I decided to include a video, a calling this morning to listen to this song over and over, the secular world gracing with inspiration.  No need for Superman, in fact waiting for Superman is rather ridiculous.  And regarding conceptualizing the embracing of the cross, I love the lines: Is it getting heavy?  And then I realize, is it getting heavy?  Well hell, I thought it was already as heavy as can be?  You want to talk of carrying the cross, well hell I thought the weight of the cross has been as heavy as could be this whole time.  One carrying the cross seeks and talks of peace and prayer.  One living a life of distraction and entertainment talks of carrying a cross.

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