Monthly Archives: September 2018

Sep112018

An artist unfolding through faith

Thus wrapped in thought, he found himself at his own door, without remembering the road he had taken, and as soon as he was in his room, his whole soul dilated and burst forth. He desired to thank, to call for mercy, to appeal to someone, he knew not whom, to complain of he knew not what. All at once the need of pouring himself forth, of going out of himself, took shape, and he fell on his knees saying to Our Lady,

“Have pity on me, and hear me; I would rather anything than continue this shaken existence, these idle stages without an aim. Pardon me, Holy Virgin, unclean as I am, for I have no courage for the battle. Ah, wouldest thou grant my prayer! I know well that I am over bold in daring to ask, since I am not even resolved to turn out my soul, to empty it like a bucket of filth, to strike it on the bottom, that the lees may trickle out and the scales fall off, but…but…thou knowest I am so weak, so little sure of myself, that in truth I shrink.

“Oh, all the same I would desire to flee away, a thousand miles from Paris, I know not where into a cloister. My God! Yet this is very madness that I speak, for I could not stay two days in a convent; nor indeed would they take me in.”

Then he thought—

“Though this once I am less dry, less unclean than is my wont, I can find nothing to say to Our Lady but insanities and follies, when it would be so simple to ask her pardon, to beg her to have pity on my desolate life, to aid me to resist the demands of my vices, not to pay as I do the royalties on my nerves, the tax on my senses.

“All the same,” he said, rising, “enough of this, I will at least do what little I can; without more delay I will go to the abbe tomorrow. I will explain the struggle of my soul, and we will see what happens afterwards.” —J.K. Huysmans ‘En Route’

A selction from New Advent: Catholic Encyclopedia on J.K. Huysmans

Both before and after his conversion he was a realist. All his art consisted in rendering clearly details that he had seen and noted down. His pictures of poor people, his sketches of old Paris and particularly of Bièvre, as well as his descriptions of big crowds and scenes at Lourdes, are most vivid and picturesque. Of Dutch origin, he shows in his works the temperament of a great colourist and suggests the paintings by Rembrandt and Rubens. Never did a man have clearer power of vision and never did one take more pleasure in looking and in seeing. One may therefore understand the torture that he felt when during the last days of his life he was afflicted with an affliction of the eyes and it became necessary to sew his eyelids shut. In his piety, he believed that these eyes, with which he had seen so many beautiful things and through which he had received so much pleasure, were taken from him by way of enforcing penitence.

spacer
Sep102018

The Ordinary, Humility, Fortitude, Focus, Transcending

Apparently, no religious life could be more ordinary and more simple than Sister Catherine Laboure. The Saint prayed, submitted and obeyed with no comment. She was indeed, as Pius XII declared at the time of her Beatification: ‘The Saint of silence and of the duties of her state.’

A short time after she had received the Habit, she left the Mother House in the Rue du Bac. Her Superiors had arranged for her to take up her duties in the Hospice for old men at Enghien. She remained there all her life.

Sister Catherine was not daunted by any work, however hard. Severe towards herself, careless of fatigue, she accepted all with the calm of those souls whose peace is rooted in their union with God; even the rebuffs of the old men of the Hospice of whom she had charge for nearly forty years, did not disturb her serenity.

She spoke little, and lived in a state of constant recollection.

She was a soul of prayer, and speaks of it thus:

“When I go to the chapel, I put myself before the good God and say to Him: Lord, here I am, give me what You wish. If He gives me something, I am happy and I thank Him. If He gives me nothing, I thank Him still, because I do not deserve anything more. Then I tell Him all that comes into my mind: I tell Him my sorrows and my joys….and I listen.”  –“The Saint of Silence and the Message of Our Lady” No author credited.

 

spacer
Sep092018

Healing River of the Spirit

Healing river of the Spirit,
bathe the wounds that living brings.
Plunge our pain, our sin, our sadness
deep within your sacred springs.
Weary from the restless searching
that has lured us from your side,
We discover in your presence
peace that world cannot provide.

Wellspring of the healing Spirit,
stream that flows to bring release,
As we gain our selves, our senses,
may our lives reflect your peace.
Grateful for the flood that heals us,
may your church enact your grace.
As we meet both friend and stranger,
may we see our Savior’s face.

Living stream that heals the nations,
make us channels of your power.
All the world is torn by conflict;
wars are raging at this hour.
Saving Spirit, move among us;
guide our winding human course,
Till we find our way together,
flowing homeward to our source.

spacer
Sep082018

Good Time III

A Lake Erie cruise upon the Good Time III, venturing through the Flats upon the Cuyahoga River—my AA connection for the day. I was running late due to lengthy prayers after noon Mass at St Paul Shrine. The prayers are now led by Shirley, an oriental woman exercising a profound contemplative life. We are extending to over an hour and a half a session. Time flies within authentic immersion before the Eucharist. My schedule will change after this week. Unexpectedly, I am scheduled for third shift, starting at 9:00 PM and ending at 7:30 AM, working Sunday through Wednesday. I will have Thursday, Friday, and Saturday off, able to make the Saturday after-Mass Perpetual Adoration prayers routine. Due to the prolonged prayers, I barely made launch for the Good Time III cruise. I was unable to print out or attain a ticket, hoping phone information would be enough to provide entrance. I expressed my concern to the women waiting in line in front of me, three attractively and elegantly dressed elderly African-American women. They were prepared for a good time, excited, and spreading a joyous vibe. Upon hearing my nervous concern, one of them told me to think positive. Another smiled at me, reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a ticket. She told me not to sweat it. She handed me the ticket, explaining a woman in their circle canceled. It made everything easy. Once upon the ship, my isolationist nature took over. I knew no one, my sponsor having to work. None of Paul and his gang were in attendance. I just couldn’t get myself to socialize. Everyone was having so much fun, it was no problem to remain alone, observing the sights, taking photos with my phone. None of the photos were exceptional. Upon boarding the cruise ship, a woman, Mary, introduced herself, shaking my hand. I sat upon the second deck, exposed to the chilly breeze, cherishing the opportunity to contemplate a stormy sky and the breadth of the waters of Lake Erie. The lead spoke on the first floor, yet his words were broadcast to our floor. His message resonated. From nowhere a man approached, extending his hand, asking if I was OK. I smiled and responded “I am fine.” He said, “Your being very quiet.” We comfortably eased into conversation. The man was not in the program. His wife was. It seemed what he really wanted to talk about was his son. His twenty-one-year-old son was released from detox, drugs and alcohol, in August and was now staying at a sober house. He was not satisfied with their communication. His son only asked for money, remaining distant—aloof and mysterious. The man was a retired Willoughby fireman. After lengthy conversation we struck upon Catholicism. He and his wife were devoted to the Latin Mass, active with a Church in Bedford, St Pius X, that day coming from a Latin Mass at Immaculate Conception near St Paul Shrine. Departing the cruise, we met up with his wife. It was Mary, the woman who shook my hand. Then a moment, or two, startled. Lonnie, the conversationalist retired fireman, said to his wife, “You were right. He is Catholic.” Mary smiled at me, informing me she sent her husband over to talk with me. She did not like me sitting alone. Moments come, and moments go. Within their passing Lord, may I always comprehend Your call to eternal peace.

The close-up on the phone-camera could not pull off an auto-focus on the Cleveland downtown skyline. The produced image I found enticing; Impressionistic, accurate in the depiction of light and the hinting of things enigmatic.

Sky, water, and land.

Sky, water, and a runway.

Cuyahoga

 

spacer
Sep072018

Friday reflecting

I have a new abode, a home, providing comfort and peace. The presence of the church surrounding is astounding. St Charles Borromeo, Perpetual Adoration chapel included, is approximately a mile southwest. St Charles conducts morning and evening Masses, functionally allowing Daily Mass to be an easy endeavor. To the east is the Jesuit Retreat House, less than a quarter mile away, attractively presenting walking paths for prayer and exercise. Their schedule of events, religious conferences and gatherings, offers interesting opportunities for exploring Catholicism. I intend a visit soon regarding a spiritual director. Within a block is St Josaphat, a Ukrainian Catholic Church. My first weekend residing, the church held a weekend festival; parades, music, and feasting celebrating faith and heritage. Architecturally, the church is imposing and majestic. To continue the mile surrounding of churches, directly to the west, off West 54th Street, is another Eastern Catholic Church, Holy Spirit, a Byzantine church catering to Carpathian Mountain cultures. To the south is St Paul Shrine, an easy driving excursion with connecting highways allowing a simple trip. I remember once, Father David Mary talking about a Polish Bishop, I believe—I could be wrong, yet the idea that the first thing the ecclesiastic would do in regard to spiritually fortifying an urban area was to establish a monastery to the north, south, east, and west of the city, surrounding the city with cloistered religious men and women devoted to prayer. Beyond the religious life, I have centered my life of recovery within Alcoholics Anonymous. My social life has expanded to a group of men who once assisted. The companionship, fellowship, is more than nice. It is necessary, fundamental for a life based upon sharing. For the first time in my life, it comes natural. The realization I cannot do this alone is concrete in a way it has never been before. I have also established a one-on-one relationship with a man who is taking me through the Big Book. Tonight, I ventured to a Big Book meeting, mostly young men attending. Being complex as I am, I initially found the maturity level of the young men annoying. I settled into peace as they determined to read chapter 3, More About Alcoholism. I had just read the chapter the previous night. The exercise proved profound as I assumed an attitude of relating rather than comparing. I comprehended there was purpose to reading the chapter two days in a row. Amongst the reality of powerlessness, a lack of power, the concentration upon the first drink and the fact self-knowledge—for that fact nothing done alone, including faith—would ever allow me to stay sober. Left to my own devices, no matter how well intended I was, sobriety would never be maintained if I remained isolated and unattending to the root causes of a lifetime of alcoholism. No matter how much I loved God, I had to do what needed to be done. I could not be a baby suckling on the breast of God, an immature being unable to remove himself from hiding from the world, devoted to God not as a psychologically sound adult, rather a broken individual afraid and unknowing how to become happy, joyous and free. The desire overwhelms to become the man God always intended me to be. His love and mercy which knows no bounds must become the inspiration for a life of unraveling, a social life of fellowship and healing. It is a we endeavor. Alone, I can do nothing. In unhealthy solitude, I will eventually kill myself. Dramatic words, yet it is a horrible fact. I do not feel like writing anymore. One more thing, I intended to touch upon. My employment is advancing me into management. I am convinced it is God demanding that I apply myself, to become active, responsible, and accountable. I need His help, yet I am confident. The running, hiding, and fear must become the ways of a life overcome. God is creating a new man. I am willing, surrendering to His demands.  Tomorrow is a new day, a day I will enjoy a cruise on Lake Erie and the Cuyahoga River with members of AA.

St Josaphat, Ukranian Catholic Church, a neighbor.

spacer
Sep062018

Echoes

a poem by Christine Rossetti

Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.

Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again tho’ cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low,
As long ago, my love, how long ago.

spacer
Sep052018

Previous Sunday readings condensed

…hear the statutes and decrees…which I am teaching you to observe, that you may live…you shall not add to what I command you nor subtract from it, Observe them carefully, for thus will you give evidence of your wisdom and intelligence…truly a wise and intelligent people.’  –Deuteronomy chapter 4

Dearest brothers and sisters: All good giving and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no alteration or shadow caused by change. He willed to give us birth by the word of truth that we may be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures.

Humbly welcome the word that has been planted in you and is able to save your souls.

Be doers of the word and not hearers only, deluding yourselves…. —James chapter 1

…This people honors me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me;
in vain do they worship me,
teaching as doctrines human precepts.
You disregard God’s commandment but cling to human tradition.”

He summoned the crowd again and said to them,
“Hear me, all of you, and understand.
Nothing that enters one from outside can defile that person;
but the things that come out from within are what defile.

“From within people, from their hearts,
come evil thoughts, unchastity, theft, murder,
adultery, greed, malice, deceit,
licentiousness, envy, blasphemy, arrogance, folly.
All these evils come from within and they defile.”

Gospel of Mark chapter 7

spacer