A day of worship

God is good and gracious, supplying fellowship and exhausting activity upon the eve of a celebratory retreat week God teach me to relish and live within the moment. A Slovakian Benedictine monastery, blessings, the companionship of those humble in faith, a significant sprouting, the abundance of splendor in simple refrain, a Cathedral, Coventry, Moroccan food, and always St Paul’s centering, the expression of faith, hope, and charity. Sometimes we are given approval for all that we are doing. The Eucharist again pronounced in proclaiming majestically its presence, carrying the offering in mass to a priest awaiting, a friend abiding, others watching, friends amassing, Benedictines offering salutatory words of honor and petitioning–the company of those focused in faith, a Friday date for adoration promised. Brother Mario serious and solid in direction. Brother Louis amiable, courteous and humorous in sharing. Rev. Michael Brunovsky, a Benedictine high school principal, well-versed, articulate, ora et labora, espousing history, a glowing. An abbot, Reverend Gary Hoover, knowing, guiding, smiling and shining brilliance with eyes. The Church is a wonder. Humble in servitude, quiet in preparing, knowing the subtlety of prayers being answered, happy to receive the fortunes of properly alms giving. Some days are better than others. Lord I have so much to offer, please use me. I am Yours, please receive me, gaze upon me, allow me to learn from those who give so much to Your glorious body here upon the earth. Hail to the Catholic Church.

Admirable Saint and Doctor of Humility, you practiced what you taught, assiduously praying for God’s glory and lovingly fulfilling all work for God and the benefit of all human beings. You know the many physical dangers that surround us today often caused or occasioned by human inventions. Guard us against poisoning of the body as well as of mind and soul, and thus be truly a “Blessed” one for us. Amen.

St Benedict medal

The splendors of a youthful Mary. The Pillar of Fire Tabernacle sitting aside, unseen, at St Andrew’s Benedictine monastery

A minimalist Benedictine house of worship, choir stalls a plenty at St Andrews.

St Andrew, a Slovakian saint, as well as his namesake the apostle, blesses the Benedictines.

The prettiest of Slovakian mannequins, history and culture preserved from the wrath of communism.

The most handsome of postulates, a day away from solemn vows. Good luck kind and wise black Irish brother. Carol, you are not still talking to him are you?

Jun252015

Spiritual Direction

We read in the Chronicles of St Francis, that a secular asked a good religious, why St John Baptist, having been sanctified in his mother’s womb, should retire to the desert, and lead there such a penitential life as he did. The good religious answered him, by first asking this question: pray why do we throw salt upon meat that is fresh and good? To keep it the better, and to hinder it from corruption, replied the other. The very same answer I give you, says the religious, concerning the Baptist; he made use of penance as of salt, to preserve his sanctity from the least corruption of sin as holy Church sings of him, “that purity of his life might not be tarnished with the least breath.” Now, if in time of peace, and when we have no temptation to fight against, it is very useful to exercise our bodies by penance and mortification, with how much more reason ought we do so in time of war, when encompassed with enemies on all side? St Thomas, following Aristotle’s opinion, says that the word chastity is derived from “chastise,” inasmuch as by chastising the body we subdue the vice opposite to chastity; and also adds, that the vices of the flesh are like children, who must be whipped into their duty, since they cannot be led to it by reason. –St Alphonsus Rodriguez ‘The Practice of Christian and Religious Perfection’.

Chastise: 1. To discipline, especially by corporal punishment. 2. To criticize severely. 3. Archaic to restrain; chasten. 4. Archaic. To refine; purify.

St Alphonsus Rodriguez writes guidance for the religious, yet I find his harsh, demanding perspective practical in contemplative pursuits as a layperson, while also touching upon a consideration into living a fully consecrated life. We are either fully in, or we are out. No dabbling. This is not a game of casualness, times of allowing explorations into the secular and nonreligious without salting ourselves. If we are not fully in, we must respect those fully in. Consideration and kindness are deeper than being casual and brash. Defenses must be up, ramparts in place, when journeying through life. I am reading a novel, ‘All We Know of Heaven” by Remy Rougeau, a Canadian Benedictine monk writing about a nineteen year old entering a Cistercian monastery. The novel captures me with its concise matter-of-fact, drab delivery; a boringness to the entire endeavor that pleases. Brutally honest realism, I suppose, with respect to Thomas Merton’s ‘Seven Story Mountain’. Poignantly ironic, I find the work of fiction realistic, and the biography delusional. In the novel there is not an underlying need for the author to establish himself as a recognized intellectual, an academic authority, a pop culture religious/literary celebrity. This is simply a monk telling a simple story. There is no great exploration of larger than life ideals, no religious history, nor romanticizing through flowery language, no desiring to expose the mystical and supernatural (a criticism I should consider reflectively), no tendency toward psychological self-absorbing introspections, no exposing of one’s inner-most being, no long sentences—saying so many things in a quick spewing. It is a simple realistic view into the occurrences within the life of a young man entering a Canadian Trappist monastery. Ordinary, yet set apart, an original thing in the world. Things can be defined by what they are not. “He walked into the house (his parent’s home after a week at the monastery) and felt as though he had returned from a foreign country; the television seemed a very odd contraption.”

No time, and thoughts are not coming out. I was aiming for the idea that God did not sacrifice His Son over two thousand years ago, and aside from the Church, basically disappear from the ways of man accidently. A God of order, there is a divine plan in place. It is difficult, demanding penance, mortification, and dedication, obviously trust and confidence, as well as obedience and surrender, the following of the ways of the Church if serious depth is to be achieved. Within and through the ordinary, the boring and mundane, we come into actualization, yet the process is difficult, the ways of the saints rigorous, brutal, and nearly impossible in regards to application. Divine assistance please subtly abide. The extraordinary existing within the ordinary takes a fine process of revealing; romantic traps, emotional enticements, egotistical needs, the desire for intellectual gratification, artistic expression, boredom, and the flesh are always posed for a gradual or immediate devouring. Not sure I am pleased with this entry, struggling personally with respect to perfection and longing for Ann–some days are difficult, yet never will I fully concede defeat, for as St Liguori teaches, the greatest defeat is to lose hope. My friend with the Catholic bookstore has a sign above her front door, above a holy water dispenser, ‘All yee who enter, abandon despair’. Always through faith, hope, charity and GRADUALNESS within fortitude, perseverance, and understanding–‘gratefulness for progress achieved’ maintained as a driving force, I move forward. To dabble or sit casually still is to die. The sitting still must be done with precise purpose, adorably and prayerfully in the presence of the Eucharist. Dentist appointment this morning, natural world calls, salting performed.

Our Lady of the Pines retreat

Sometimes God is quick to the call. This morning amidst sunshine, my secret garden providing pleasure upon a walk, a call from Our Lady of Pines in Fremont, Ohio established a retreat for my off week following the celebration of a nation’s independence on July the 4^th. The conversation effused from surrounding ambiance, men thinning out neighboring trees–deconstructing a small forest, attention to individual trees fallen, a toddler following the example of his sister exploring spraying fountains of water wonder, dogs leashed and walking, children enjoying tennis lessons, and for me a religious sister edifying, informing me there was a week of spiritual direction scheduled for the week I inquired upon. I love when within conversation words pour forth. The task being the containing rather than the thinking. She tells she is going to set-up a special dormitory room for me. She promises I will love it. The week of spiritual direction has been planned for some time, all sisters conducting the directing. The week will be a focus upon individuals revealing God’s plans for them through silence, reflection, and counsel. There seems to be a concentration upon feminine spirituality, although the sister says not to fear, recognizing a difference between men and woman pursuing faith. We determined spiritual direction for me will be conducted upon exploration. The idea of me exploring a private retreat amongst the conductors of the spiritual directing week concretized. That week there is a priest conducting a private retreat. She is going to speak to him about spending time with me. Thy will be done. I am excited. Speculating, I anticipate a near dozen sisters with thirty-two retreatants. Walking at Cain Park, excitement blossomed. Hopefully sounding strange, an artist whose work I have been viewing online inspired a vision, a visualization, colorful flowers bursting forth in a river from my heart was the expression of joy I felt upon a week of spiritual concentration. The writing, ‘Man Tower’, picked up this morning. Possibly, properly, alignment allowing, serious work can be conducted during my week at Our Lady of the Pines. Some images I provide, allowing imaginative touching upon the story, black and whites from Ingmar Bergman’s ‘The Seventh Seal’, a cherished movie in my realm of influences. The photos of the traveling carnival family paying tribute to a vacationing Romanian family very dear and close to my heart.

The wonderful circus family, inspiration to Gabriel, Calin, and Lavinia. Acrobat Jof, holding his son, is a dreamer, a lover of life, a circus performer, a writer of songs and poems, a tumbler extraordinaire, a man who is so in love with the idea of visions he is continually making them up. The only problem is when he finally does have a vision of Our Holy Mother, his wife only laughs, loving him even more for all the visions he details. Acrobat Jof is not dismayed, only desiring to sing an unfinished song and enjoy his son. The world-weary squire, Jons, demonstrating his humor and penetrating insight, comments upon one who turned out to be a corpse. Antonius Block, the Templar Knight, chess combatant to the grim reaper, sent his quick-witted squire to question a man seated upon the beach. Encountering the seated one, the squire confronted a skeleton.
A wonderful medieval song and dance performance by Acrobat Jof and his wife Mia is interrupted in this video clip by a doomsday procession singing Dies Irea (coincidentally enough a poem credited to Thomas of Celano). In the opening of ‘Man Tower’, the procession following the debauchery of the child bishop being marched through the streets of Assisi, an actual medieval tradition of drunken excess the church would eventually ban, is based upon the procession in Bergman’s film. I wish there were subtitles for the fire and brimstone sermon–the fiery words point to the Black Plague as a curse from God for the wicked ways of man. Repent NOW the message. I am intrigued by Bergman’s cinematic effect of having the end times spiritual marauders vanishing from the earth, their chanting continuing.

May312015

Benediction: Corpus Christi

To go beyond formality and tradition, to see the truth and essence of words, thoughts, conceptions, possibilities and the deepest penetrating realities, I find the words of the the Benediction hymns profound, worthy of continual contemplation. Terms to consider: saving victim; immortal Godhead, one in three; native land; down in adoration falling; ancient forms departing; newer rites of grace prevailing; feeble senses fail; faith for all defects supplying; the Trinity beautifully unveiled.

O Saving Victim, opening wide
The gate of Heaven to man below:
Our foes press on from every side,
Thine aid supply, Thy strength bestow.
To Thy great Name be endless praise,
Immortal Godhead, One in Three:
Oh, grant us endless length of days
In our true native land with Thee. Amen.

All heavenly and saintly beings hail the Lord present upon the earth.

Down in adoration falling,
Lo! the sacred Host we hail;
Lo! over ancient forms departing,
Newer rites of grace prevail;
Faith for all defects supplying
Where the feeble senses fail.
To the Everlasting Father,
And the Son Who reigns on high,
With the Spirit Blest proceeding
Forth from Each eternally,
Be salvation, honor, blessing,
Might and endless majesty. Amen.

Thou hast given them Bread from Heaven.
Containing in Itself all delight.

Let us pray (oremus)
O God, Who in this wonderful Sacrament
has left us a memorial of Thy passion,
grant, we implore Thee,
that we may so venerate the sacred mysteries of Thy Body and Blood
as always to be conscious of the fruit of Thy Redemption,
Thou Who livest and reignest forever and ever.
Amen

Old Testament prefiguring. The Mercy Seat, the Monstrance.

May092015

Recovery reflection

Reflective day. I want to sort through my thoughts by writing them down. I was supposed to move today, yet I just simply did not have the physical or emotional energy. Work has been difficult the past week, hot and physically demanding—long hours and hard dirty work. I was exhausted punching out today. Adhering to routine, I headed for downtown: immediately to the Eucharist for adoration, then mass, and exploring Cleveland streets. During adoration, with no serious sadness, I erupted in tears before the Eucharist, crying whole hearted, contemplatively and cleansing. One of the Poor Clares was moving about as a ghost, passing between the order’s cloistered pews and into what I speculate is a private chapel for communal prayer. Father Roger, one of the extern sisters, along with a gentleman blossoming into a friend were speaking softly as I entered. All eyes cast my way. I said nothing. They said nothing. I nodded my head. Sister Clare Marie waved and Father Roger smiled. I commenced into prayer. I am not sure how and when, yet they all departed, leaving me alone with the Eucharist and one of the sisters stealthily moving about. The Poor Clares home has become my home, peace comes, and yet today so did strong tears. I am not sure if Dennis took note, yet after some time he came out casually making his way to me. Conversation with him is strenuous, awkward, due to his speech impediment. I know he finds it uncomfortable to speak, preferring silence. He wanted to discuss the offer I made to supply food for the after Sunday mass gathering, outlining possibilities, asking me not to bring anything this week as they had plenty, and the fact Father Sam had a birthday celebration the twenty-fourth. His suggestion was that would be a good day for something special. Earlier in the week, Sister Clare Marie touched me by the fact she has no knowledge of Brie cheese. Being from India, she never tried, nor even heard of the cheese. I want her to try the cheese with respect to its monastic origins, and association with the court of King Charlemagne. I am positive a well arraigned serving tray centered round French bread, brie cheese, assorted vegetables: English cucumbers, sliced avocadoes, red bell peppers, mini-carrots, and green onions; along with a quality pasta and potato salad would be proper and light fare for the fifteen or so people who gather, possibly more for Father Sam’s birthday. The conversation soothed my melancholy as the sisters launched into their mid-afternoon prayers behind sanctuary walls. On into mass at the cathedral, where something of note should be registered. During mass, melancholy returned. During the extending of peace, a stout teenage girl turned to shake my hand. Her family all turned to greet me, however once she faced me the twelve years old’s bright spirit and strong, serious, genuine square face caught me off guard. Rosy cheeked, she beamed, radiating sheer joy and enthusiasm, absolute beauty and innocence. Uncontrollably, yet subtly, I broke into tears, casting my eyes downward. Embarrassed, doing everything to avoid dramatics, knowing what was happening was authentic, I continued on, and gracefully everything surrounding advanced appropriately for me to gather myself and remain hidden. Moving on to Cleveland streets, the flocking crowd held nothing for me today. There were no clever words for the Romanian waitress working at the Vietnamese restaurant. I departed downtown quickly, heading for the suburbs and Mother’s Day shopping. Staying only two months at my latest residence, it is more difficult to leave than I anticipated. I know I am doing the right thing. Confidence and proper discretion guide, yet there are so many changes occurring. Turning the focus to recovery–recognizing a year of sobriety approaches, arriving in June—an integral part of the changes involves being asked to give a lead at a special monthly AA meeting, Calix, in July, the month of my birthday. Overall, the role of AA in my life is being examined. I have determined I will turn the offer to tell my story down. I will not share my experience, strength, and hope. I spoke with my therapist/spiritual director yesterday, and realized I should have discussed the matter with him. I will before officially negating the request. It is an honor to lead the meeting. I am surprised they asked, yet I am not comfortable with the spiritual aspects. I did discuss with my therapist the fact I will be curtailing my activities with AA. There are many reasons and it is well thought out. Everything written before points to this. I have been intimately involved with AA for over ten years, and I am, confident in comprehending, embracing, and admiring AA’s message. I will also make the statement, and I made it to my therapist who closely examined and questioned my words, that a concrete awareness has centered in my being that I will never drink again. I will never take another drink of alcohol. I cannot. It is a vow I extend to Christ, pleading with the Holy Spirit to guide, bowing to God the Father in silence, knowing under all circumstances Mary watches over me, guiding and instructing my guardian angel. The reality grows more acute daily. There is no need for justification, criticism, announcements, proclamations, or over-explanations. A huge part of the changes in my life will be breaking from the group of people I have worked with four times a week for well over six months. It is a wonderful locale, in the quaint small town of Olmsted Falls. This evening I even walked around the historic railroad depot, shopping, ice cream, and riverside park. Pleasant and quiet time of walking prayer. With thorough gratitude, it is time to move forward. I am conformable with my changing involvement in AA, discerning proper signs, lacking definitude. Yet I also felt the need to postpone the move for a week. I will board with a gentleman, and his future son-in-law, involved in the program for decades, intelligent and interesting, having giving up the insurance business in order to return to his call as a Presbyterian minister, employed with a local hospice. I will allow the Holy Spirit to guide regarding my new role in AA. My housing host supports me, also providing respectful space, while declaring that my living there is predicated upon absolute abstinence. I know exactly what I seek from AA: fellowship, a clear unadulterated message, and vivid reminders of the devastation alcohol plays in the lives of those unable to successfully imbibe. AA is practical, touching on the spiritual and psychological, while remaining distant from personal spiritual guidance. Friends are essential. My weekly basketball games are huge, vital to my sanity. My prayers are filled with hope for an expanding social life. Acquiescing to divine will, I allow patience to shape my coming days. I post the first reading from Sunday, the sixth Sunday of Easter. The words from Acts chapter 10 correlate to a discussion with a friend before the Eucharist at St Paul’s:

Then Peter (first Pope) proceeded to speak and said, “In truth, I see that God shows no partiality. Rather, in every nation whoever fears him and acts uprightly is acceptable to him.” While Peter was still speaking these things, the Holy Spirit fell upon all who were listening to the word. The circumcised believers who had accompanied Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit should have been poured out on the Gentiles also, for they could hear them speaking in tongues and glorifying God. Then Peter responded, “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people, who have received the Holy Spirit even as we have?” He ordered them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ.

May082015

Why sit before the Eucharist adored by the Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration?

Place Your Mind Before the Mirror of Eternity!

Poem by St. Clare of Assisi

Place your mind before the mirror of eternity!
Place your soul in the brilliance of glory!
Place your heart in the figure of the divine substance!
And transform your whole being into the image of the Godhead Itself through contemplation!
So that you too may feel what His friends feel
as they taste the hidden sweetness
which God Himself has reserved
from the beginning
for those who love Him.

May072015

The Knight of God –Henry Suso poetry

“For I will show him how many things he must suffer for My name’s sake.” Acts ix. 16

As the song of him who singeth,
Playing on a harp of gold,
So to me was Christ’s evangel
In the days of old.

Thus across the lake of Constance
Went I forth to preach His Word,
And beside me sat the squire
Of a noble Lord.

None in all the ship so knightly,
None so bravely dight as he-
“Tell me,” I besought, “thine errand
Yonder o’er the sea.”

“I go forth,” he said, “to gather
Many a knight and noble bold;
They shall tilt at joust and tourney,
Whilst fair eyes behold.

“And the bravest and the noblest
He shall win a glorious prize,
Smiles to boot, and courtly favour
In the ladies’ eyes.”

“Tell me what shall be the guerdon?”
“Lo, the fairest in the land
Sets a gold ring on his ﬁnger
With her lily hand.”

“Tell me how the knight may win it?”
“Scars and bruises must he boast,
For the knight shall be the winner
Who endures the most.”

“Tell me, if when ﬁrst assaulted,
He in knightly guise shall stand,
Shall he win the golden guerdon
From his lady’s hand?”

“Nay, right on, till all is over,
Must a worthy knight hold on;
Bear the brunt, and stand a conqueror
When the ﬁght is done.”

“And if he be wounded sorely,
Will he weep and will he mourn?”
“Nay, in place of winning honour,
He would win but scorn.”

Then my spirit sank within me,
And within my heart I spake-
“O my Lord, thus ﬁght the knightly
For their honour’s sake.

“Small the prize, and stern the battle,
Worthless gain, and weary ﬁght-
Lord, a ring of stones most precious
Hast thou for Thy knight!

“Oh, to be the knight of Jesus!
Scorning pain, and shame, and loss;
There the crown, the joy, the glory,
Here, O Lord, Thy Cross.”

Then I wept, with bitter longing
Thus the knight of God to be;
And the Lord, who saw me weeping,
Gave the cross to me.

Bitter pain, and shame, and sorrow
Came upon me as a ﬂood-
I forgot it was the tourney
Of the knights of God.

And again I wept, beseeching,
“Take the Cross, O Lord, from me!”
Till a light broke like the morning
Over the wild sea.

Then there spake the Voice beloved,
Still and sweet my heart within-
“is it thus, O knight of Jesus,
Thou the prize wilt win?”

“O my Lord, the ﬁght is weary-
Weary, and my heart is sore!”
“And,” he answered, “fair the guerdon,
And for evermore.”

“I have shamed Thee, craven-hearted,
I have been Thy recreant knight-
Own me yet, O Lord, albeit
Weeping whilst I ﬁght.”

“Nay,” He said; “yet wilt thou shame Me
Wilt thou shame thy knightly guise?
I would have My angels wonde
At thy gladsome eyes.

“Need’st thou pity, knight of Jesus?-
Pity for thy glorious hest?
On! let God and men and angels
See that thou art blest!

In the middle ages, the knight was the heroic figure men aspired to be in fantasy and deed–a life of bravery and honor. Chivalry demanded a code of ethics–manliness included virtuous conduct and thought, fighting the good fight, speaking words of wisdom, generosity, and kindness. In a world of brutality and wicked tongues, the knight righteously matched violence with violence, cruelty with compassion and intelligence. The defenseless were to be protected, the weak to be venerated, respected and sheltered. A true knight’s every effort was to God and others. In tournaments, the battlefield and life, a knight dedicated his efforts to a chosen damsel. The lady of honor acknowledging his respect by tying a scarf to the knight’s jousting lance or armory. St Francis aspired to be a knight in his younger days, before turning his heroic efforts over to the religious life. His lady of honor became Lady Poverty, captured so lovingly, allegorically, and fantastically in ‘Sacrum commercium Sancti Francisci cum domina Paupertate’ (The Sacred Bond of Saint Francis with Lady Poverty). The idea leads so fittingly into a devotion to Our Holy Mother.

Catholic Contemplative Life

A journey of recovery within Christ and His Church

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