Monthly Archives: July 2015

Jul052015

A lengthy Sabbath entry

Post Sunday mass, a stimulating lunch, ideas emerging, possibilities becoming a reality. Adult in formation, I feel prayers are being blessed, grace extended. My lunch appeased, stirring upon satisfying depth. The gentleman sharing lunch, designing his demise, intrigues upon an intellectual level that will be pursued. I am trying to convince him to allow me to create a website for him. An amateur photographer, images centered upon religious architecture, worldly in travel, he showed me around Chinatown, talking of many things. He is old school in regards to his photographs, nothing digital. I want to convert the images to binary, allowing display upon the web. He has photographed monasteries and churches in Spain, France, Russia, Turkey, throughout the United States, not allowing his vision to rest solely upon Catholic institutions. I spoke with the gentleman before mass, praying intensely during mass upon the matter, convinced it was a design of God for me to work with the well-educated gentleman. I have been wrong before. I think he is leery about me as academic credentials equate esteem within his eyes. Possessing a doctorate, speaking of highly educated friends, a Cuban poet friend of advanced studies writing a history detailing the multiethnic nature of Peru.  Amusingly, conversation steered toward Pittsburg, Duquesne University, the focus being Father Adrian Van Kaam, a man who shaped his spirituality. I smiled, mentioning Susan Muto and Father Van Kaam joining forces through their efforts with the Epiphany Association, Academy of Formative Spirituality.  Previous post document my invigorated interest for the message of Ms. Muto. For my new friend, she is a former student, an associate, a person of individuality and knowing. Startled, interiorly I counted my blessings. It was amazing we were talking so flowingly. God is good.  Many more topics exposed, the potentiality of a meaningful relationship rests within Divine Will. I reflect upon tomorrow’s cook out with the associates of the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament, the meeting with the author Father Paul Bernier, and immediately after the commencing of the cookout travel to Fremont and the retreat at Our Lady of Pines. Something is in the wind, adults of spiritual formation are being brought to light, a revealing being experienced. Another woman from St Paul’s was brought into confidence. Last summer she enjoyed a week long retreat at Our Lady of Pines. She is excited for me, extending well-wishes and prayers.

The following part of the post, created in the morning, before mass, I decided not to post. Gathering my thoughts, I said no, I will post everything. I have been suffering awful dreams the past several nights. The blessings of the afternoon overwhelm the morning, yet the morning was important, especially coming after another nightmare involving Ann. It is an email to my Romanian friend Lavinia that exploded into many thoughts and directions. I think important matters were touched upon.  This blog is essential to cleansing. It serves a tremendous purpose. The spewing of thoughts and words provides psychic purgation. I move forward, progressing, means of regressing cathartically removed.  Lavinia has been there for years supporting in reading and observing my thoughts, ideas, and writing. Her friendship is a blessing, simple and sincere, absolutely nothing immoral regarding motivation or interaction. We expand one another’s spiritual life. We are better people through our interacting, nurturing growth. It is an elder to one younger, foreigners yet friends, equals in decency and respect.

Email to Lavinia:

Ann does mean well, yet she hides. Definitive, she hides from feelings, from emotions. On the deepest level, she is a stranger to herself. Growth, maturing, spiritual expansion only arises from love, learning to love we expand within.  Experience is the educator, the process of formation. You are growing into a new woman, Gabriel a new man, through being parents. Trinitarian, a family: father, mother, and child is a profound formation to be engaged within. Raising your son Calin, you not only know about a greater love, you experience a greater love, formation in progress. Watching Calin grow, knowing how much you mean to him as a mother and father forms you into a new person, a wiser more mature man and woman blossoms from your experience, an authentic mother and father emerges, individuals vulnerable to the tender mercy of God. You know commitment on the most profound level. Love, the greatest attribute of God, induces a growth that must be experienced. No book or high amount of intelligence can provide the grace. Ann will not allow a higher love to touch her, protecting herself, not knowing herself well enough to allow such splendor to immerse her being, not trusting God enough to allow the supernatural to transform through the ordinary, the extraordinary to infuse a metamorphism through daily reality. However God always acting, her state of immaturity saved my life. A woman of intensely high caliper, exceptional talents and intelligence blessed by God, should have been married to a man equal in Godly blessings; active in the lives of brothers and sisters, knowing and experiencing love, immersed within the lives of children, people bountiful in number through in-laws. However her brokenness, her inability to allow life to penetrate, an obstinate refusal to open herself, to become vulnerable, forced her into a loneliness. Her estrangement to proper love, or the seeds of love, allows an overriding immaturity to consume her inner most being.  I remember distinctly the night I knew things were futile, an effort of disgrace being intimately involved with her. She had the day off, a Monday, telling me she was spending the day with her girlfriend. She did not come home to well after midnight, never calling. Walking into her home, the look of a fifteen year old was imprinted upon her face. I could only fear what conniving and scheming her teenage mindset had put into action. In truth, I was dealing with a broken little girl exercising free will, manipulating her way through life, unable to intimately interact with others as an adult. Dr. Nichta stresses not only the importance of self-knowledge, yet also the proper identifying of others. I must accept others for who they are. I cannot expect people to be who I want them to be, or who I think they can become. I must accept people for who they are. No matter how gifted, Ann at her core is an immature woman unable to know the possibilities of love, or how to interact with others with respect to an adult comprehension of love and respect. The formation has just never been exercised. God does not leave us alone. She is too special. God never abandons his chosen ones. In her broken state, she drove to Toledo and picked me up, removing me in my awful condition from that hotel room, saving my life. Something potential, powerful in dimension was offered to both of us. Through self-discovery, self-awareness sets in, I am a holy man, gifted to a humble degree. I know that more and more, learning about myself on a level that only experience teaches. Formation occurs only through experience. Wisdom garnered through living. Reading, studying, teaching, and counsel cannot offer what life supplies. Prayers are essential, enriching interiorly. Sharing stories, parables, come the closest to embracing the graces existing within exterior communication. Jesus spoke through parables. Knowing I am a holy man is also knowing my weaknesses–the fact I am an alcoholic. I was thinking this morning, the third day of a ten day vacation, that if I were drinking, I would be drunk right now upon waking. Days would blend into a confusing loss of clarity, two or three drunks a day, the early morning drunk my favorite. By the fourth or fifth day, I would have lost track of days, even time itself, not sure if it was morning, night, or day, not caring, consumed within an overwhelming misery that physically makes the flesh crawl. Insane, extreme adventures would have ensued, writing to you a part. God always protected me during these awful times, yet the dreadfulness was dangerous. Experience can also be a teacher of horrible things. Grace abounds were sin increases. Wisdom exist within depravity, however its lesson is so tremendous it can crush eternally. Becoming a parent forms through love, wretched things teach through excruciating terror and despair. Watching ‘Mysteries of Lisbon’, I marveled at the fact, these royal, extremely wealthy individuals living life on an extravagant materialistic and social level did not revel in the majesty of their elevated worldly status, rather self-absorption captured them in lives of gloom, despondency overwhelming individual experiences through intense emotion and intricate designs, love a phantom being chased, life a drama being acted upon a stage, the end pointing to an unseen force, Divine Will, always subtly playing within the tenderable conniving of men and women. Ann’s brokenness, her self-willed attempts to be a heroic figure acting through reason for the benefit of God, underestimated God. God is above, while within our schemes reposes the potential for a revealing upon the divine level, a step forward upon a path of perfection.

Second daily reading 2 Corinthians 12:7-10

Brothers and sisters: that I, Paul, might not become too elated because of the abundance of revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan, to harass me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I besought the Lord about this, that it should leave me; but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities; for when I am weak, then I am strong.

DIALOG: ‘Mysteries of Lisbon’.  Something is there, many thoughts regarding matters. I just present the words shared between characters, stories in the telling.

SCENE. JOAO, A YOUNG MAN, IN A CEMETERY. A DISFIGURED BLIND BEGGAR APPROACHES.

Joao: Can I help you?
Blind Beggar: Oh, sir, please…Are we in the eastern part of the cemetery?
Joao: Yes…We’re in the right place…it’s here…
Blind Beggar: Thank you very much. I’m looking for the mausoleum where my daughter is…
Joao: Mausoleum?
Blind Beggar: My friends assure me it is monumental. My friends say it is the most beautiful in the entire cemetery…I’m unable to see it. With the last money left from my fortune, I had this mausoleum built…Would you be so kind as to describe it to me? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I don’t know if I would be able…I am the Marquis of Montezelos. What is your name?
Joao: I am a simple student, Marquis…my mother died and I came to visit her…
Blind Beggar: So your mother is also in a mausoleum, right?
Joao: No, Marquis, my mother is in a common pauper’s grave…
Blind Beggar: Poor woman. Had I mentioned to you that I was a bad father? No. I hadn’t. This head of mine, and now, as you see I am a beggar, and now that we’re having this conversation, would you happen to have a small coin, for the love of God?
Joao: Of course…
Blind Beggar: Thank you very much…
Joao: Marquis, your friends are waiting for you…
Common Beggar: Poor Marquis. He’s lost his mind…The accident…
Joao: He had an accident?
Common Beggar: It wasn’t an accident…more of a failed suicide attempt…His daughter’s dishonor…What to us are the things of life, are enormous tragedies to the nobility…He fired the shot as they left the Mass. He didn’t kill himself, but he was blinded. He wasted away the fortune and people were moved by this sadness. They were moved by a beggar Marquis and still give him a lot of money. That’s the blessing of beggars…Even in disgrace, the nobles are favored.
Joao: And the mausoleum?
Common Beggar: The mausoleum doesn’t exist. It was an invention of the Marquis…
Blind Beggar: Where are you , Manuel?
Common Beggar: I’m here, Marquis.
Blind Beggar: I’ll be right there! Please excuse me…

SCENE CHANGE. JOAO DEBOARDING A SHIP.

Joao (Voice Over): I’ve heard that Alberto de Magalhaes (his savior at birth, the man he challenged to a duel, a man of many identities who saved his life a second time) has enjoyed excellent health. You lacked courage my dear. And I, whose heart you once possessed…My life no longer made any sense. My only thought was to disappear, to lose myself quickly, completely…and without a trace…I caught the first boat I found, bound for Tangiers, which allowed me to board for the coins I still had in my pocket…One soon discovers that it is not difficult to disappear from the eyes of others, but that our own eyes follow us wherever we go. I continued to travel randomly, aimlessly, to lose myself. I don’t know how, but the representatives of Alberto Magalhaes never lost my trail and I continued to regularly receive the money intended for me. My footsteps have finally led me here. I don’t think I can go any further. My condition doesn’t allow me many illusions.
Joao (to hotel assistant): Excuse me, could you kindly direct me to an inn that is far from the center of town?
Hotel Assistant: That won’t be easy. Most of our inns are right in the center.
Joao: In that case, I’ll have to settle for the closest.
Hotel Assistant: This is the closest.
Joao: Thank you.

SCENE CHANGE. TIME CHANGE. JOAO A TEENAGER LYING AWKWARDLY UPSIDE DOWN IN BED.

Joao (voice over): I was fifteen years old and I didn’t know who I was at all…Sometimes, the others would ask me if I was Father Dinis’ son…I didn’t know how to answer them. They all had surnames…four, five, even more…I was just “Joao.” Unlike the others, I went on no family outings, had no holidays, received no presents. I don’t know how long had passed between the time I lost consciousness…and the moment I opened my eyes again…I thought I had dreamt it all.
Nun: Dona Antonia…
Father Dinis: Help him lie down.
Nun: Father Dinis! He is cold.
Father Dinis: We’d better find a doctor! I’ll order the coach to be readied.

THE END

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Mixing everything together into a prayer, a final offering is made.  Within the novel by Remy Rougeau ‘All We Know of Heaven’, the author strikes moments that absolutely pierce me. This is one. Regarding identity, the pursuit of the spiritual life, a glimpse of clarity within uncertainty, Antoine reflects. He has just suffered a serious face injury due to his mislighting of a gas burner in the kitchen. His accident is put on the backburner as he is rushed by a brother monk out to witness the uncorrupted body of Brother Bernard. Forced to dig up the monastery graveyard during a government forced move, Cistercian monks buried simply in their habit—no casket, the gravediggers discovered Brother Bernard’s body intact, appearing as if he was buried for only days.  Three years the body of the holiest and profoundly prayerful brother laid buried in the soil.

A sudden breeze cooled Antoine’s bandaged face and rushed like a sigh in the leaves above him. For a moment he felt as though he would float away, as though his spirit might leave his body and travel away to where Bernard had gone. He wanted to disappear. But when he looked at the faces of the living monks around him, he knew he could not go. A chasm existed between the living and the dead, and he was not ready to cross it.

These odd faces he knew so well, men in search of God, no different from St Anthony or all the holy monks of old, these men had come to a remarkable place called the abbey, not connected to earth by geography. The holy desert. ‘We have come to find God here’, he thought, and ‘we are breathing God. The holy desert is full of God’.

How easy it had been, Antoine realized, these years in the cloister, to construct a sweet little program of the spiritual life. He had tried again and again to frame his spiritual growth within the safe boundaries of his own preferences and talents, his aptitudes and the means he had at hand. But the grand scheme brushes all human constructions aside. If he had succeeded, if his scheme would had worked, he would have led a pleasant, happy but small life, harmless and sunk in mediocrity. But it never came to pass. The abbey was being uprooted. His brothers on the move. All along, the real monastic life of a greater scheme had forced him to practice more than he had thought possible. Detachment, self-denial, charity, all things that make saints, these had come to him in unanticipated ways. The life of the cloister had overturned all his little plans and arrangements, as well as his opinions about others. The manner of death, the expression on a dead man’s face, the color of bones: Antoine knew that none of these things made a difference. He knew, also, looking at the faces of his brothers, that they would become saints, each of them. Either willingly or by force, God would make them saints.

Trappist-Abbey-Brother-Mark

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Jul052015

Mysteries unfolding

A day of nothing, enjoying it, subtly entertaining inner peace. After mass and communal prayers, along with solitary adoration, I pleasantly cruised the enriching attractions of East Cleveland. I have been intrigued by the neighborhoods, Father Bernier tweaking my interest, I cruised through the Cultural Gardens, down Euclid Avenue, Lakeview Park, planning a bicycle tour in the near future. Taking a turn, suddenly on Ansel Road, I came across the old seminary building, at least I believe so. Also enjoying a Jazz band within Shaker’s Square, discussing film making with a friend treating me to coffee and ice cream. East Cleveland is appeasing, satisfying my personality, while allowing me to remain distant. I recall a small town axiom. If you want to be alone move to New York City. If you want your life flooded with people, gossip, and constant interference move to a small town. It can be truly easier, and more profound, to find solitude within a city—a meaningful mixture of community and isolation–finding peace within the eye of the storm. The past twenty-four hours, I watched a strange enchanting movie ‘The Mysteries of Lisbon’ a made for Portuguese television miniseries, a four and a quarter hour melodrama, bordering on soap opera, with the ultimate message of self-discovery. I am left with a visually stunning experience, a costume drama from the sixteenth century: royalty, intrigue, drama, mysteries, identities being revealed in the telling of stories, more than one life being lived, reminiscing, multiple personalities, witnesses, servants observing through windows, behind half open doors, whispering and secrets, cameras passing through walls, everything left to wonder, while reality is defined by the speaker, events not the telling, interpretation and free will, lives intertwined, the Church always near, grand dramas unfold, amidst excess clings self-absorption, within luxury drapes extreme misery, behind sleeping curtains dreaming lovers give difficult births, romance unrequited, romance denied, royalty ruling, conflicting upon sides, duels to the death, convent walls waiting, cloistered lives sought through shame, self-inflicted poverty, mausoleums, graveyards, childhood, an authentic priest once a gypsy, a knife-eater transformed into a wealthy noble man of influence, an awkward fast-stepping servant always at his side, women a plenty–fanning females, elegantly dressed at their best amidst parties, gossiping, ruining one another, dancing, being social butterflies. Life is an illusion, a fanciful awakening for those becoming aware.

Awakening

Awakening

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Jul042015

Moments of understanding

The novel by Remy Rougeau ‘All We Know of Heaven’ swept softly upon a utilitarian path of perfection with the ending of a chapter in which the main character, Antoine, concludes his solemn vows.  After six years as a Cistercian monk, a vow of permanency is performed. He chooses his mother’s birthday as the date of the ceremony. She never accepted his religious choice. Grandchildren her imagined perfection, emotionally, she suffered tremendous angst over her only child giving himself to the cloistered life. During celebrations, Antoine’s mother’s mother, his grandmother takes center stage,weeping in gratitude, endlessly praising and hugging Antoine, stating how she suffered since none of her numerous sons entered the priesthood. His mother makes a grand speech, expressing her displeasure within her acknowledgment she was proud of her son. Within her overwhelming sorrow, she identifies joy. Aunts and uncles, cousins, many attend the ceremony. Antoine’s quiet farming father loses himself during the boisterous gathering after formalities. Antoine finds him in an alcove under a stairway with one of his brothers, the monk in charge of the cattle. The two men are talking of cows as if they have known each other all of their life. Antoine realizes his father would be content within the monastery walls, and not as a slight to his mother.  Everything comes together to allow God to grace him with the understanding his discernment is divinely pleasing.

He knew he was not responsible for the day; how could he accept credit for having come from a good French-Canadian family?  And he knew that it was not for his intelligence or virtue that the Cistercian monks had taken him in. Even after he swallowed several times, his tears stubbornly flowed. 

The emotion Antoine felt was broader than gratitude. He was appreciative, yes, but he also wanted to be better than he was: more virtuous, more sympathetic, more responsible to the world. He had an idea about what holiness meant–something the size and shape of Brother Bernard–and he struggled toward it.  He wanted to make that shape his own somehow. He wanted to wish that shape upon the world.

All We Know of Heaven

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Jul032015

Afternoon meeting and maturing through submission

Met with Father Paul Bernier this afternoon. Nice, simple, a presence of holiness within an elderly priest, white hair and beard, a serious maturing adult in spiritual formation, a date for Monday, a cookout in the early evening, associates of the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament in attendance, gathered for an entertaining meeting. Father spoke about the huge complex housing the first order of the Aggregate of the Blessed Sacrament. It was originally built as a dormitory for seminary students for the previous Cleveland Seminary on Euclid Ave. He spoke of glory days, the history of Euclid Avenue and the sharp decline in seminary students with the passing of time. Things just did not work out as planned by those envisioning a thriving prospering future of many priests in formation for the Cleveland Diocese.  Years spent in Asia: the Philippines, Thailand, and wonderful wooden statues, stories of loving, caring a priest active in the lives of many.  I was charmed by a wooden kayak oar posed above his desk.  He told me of the purchase, his pride in attaining the beautifully crafted means of water propulsion.  He said he took it out to the river for use, however many more proficient kayakers were startled he would actually put to use such an elegant piece of craftsmanship.  It should be hung on a wall they proclaimed.  So he hung it on his office wall and agreed that it made for pleasurable viewing.  Yes his office is a place of holiness, serious thought, and most telling a man who has lived an intelligent, educated, generous, rewarding through giving, life as a priest.  i was intrigued by an image he supplied me with.  I mentioned my mother being from Spain, knowing his extended time in the Philippines and Spanish imperialism, inquiring if he witnessed a Spanish influence. He laughed saying Filipinos, eighty-five percent of the population Catholic, declare they spent five hundred years living in a Spanish convent and the last fifty years in Hollywood. Under Spanish control a deep Catholic imprint was made, and with the coming of General Douglas MacArthur, cameras rolling, the influence of Hollywood engulfed the islands. For good or bad, American influence and movies dominant. I think of the grand past of Euclid Avenue’s Millionaire Row, the admiration my Romanian friends possess for the United States, the Filipinos looking with hope to the United States, and now a generation of Americans who despise their own country. A casual thought entertains, asking whether we have become a nation of spoiled children. A selfish self-absorbed consciousness selling short its own past in order to elevate emotional short-sighted childish comprehension. Are we experiencing an immature generation in constant revolt against authority, a generation fixated upon free will, seeing only the faults of a patriarchal society? Do those who could never build a country as known by those residing upon Millionaire’s Row wish to destroy the means to prosperity, deconstructing a civilization of success in order to instill a society of misery, chaos, immorality, and lawlessness?  Is there truly a lasting vision to the attack upon the American way of life that can lead to anything besides communism? Life is a mystery, and I cherish reposing within the mystery of God and creation.

I would like to clarify what I mean by an adult spiritual life. A childish spiritual life is the constant imposition of self-will, a lack of depth due to dependence upon one’s broken self, a clinging and attachment to those things that brought comfort when we were children or teenagers. We are all broken, acceptance and thus understanding graced are the necessary building tools for maturing, utilitarian tools able to contemplatively craft and carve through surrender, stillness, pain and patience, prayer, detachment, and devotion to the Eucharist. Like a child, the one unable to grow, no matter age, nor devotion, the amount of reading and study, nor years of effort, or the intensity of application, self-will has always, and remains to dominate the worshiper’s life. They approach God and interact with others based upon the manipulation of their desires, thoughts, aspirations, and concerns. They are always busy; building, scheming, conniving, bigger and better ways to know God, new approaches, different methods and plans employed, new people and churches sought, spiritual directors and others telling and informing, important people high within the hierarchy, others to instruct and impose ideas upon, constantly conversing, sharing and imposing.  Everything of childish doing, acting and perpetrating. It has nothing to do with intelligence, talents, responsibility, worldly success or failure, nor dedication. Due to a lack of penetrating honesty, a true understanding of themselves, they work through delusion in futile attempts to do everything themselves. Many even become articulate expert speakers of faith, knowledgeable Bible scholars, intellectual masters of the intricacies of Catholicism. However they approach life as a teenager for that is the only further they have been able to spiritually and emotionally grow. All of their intense effort is not producing growth induced, infused, by God. It is so very very difficult.

  …the angels are a type of the union of the highest intelligence and freedom with perfect submission. They are the messengers of God, employed continually in obeying the Divine Will, yet doing it with the fullness of knowledge do to dwelling continually in the presence of God, beholding face to face his  glorious perfections, enjoying the light, not given to man on earth, of the Beatific Vision, and in the exercise of the freedom which flows from the conformity of their wills with the will of God. So again, in the perfect acquiescence of Mary in the divine purpose announced to her by the Angel Gabriel, we have another instance of the identity of submission, perfect submission to divine authority, and intelligent freedom. When informed of God’s merciful design, as comprehend in the mystery of the incarnation, in the free exercise of her will she assented: “Behold the handmaid of the Lord, be it done unto me according to thy word.” Again, our divine Lord is the highest exemplification of the union in Himself of most absolute submission and of the most perfect intelligence freedom, submitting in all things to the Divine Law, yet doing it voluntarily and with the clearest, fullest knowledge.  –Catholic Quarterly

The angels and Christ, the highest of intelligence and devotion, knowing intimately the love of God to the highest extreme, possessing wisdom and understanding above human understanding, place themselves in obedience to Divine Will.  In all their splendor–their desires, impositions, and self-will are futile if exercised away from Divine Will. Satan opted for the exercising of free will. All is truly good except that which wanders away from the designs of God. Perversion is the corruption of creation, the infliction of self-will, a wandering from the path of God. Childishness is the reliance upon one’s self, an inability to grow up and rely upon God. There is the image of angels constantly facing God. I am not so sure it is a physical act, rather than a definitive statement in regards to their essence, everything about their being, perpetually aligned with God.  Below is an image from the former Cleveland Seminary, Mary as the Throne of Wisdom, Mary in obedience to Divine Will becomes the seat of wisdom, the loving, caring mother of her Divine Child.

St Mary's, former seminary, Euclid Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio.

St Mary’s, former seminary, Euclid Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio.

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Moving into a new way of being through proper self-awareness

I received a call from an AA gentleman, a good man, a devout authentic Catholic man. He honored me by asking me to lead a special Catholic recovery meeting at St Vincent’ Charity Medical Center, the hospital in downtown Cleveland Sister Ignatius performed her groundbreaking service work at. There are wonderful black and white photos outside the cafeteria documenting and defining the history of the recovery and healing institution. In the cell phone conversation, we determined I would not give the lead for the July meeting. An amicable and quality conversation, we both understood the necessity of the decision and action. I identify it as my final parting from the social life of Alcoholics Anonymous. Message infused, prayer litany increased, I define myself. Many people, places, and things edify through the clarity of determining who we are not. Understanding who I am is also understanding who I am not. Within the discernment, rebellion plays no part. I am not a man of dignity based upon the severe rejection, bitterness, or refuting of another. It is in the Catechism, a quote from a saint, I use it on this blog, regarding the proper vocation of being wedded, single or consecrated. Something good only based upon superiority or identified shortcomings of something else is truly not good. Being good, divine in making or formation, is not based upon the evil within other things for God created all things and nothing God created is evil. It is why when greeting others I pronounce a question, inquiring, ‘All is good?’–attempting to establish the other identifies all is truly good. I also relate the greeting to the Old Testament, second book of Kings and King Jehu. Riders from conflicting kings ride out ahead of their respective armies in order to parlay with Jehu. Reaching intimacy upon their horses, the riders, messengers, call out to Jehu, ‘All is good Jehu?’ They recognize the warrior, the man of might and justice, before them. They fear him. They want to know everything is alright between them. Within the interpretation, Jehu answers, ‘No all is not good. Many things have happened and people, namely Jezebel lives. There will be war before there is peace, and Jezebel will die’. St Francis embraced a humbler greeting: ‘May the Lord grant you His peace.” A final word on my decision to divorce myself from AA the social world, thoughts of Dr Nichta. Regarding all matters, I reach a mature adult decision through prayer, consolation, deep consideration, discerning a final decision, recognizing nothing is final. Within my determination is the honesty, openness, and willingness to be wrong, to allow God to manifest Divine Will even within my strongest convictions.

Regarding discernment, I reflect upon the movie ‘Ida’ touched upon yesterday, a scene that brings to the forefront being human, accepting and growing within the Universal Church of Christ. Catholic in heart, depth and soul the confrontational scene is not for those seeking a warm fuzzy blanket. It will be of an intense disquieting for those unable to truly know themselves, an affront to imaginary perfection. For those unable to conduct brutal honesty, interior reflection able to nurture the strength necessary to overcome obstacles of the greatest magnitude, for those on a path of comfort rather than perfection, the scene should not be witnessed.

Ida, within final discernment, knows the tragic history of her family. The unjust wartime murder of her father, mother, and siblings is personal knowledge. Her Jewish heritage is revealed. Her aunt, her lone surviving family member, the only family member she has known, has committed suicide. Her aunt an alcoholic lived with the torment of being a communist manipulator, ruthlessly inflicting brutish self-will upon the world, hurting others through communism, and ultimately abandoned by comunism. Away from the convent, Ida seeks comfort in the arms and bed of an intelligent, worldly, skilled Jazz musician, a saxophone player of good looks, compassion, gentleness, kindness, and care. The man wants to be with her. The seeds of genuine love are planted. Ida stares forth, being alive, thinking, feeling, figuring out who she is. She clothes herself in her nun’s habit. She walks away from the young man, moving out onto the street, the world alone, a car passes, brake lights coming on, a change in direction hinted at, uncertainty registers within Ida’s intelligent beautiful eyes. Finality and decisions of magnitude are not made from rebellion. A smile slightly blossoms, a hop comes to her step, confidence registers. She comprehends she is a consecrated woman, a bride of Christ. One thing I did not like in the review in Emmanuel was the excellent reviewer defined the ending as open to interpretation. I am convinced there is one ending. Ida returns to the convent, a religious woman of profound depth, aware, knowing herself, living a full life with, in, and through the Church.

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Jul022015

Emmanuel

A link to an interesting Eucharistic website: Emmanuel, the magazine of Eucharistic Spirituality, has been published continuously since 1895. It is one of the oldest and most respected Catholic periodicals in the United States.

I enjoyed the Polish movie ‘Ida‘ immensely.  The no holds-bar realism within its masterful cinematic storytelling moved me deeply.  The honesty of a discernment focused upon truth, harshly humanistic, achingly compassionate and loving in the telling of a young Polish sister embracing her religious vocation expanded my heart, broadened my love of the Church, increased my comprehension of Catholic relevancy.  There is a review of the film on the Emmanuel website that I am convinced strikes a deep and insightful tone.  Just the thought of the film brings tears, and it is not tears of emotion, rather extreme depth. Someone truly understands faith upon the level it has worked throughout my life.  It is not about being Catholic.  It is about being authentically human, and through being human we become deeply and truly Catholic.  If we do not understand our sinful, hurting and weak nature, we do not understand the healing the Church, the Eucharist, Christ, is able to provide.  We are not superior people of righteousness attempting to rule the world.  We are broken people opening ourselves to the grace of salvation, and in the process learning to see Christ in all our brothers and sisters.  A wonderful movie.  A must see for all those of piercing faith.

Ida

 

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Jul022015

Affirmation

Up and at’em, the second of the month and three Rosary mysteries at Tilma for the conversion of the world. Inspiring, uplifting communal prayer, fittingly coinciding with thought on community essential to prosperous practicing of the Catholic faith. During the prayers, before a wonderful nearly life-sized Immaculate Conception statue, a confidence centered in my being. An identity established, I trust in the Lord, poised in faith, hope, and charity. Everything being conducted affirms to the assertive. Frailties existing, self-patience enduring, I fear nothing. Details lacking, clarity refusing, optimism prevails. God is up to something, and I am pleased to smile in anticipation. A presence essential, St Paul’s resides within my reposing. More accurately, the Eucharist is constructing internally. I visualize the monstrance and presentation provided by the Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration, yet precisely it is the Eucharist being celebrated. The Eucharist dominates my life, the source and summit of my strength. Now Lord, help me to discern proper service to my brothers and sisters. Use me please Lord, I am properly aligned, only growing stronger with the passing of time. I purchased a wonderful smaller collage of Father Solanus Casey. I felt drawn to it. It was a part of Jan Marie’s holy bartering section, a collection of items donated to her that she sells for whatever one can contribute. Regarding Father Solanus, I recalled staying at St Felix in Huntington, Indiana, now a retreat center.  I slept across the hall from Father Solanus Casey’s room.  The light was continuously left on in the room, with Father Solanus’ Capuchin habit draped across the bed. I felt privileged, establishing a connection with the simple friar of great reputation, praying for his protection throughout the night.

God’s plans are always for the best, always wonderful, But most especially for the patient and humble who trust in Him, are His plans infinitely holy and sublime.  –Venerable Father Solanus Casey

Father Solanus Casey, Capuchin priest and porter

Father Solanus Casey, Capuchin priest and porter

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