Flew into Cleveland in time to catch mass at Our Lady of Mount Carmel with the Mercedarains. Then on to St Andrews Abbey and Cleveland Benedictines for Adoration. I reschedule weekend classes with the Hospice of Western Reserve. I simply did not feel like spending eight hours plus Saturday and Sunday in training and medical testing in order to qualify as a volunteer. They understood, scheduling me for the consecutive Saturdays of September 26th and October 3rd. I thoroughly enjoy every conversation I have with the volunteer coordinator. This coming Saturday, the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament is holding a brunch gathering. The Eucharistic community’s get togethers are always quality socializing, followed by splendid prayer time.
Arriving in Cleveland, Adoration settled, allowing the processing of the last week, to some degree that is. The Benedictines once again placed me in a choir stall, even though I sat in a pew. I felt tired, not wanting to impose. The community offered sheltering welcome. I signaled over Brother Mario following the commencing of the community Holy Hour, offering him greetings from a distant brother. Brother Jacob from North Dakota mentioned spending class time with him. Brother Mario broke out with a sincere smile upon hearing the name of Brother Jacob, informing me he considered him a very good friend and that he would make a point of calling him.
An interesting note, during Adoration twice sirens sounded loudly through the church. There was also the noise of traffic, often the bass of blasting rap music, and a helicopter. It allowed me to comprehend the quiet filling Assumption Abbey. I am not making the point that the frantic city sounds of Cleveland are bad. They are urban; human and a reality. There is a sense of the profound sitting in front of the Eucharist, enveloped within prayer, while audibly the world crashes around one. However for myself, I feel I have reached a point of maturity still demanding internal cleansing. In a way, I do not feel strong enough to take on the burdens of a city like Cleveland in prayer. It wearies me. I am convinced I need the quiet and wide open spaces of North Dakota to allow further healing.
Final note, the drive to Bismarck proved meaningful by presenting Father Warren in detail. Conversation streamed natural. He told me about his days as a Parrish priest. He wanted to be a math teacher, however God saw fit to fill his life with the duties of a Parrish priest. He also possessed ties to St Andrew Abbey. He told me his abbey in Colorado would conduct an exchange with the Cleveland abbey. St Andrew’s Slovakian roots provided priest fluent in the language, a thing the Colorado abbey, Holy Cross, could not provide. There was a Slovakian Parrish in Colorado pleading for a priest who spoke their language. Negotiating an exchange, Holy Cross would send one of their priest to Cleveland to teach, while the Cleveland abbey sent a Slovakian priest to tender to his countrymen. Father Warren drove me to Bismarck due a doctor’s appointment. He had to pick up pain medication in order to deal with the effects of cancer. I asked no further questions, alighting to prayer. Something inside me sensed Father endured more, much more, than his friendly nature, bright smile, and intelligent conversation offered as a blessing.
