Home from work, examining my day.  The Lent concentration upon fellowship continues. The ‘Arise’ gatherings ended today. Experiencing small numbers, the get-togethers proved sublime. Two women, Barb and Mary, and I, savored the well-designed program, producing splendid fruit, garnering respect, cherishing good memories.  Within simplicity, structure, humility, practicality, and mutual sharing, we practiced a sound exploration of deeper faith. It was a necessary and longed for community experience.  The three of us have agreed to continue meeting weekly, or at least every other week, as Barb will be conducting quite a bit of traveling during the coming months.  We concur that an organized approach is to be maintained.  Barb, the ecclesiastical minister, provided literature for a half dozen or so programs she has been exposed to.  We decided on a Catholic Catechism examination focused upon the theme of Christian morality, a profound investigation into proper behavior for those seeking an advanced spiritual life.  Morality beyond simple concepts.  I have been blessed.  These two women–mothers, wives, plus grown children of solid families–edify and enrich truly to glorify God, focusing inward while loving and caring, concentrating upon self-examination and improvement rather than superiority through judgement, lovingly trying to imitate their Savior, to worship a resurrected Christ, while understanding a crucified Jesus.  Being a Church authority is not a consideration.  Being an avid and active member of a parish: one amongst many, is a cherished identity.  A startling twist in fellowship occurred after ‘Arise’.  Lilly called canceling our Spanish session.  She woke today feeling exhausted and weak, sounding horrible on the phone.  Friday we will get together.  After her call, an extremely surprising call led to coffee and moving conversation. John the Hermit is spending time in Cleveland Heights, working on a book.  He is staying less than a half mile away.  He wanted to know if I could meet him at Holy Rosary in Little Italy.  The get-together went well.  I was stunned by his humility, his authentic pleasure with seeing me.  There was a funeral after Mass, finely dressed and weeping Italians everywhere.  The two of us comingled before moving off to commiserate alone.  This weekend we will spend time together, if he does not head back to southern Ohio.  I was so impressed with the afternoon that if all goes well at St Paul Shrine Saturday, I will invite him to Massachusetts, providing transportation and expenses.  Now for the perplexing issue, brutal honesty.  I do not feel guilty, yet bewilderment does linger.  Last night, I stopped by the Jewish couple’s home.  We had a long talk.  In fact, I was unable to dismiss myself until after two in the morning, excusing myself due to street parking regulations enforced after two in Cleveland Heights.  She is scared of lighting and there was a terrible thunderstorm.  It turns out, she has a nurse helping her with changing bedding and bathing her husband.  She was pleased by my offer, insisting I come in and talk to her, to enjoy some tea.  Her husband lay there listening, attempting to participate.  At times, he seemed angry, at other times at peace.  It is difficult to read him, especially when his wife is around.  I was confused, praying, trying to convince him I was there for him. The couple live solitary lives, receiving no visitors.  She is struggling to put a wheelchair together for him.  She cannot transport him.  If he needs medical attention, she has to call an ambulance.  She tells horror stories about medical treatments.  Once, her husband was declared insane, locked in a mental ward.  It is a complex situation.  Nobody visits.  She is lonely, suffering from insomnia.  She frets over her husband.  She is a talker, loving to converse.  She likes to talk about her life.  When she was fourteen, she met her husband, lying to him, telling him she was eighteen.  When she turned eighteen they married. That was in 1963, the year I was born.  Fifty-three years of marriage.  I cannot believe she is that old.  She appears to be a woman in her forties, fashionable and conscientious.  She tells me many younger men are dating older women because they admire their maturity.  She is concerned and thinks I should find a girlfriend.  She says she worries about being alone when her husband passes, yet disdains the idea of courting.  She worries about a lot of things.  When she worries too much, she speaks to Mother Theresa and her guardian angel.  It turns out, her husband is the Jewish one.  She is Italian, a non-practicing Catholic.  It is an absolute pleasure to converse with her.  I express concern that Dave might be offended with a man speaking to her so late into the night.  Sitting on his bed with him, holding his hand, she assures me he knows her loyalty and love for him.  The woman takes incredible care of her husband.  Her love for him reassures me.  I really enjoy visiting with the couple.  I will remain solid in faith, trusting in God, remaining on my path.  If I am called, I will return to be of service to the husband and wife.  I am trying my best to be a good man.  I have done nothing wrong.