Father Esterbrook in his homily touched on the idea of identity. The concept struck relevant as my spiritual path, within the good and bad, focuses largely upon smashing identity, or to a lesser degree hiding identity. Unafraid to be wrong or right, unconcerned with being wrong or right, I have been tossing thoughts about–hidden many will remain. I think a more appropriate way to put the stated ambiguity would be the following. I am willing to be wrong if it draws me closer to God. If being right takes me further away from God, being right means nothing. In fact, being right can be extremely destructive. A common theme throughout my life has been the destruction of identity. Severe alcoholism an obtuse consequence. Father Esterbrook stressed the increasing of identity through Christ. John the Baptist in scripture proclaims He increases and I decrease (John 3:30). Let us follow the Gospel path of divine espousing: He (Jesus Christ) who comes from above is above all; he who is of the earth belongs to the earth, and of the earth he speaks; he who comes from heaven is above all. He bears witness to what he has seen and heard, yet no one receives his testimony…Interesting, no one receives his testimony. Clarity. The practical point establishes relevancy. This is not another avenue of spiritual expression and investigating. It is a man transforming–transforming through acquiescence and reduction. Mystery proclaims the loudest from the mouth of babes. When I heard Father clearly proclaiming the acceptance of an identity, the rooting of one’s life within Christ in order to become fully human and individual, I took internal protest, feeling my message was wrong. The affront proved pleasant. I like being wrong. Father stressed to become somebody. My agitation by the encouraging thought of identity caught my deepest spiritual antenna’s attention.  Something was wrong.  I wanted to point fingers.  It was obvious internally I had become attached to the idea of destroying one’s self in order to advance spiritually as a thing of my doing.  It was a concept I discovered and promoted.  The powerful concept of surrendering one’s self to one’s self, the smashing of identity, became a hidden prideful identity. However, if it ends there the advancement of identity in imitation of Christ never sets foot. I become grounded in self-love, intellectualizing simply for the sake of intellectualizing. Being right means more than growing, means more than experiencing the psychic change that is a part of serious spiritual maturing. This is not an Eastern emptying, nor Zen calisthenics. Christ increasing within me purifies and strengthens so that I live a fuller life.  Being whole in Christ, I am able to become someone special. My ideas of destruction, becoming fixated upon the destruction of identity, leads to misery, frustration, and stagnation. Perversion is a word defining all that strays away from God. All my efforts must be focused upon decreasing my prideful and sinful nature in order to allow God to fill, to become stronger in identity through Christ. If now I am to focus upon identity, accepting that certain growth has transpired, accepting the will of God for me to become more active, how do I act and how do I stay pure? I have established the fact I will not focus upon my sinful nature. I am more than a sinner when trusting in Christ, when obedient to the Church, when working devoutly with Our Holy Mother. Enough! Thoughts have commenced. My ideas on identity are changing. Details may be lacking, yet I accept the challenge. I have been working in that direction with my focus upon fellowship. God is allowing something to transpire within my life. I do my best trusting in the Lord, while always asking for more. When it comes to God, I am learning that enough is not enough. I want more. All for the glory of God and the salvation of souls.

I have a bedside vigil tomorrow after Spanish lessons with Lilly.  The patient is in her mid-nineties a Catholic woman who has received last rites.  I look forward to the two hours of prayer and profound companionship.  Today sitting in Adoration, Father Esterbrook and another priest entered, tending to the Monstrance.  Priest are special men to witness and contemplate.  I want to quote from the Gospel reading today:  Jesus answered, “If I glorify myself, my glory is worth nothing; but it is my Father who glorifies me, of whom you say, ‘He is our God.’  You do not know him, but I know him.  And if I should say that I do not know him, I would be like you a liar.  But I do know him and I keep his word.  I am going to ramble a bit, leaving alone the idea of lying, keeping the word of God.  Jesus elevates lying to sins of omission.  He is a liar if He does not tell the world who He is.  He is a liar if he does not reveal to the world what His Father is doing through Him.  His work is not complete.  There are things to be done.  Sitting in adoration, Barb from ‘Arise’ also conducted a Holy Hour.  She is a married woman and I have no problem spending one-one-one time with her.  Mary is of the same regard.  As I sat before the Eucharist, I thought about the matter, recognizing I felt like crying.  It did not take serious soul searching to determine why.  There is another married woman I spent time with and it racks me with guilt and confusion.  What is the difference?  I am going to avoid details, for the examination of conscience goes deep.  I did nothing intentionally wrong.  If I sinned it was not because of cruel intent or lust.  I am positive there is an open wound that was exposed.  I feel as if I have been knocked off my spiritual horse, while still accomplishing many good things during Lent.  I refuse to get back on, rather brushing myself off, examining myself, studying where I am at and why I got here–feeling the overwhelming need to cry, yet refusing, rather determined to investigate.  I will perform the sacrament of reconciliation Saturday.  I will make no pronunciations against another.  If she calls and needs my assistance, I will do as she deems necessary.  I trust her, while recognizing she is also vulnerable.  Something is happening there and I will not leave it alone if it calls again.  I will accept the burden of ensuring everything is done for the glory of God.

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.