Attended Mass today at St Ann’s, also known as Communion of Saints.  It is the first time I have been inside the Church even though it is a short distance from my home.  I was steered away from the Church by a former conservative friend, warning against their liberal policies, their wandering away from the traditions of Catholicism.  Expanding and enveloping, I was touched to be deeply moved by a Sorrowful Mother and Sacred Heart of Jesus devotional room set off the Cedar Road entrance.   My heart melted, photos a must.  During Mass with an impressionable young priest, a charming young man, awkward and unorthodox a bit, I found myself enamored with him, admiring his bravery in donning the collar.  He is deeply in my prayers. I am going to cut this short. Just finished a lengthy impromptu conversation with my neighbor, Carter’s neighbor.  I intended to say more, embracing the idea of moving away from religious pursuits that cross over to fanaticism, unable to broaden personal horizons, stagnating in attempts to be superior in faith.  The porch sitting has been nice, the neighbor entertaining—exploring ideas of salsa dancing which the significant other and I will do this Saturday at Nazca.  The friendly personable neighbor accentuates the idea of making an offer to Carter regarding the sale of his home.  The photos of St Ann’s speak for themselves.

An interesting post St Paul Shrine Mass brunch in Tremont at the Treehouse today.  A friend organized the gathering, pulling together a wonderful assortment of people.  The significant other accompanied.  It seemed relevant the attending was all highly educated.  The Cuban poet—a political science professor, her husband a medical doctor currently teaching and conducting research associated with the Cleveland Clinic, a high-school teacher who went onto to complete a doctorate in I am not sure what area of study, a Franciscan Friar who will attain a PHD in Information Systems—a unique friar working with the Federal Government and CIA in combating human trafficking and terrorism, and a Taiwanese man working on a doctorate in music—the singer of operatic Latin during Mass.  It all coalesces nicely with the idea of moving away from the lunatic fringe element of faith worshipers, residing and befriending those able to interact on a healthy social level.  In fact, I perceive myself growing, refining an abrasive personality that can be confronting.  The significant other is a tremendous socializer, instantly befriended by this bunch of fascinating people.  I sat in silence for a majority of the brunch, charmed by the polite and informative nature of conversation.  Everyone waited their turn to speak, granting the speaker full attention, listening central to interacting.  I credit the Cuban poet for much of the mature social interaction as she conducts a group as if she is holding class, inquiring, guiding others into speaking about themselves.  She insistent upon a lack of dominating conversation, eliminating side conversation in order to focus the group singularly upon a subject.  Credibility is maintained by unwarranted comments being investigated, and narcissistic self-serving comments being dismissed.  A mature endeavor is established.  The significant other mentioned a return to school for myself, yet I feel I am too old.  I must admit a severe disappointment in my last employment position, while experiencing incredible invigoration, spiritually and intellectually, by the theatrical weekend in Chillicothe.  Last night, we attended another performance of Macbeth, discovering the performance while exploring the internet.  I was researching and reading about an Ohio Shakespeare troupe when I realized they were performing Macbeth just to the south in Akron this very weekend, an outside performance at the Stan Hywet gardens.  I wanted to see another rendition as the Chillicothe performance disturbed, convinced they missed something essential.  The over-emphasis on the role of the three witches, young actresses delighting in the supernatural extravaganza of portraying evil did not set right.  The witches appeared throughout the play, always present and dancing about in a frenzy.  It was not true to Shakespeare.  The witches were malformed woman, denizens of misery trapped in a deplorable state, humans convicted to evil due to evil deeds—misfortunate consequences rendered.  They were not alluring, ubiquitous, and all powerful as the young actresses presented them.  The witches could only prophesize, tempt, and present possibilities.  Human nature and free-will determined significance.  Shakespeare intended them to appear only three times—not to be dancing about characters as they mused, or seen separate from the action, controlling and influencing.  Human choices determined fate.  Anyway, I felt the more professional, more accurately arraigned performance by the Ohio Shakespeare troupe proved my insight correct.   In defense of the Chillicothe troupe, their Shakespeare was an addendum to their superb performance of Tecumseh, a side-project for serious acting young adults to explore possibilities.  Busy day today, finish with a reading from Mass, the concluding of St Paul’s epistle to the Hebrews.

So strengthen your drooping hands and your weak knees. Make straight paths for your feet, that what is lame may not be disjointed but healed.

The vicissitudes transforming my life at this time are severe, the employment change being the most pronounced. I am nervous, yet calm within discernment. Decisions are being made, convictions replaced with patience and trust, affirmations allowing room for mistakes. I think of Macbeth, a man rendering horrible decision after decision, suffering wretched consequences, never able to humble himself to honesty, regret, and repentance. His wife, Lady Macbeth, the instigator of the first murder, even she falls fearful and repentant. Macbeth cannot, driving forth madly to correct mistakes with further mistakes. I will leave room for the recognition of error. Declarations, promises, and demands quietly expand through trust and confidence. The recent theatrical weekend n Chillicothe, ending with a Feast of the Assumption Mass and procession in Little Italy at the Holy Rosary Church, can be viewed negatively, focusing on the amount of money spent, however the embracing of the fullness of truth, placing aside one-sided perspectives, the extended weekend must be seen as a commitment to my personal life. It was a profoundly cultured weekend of entertainment, properly inspiring creative efforts, aspirations to write arising distinct. Two memories from the Feast of the Assumption lovingly linger. The first is a beautiful woman I recognized instantly upon seeing her while gathering behind the Assumption float with the significant other. During the conclusion to the festive weekend, she stands upon the Church’s entrance rise with the priest and celebrants, leading Marian hymns with a microphone. I informed the significant other of the ethereal beauty of the woman’s voice. I observed the Italian woman before the procession, identifying her daughter through a shared beauty, and her husband through the respect and admiration he extended toward her. Excited to hear her voice, I was a bit disappointed in her first hymn, realizing it was good, yet not possessing the power I expressed to the significant other. The priest preceded with the final closing ceremonies, before once again handing the microphone to the woman. The woman sang again. This time in Italian. This time elevating her efforts to the marvelous and Divine. Otherworldly in exquisiteness, foreign in understanding, her voice tantalized, raising up a communal sense of glory. I identified importance within my fascination, the abandoning of a lunatic fringe element to the pursuit of faith through the commitment and acceptance of normality and the sharing of life intimately with others, being fully present and engaged with loved ones, while open and loving on a communal level. I fixed my gaze upon the Italian singer during the priest’s offerings of prayer, sensing a prayerful ecstasy within her being. In humbleness, simplicity, as a mother and wife, blessed with a marvelous voice, she comprehended the Divine revealing and experience occurring in her life. Walking back past the Church on a night concluding walk to my vehicle, after over-indulging in reduced priced Italian food, holding hands with the significant other, I saw the woman once again. The attractive young lady, I speculated to be her daughter, was calling out, ‘Mama…Mama’. The singer whirled about, saying ‘Mama…Mama…I am here’, recognizing her daughter seeking her attention, she raised both hands in greeting. Her daughter rushed to her as two female friends tagged along. Introduced by the daughter, one of the young ladies grasped the singer’s hands with both hands, absorbed in admiration and joy. The glory of God became evident watching the prideful daughter show her mother off to her friends. The relevancy struck vivid regarding normalcy, family and intimacy within a healthy spiritual life. It has firmly arisen essential, overtaking the fringe element tainting of a singular spiritual life passionately propelled by delusion. Easy does it through wholeness. Yet within the normalcy and ability to attain intimacy must not be fear and judgement. The second incident lovingly lingering involves a severely handicap woman.  Delighted with a delectable piece of Tiramisu, I made my way to eat when a disturbing woman came upon me. She appeared pathetic, tiny arms of a baby, obviously mentally impaired, I felt repulsed by her appearance while hungry to partake of a baked finery of life. Imploring, the woman walked right up to me, extending a card to read. The card stated deafness and mental complications, she sought financial assistance. I know when God comes a calling. Observing her closely, moving slowly, I retrieved five dollars for her. Calm and serenely, she nodded thank you. I discussed the incident with the significant other, who was shocked when I admitted I was repulsed by the woman, then surprised when she approached me directly. The following morning, she declared greater clarity. I offered the example of St Francis being confronted by a leper. She responded with words from the Three Companions: “Francis, everything you loved carnally and desired to have, you must despise and hate, if you wish to know my will. Because once you begin doing this, what before seemed delightful and sweet will be unbearable and bitter; and what before made you shudder will offer you great sweetness and enormous delight.”

Yesterday during Mass, it became evident separating from St Paul Shrine will be monumental.  The last two years of intense grace occurred associated with the Church.  Moving to first shift will no longer allow attendance of daily Mass with the Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration.  I have decided to write them a letter, addressing matters to Mother Superior, seeking prayers.  The sisters have spiritually penetrated my heart.  A one-on-one meeting with Sister Mary Thomas will be pursued.  The bond with the rescuer will be further annihilated.  With respect to ongoing maturity within recovery, the situation is viewed as an uplifting transition, an opportunity for emotional restraint and growth.  In honor and glory of all that has taken place, I move forward confident God will open new doors, places of worship presented, allowing continued dedication to the Eucharist.  It has been months since I populated the Friday Holy Hour and Divine Office evening prayer session at the Benedictine monastery.  There are other homes of Christ, Catholic Churches, presenting themselves.  Sunday worship will still be anchored at St Paul Shrine.   Interestingly and lovingly, driving away from the new employer, I discovered a Church only blocks away.  St Mary’s of Collinwood, a Slovenian Church, tying in nicely with the biography ‘Our Lady’s Knight’, the story of a Slovenian family.  Every Thursday, the Church exposes the Eucharist for Adoration.  The day before I start a new chapter in my life, the parish will celebrate their summer picnic.  It appears to be a marvelous and expressive event.  The significant other always willing to fully engage.  God is good and all giving.

Words of Leo Lovasik in a letter he wrote to his brother, presented in his biography written by his brother Father Lawrence Lovasik.

“Untutored as I have been, I never forgot those Two, so dear to my heart.  Who, I knew, were waiting for me with welcoming arms.  These were none other than Jesus and Mary, to Whom I now owe my deepest gratitude for my restoration. Restoration indeed, because once in past years, I had that desire to become a priest, and as time went on, I became careless.  And what was the result?  It was my failure in everything I did.  I left the main road to Christ’s vineyard to take a side road, which ended with a dead-end sign.  Where was I to go next?  Could I force my way through this dead-end obstruction?  I saw that it was impossible, so I just sat there for nearly two years, waiting for something to happen….