I was asked to take a break. I am sitting with the Hospice patient I sat with last week. Bedside vigil patients are recognized as actively dying. Prognostics identifying final moments. The patients are basically expected to pass within the next forty-eight hours. This one has been hanging in there over a week. Today she is  burning up with a fever. Her sister, whom she lived with just arrived. Neither sister married, living together after the death of their parents. Their brother also arrived. Three siblings together sharing the passing of life. The brother pushed his sister in a wheelchair into the room. The sister called out to me, asking if I was a Eucharistic minister. I answered, yet she did not acknowledge me, continuing onward to call out in a loud voice  to her sister: ‘Sweetie, Sweetie,  I am here’.  Her brother explained she honestly hears very little, making everything up in her own way. God is good and all giving. The fellowship blessing my life is astounding. This morning  at the St Clare Mass,  I sat marveling at all the new people emerging. Exiting, providence provided the opportunity to hold the door for Mary and Barb from ‘Arise’. Mary taking hold of my arm for balance, asking if I would mind her bringing snacks Wednesday. Breakfasting at Casa Dolce,  Rosalie recommended a roast beef, eggs, and potato breakfast when I told her I desired a large meal. I told her about the couple from Saturday’s gathering telling me how much they enjoyed taking cooking lessons at Casa Dolce. The owner often schedules classes teaching cooking techniques she acquired in Italy. Rosalie encourages me to take one of the classes. The demonstration here is the grace of God. Expanding upon the theme,  exiting Adoration after breakfast, I came across this vehicle waiting to lead a funeral procession. Once again the Church was packed with a funeral. I found the vehicle captivating. Here is a photo from my phone. The funeral home providing was Fioritto.   Before I end, a final note. As I  entered this on my phone, the Lord’s prayer interrupted my thoughts. I looked up to see a Eucharistic minister tendering to a gentleman in a wheelchair. It was presented to me yesterday at St Paul Shrine by lawyer Jim to become a Eucharistic minister. The thought has been ruminating for sometime, obvious signs now pointing toward affirmation.

Today, before work, quality time spent with the St Clare gathering centered upon families. The maturity cleanses and invigorates, refreshing in regards to fellowship. Several of the couples spoke of decades of matrimony. Families, children, grandchildren, in-laws, communities of faith. The husband and wife organizing the event spoke of forty plus years of marriage. I find the environment soothing. A God of order delights in order; structure, community, strength, support, commitment, loyalty, love, imperfection, trials, all within soundness, built upon stability, growth, and nurturing, bringing the best out in one another. We were seated in small groups. Within our group was a couple, grandparents of twelve, sharing their life. Their twelfth grandchild was born afflicted with Down’s syndrome. One of their sons has recently moved into their home with two of his children, girls of five and seven. Life presents its challenges, yet they endure as a couple, pillars of faith for their children and grandchildren. It is not talk. It is living. This was an exceptional crowd. Towards the end of the gathering, after lunch, the air went out of my enthusiasm. It was not negative, rather a grounding in neutrality. It was presented to me that the group is Charismatic in practice. The subject of speaking in tongues offered as a gift to pursue. It dawned on me that the passion of the group was talking in tongues. I have just never acquired any interest in the Charismatic movement.  I relate matters to Mary and her preoccupation with visions. The supernatural, the extreme, the out of the ordinary, contains no attraction for me.  I recall a priest remarking that St John of the Cross expressed concern that Saint Teresa of Avila placed too much importance upon her extra-ordinary experiences. There is nothing there, a lack of interest present within my prayer disposition. I am positive if God wanted me to pursue such an avenue, I would possess at least curiosity. I have a great interest in learning about God. I recognize it as a blessing. There is honestly nothing there in regards to the Charismatic movement. I relate it to denominational debate and apologetics. I have no interest, not even a passing fancy. Again, I point to the wisdom of the ‘Arise’ principles and guidelines, a mature approach to faith gatherings. During my recent breakfast with Jim Nagle, he asked me a question. Let’s examine it. What if God bluntly approached you, declaring you made it, you were bound for heaven. He would offer a deal, a choice how to live your life. Either choice would be blessed. First choice: you would be established as a religious authority, a writer of books, a sought after speaker, a public leader of the Catholic Church, effecting the lives of many. Or the second choice: you would remain hidden, living your difficult trying life, receiving no attention for your advanced faith, no promises whatsoever except that your humility and choice would open the doors of purgatory. It is an interesting examination of conscience. The more profound choice is obvious, yet the lives of many declare a different mindset. Anyway typed this during lunch at work. I am out of time. Final note. I am so enamored with this group, as people, that if they pursue me I will respond.

Breakfast with Jim Nagle, introducing him to Casa Dolce after a St Clare mass. Our relationship elevates within a return from his New York City excursion and my passionate pursuit of a mature community of faith. Conversation advances beyond initial engagements. God demands growth. Yesterday a four hour bedside vigil, followed by an after work hour of prayer, time with another Catholic Hospice patient–prayers abounding with a special lady, fully present, aware to the best of my abilities at that moment. God shapes and forms, working within privacy and silence. I shared a text exchange with my son’s mother. It started with a focus upon her daughter, Stephanie, a woman less than ten years in age of myself. Through inspiration arising during mass, I put together a Catholic prayer package: Rosary, St Louis de Montfort’s ‘Secrets of the Rosary’, Our Lady Undoer of Knots novena booklet, Divine Mercy prayer guides, and various prayer cards. The prayer package will be shipped to Stephanie, my son’s older stepsister. Though years have created severe distance, we were close at one time. I always recall a specific time when she was a teenager. She went swimming with the boys and I. The boys were approximately five and six. She was a teenager. She emerged from the swimming changing room in a bathing suit embarrassingly and obviously too small for her. She was becoming a woman, her body maturing dramatically. I called her over and instantly realized she was lost. Interiorly, she was still a little girl. I said nothing, indirectly addressing an awkward moment with silent attention, giving her my t-shirt, telling her to go swim with her brothers. She covered up with the shirt and ran off immersed within innocence, delighted to join her fun-loving younger siblings. Now she is in rehab, fresh out of prison for the second time, attempting once more to make sense out of life. My son driving her from prison to the rehab, the impression she made on him, imprints upon me. I send the prayer package, mentioning her in prayer to Our Holy Mother. I have taken to holding hands with the Mary statue at the St Clare Adoration Chapel. She stands slightly above, holding her hands downward, inviting upward, the Immaculate Conception, a replica of a vision from younger days. I place my hands in her’s, releasing, accepting frailties, acknowledging imperfections, pleading the obvious, today mentioning Stephanie. Please Holy Mother, do not refuse my petitions. Anyway, back to the text exchange with Gina, the mother of my son. We expanded upon her reaction to my using the term ‘incredible’ to describe my Hospice experiences, relating them to her husband’s experience as a medical doctor working with Hospice patients. Let’s explore.

I see Bob each day after he comes home from hospice. He sees families and such grief, spouses devastated, crying because they’re losing their love ones. He had to make a decision on Sunday because he had a patient who was young and was diagnosed with lung cancer just in December. In these few months, it spread to his bones. He was in so much pain and dying. His wife and son were standing there trying to comfort him to the point Bob had to do make a decision whether or not to give him more morphine, knowing it would ease his pain but also end his life. It weighs on Bob hard especially knowing he has cancer himself. I’ve done and home hospice care when I was younger and I know people when they Passover most are peaceful but I always saw the grief with the families,that to this day sticks with me. I understand like when my father passed away he was in my arms I knew he was sorry about mistakes in his life. I understand like when my father passed away he was in my arms I knew he was OK. It was peaceful, angelic, but even Bob was waiting for me to loose it. I know my father is OK. Bobs sees death on a daily bases but I think when children and families are involved and kids and spouses are crying, it hits those memories of his childhood when his father died on his mom’s birthday, amazingly Christmas Eve. His father was forty-eight, leaving his mother with six young kids. As Daibers, recognizing there stubborn stifling toughness, I don’t think they ever properly grieved. The whole family festers in unresolved heartbreak. Death haunts Bob’s life. Bob found his brother Joe when he died from esophageal cancer. He has had such personal loss. Plus when he almost died, his own close encounter with death in front of Sophie. His own daughter had to rush him to the hospital. He feared dying in front of his daughter as his father died in front of him. I just see Bob as wonderful, a compassionate doctor. That’s rare but I think inside its hard on him. When it comes to similar situations.

I responded to her lengthy text.

It all is to nurture love. I am convinced I am called to this as it increases faith and trust. I would say God ask this of Bob to strengthen and draw him closer. All is in God’s hands. Nice thoughts. Thank you. God never ask more than what is good for eternity.

A final text, hours later, before entering the hour of Hospice prayer after work.

The ‘incredible’ part is the experience of God, a continuation of my spiritual life, daily mass, prayer before the Eucharist, a continual devotion to God. Working with the dying, praying with them, is ‘incredible’ in the sense that it deepens my love for God. If it is not about God, it is of no use. It is an aspect of my life within the absolute and absorbing entirety of dedicating my life to God.

Painting replica posted on the wall of latest Hospice patient. Another special one, a blessing. God is good and all giving. The painting is by Juan Flandes, a Flemish painter active in Spain during the turning of the fifteenth into the sixteenth century. The link is from the Madrid museum hosting the original painting.

Words from Jesus to Nicodemus, concentrated upon during the ‘Arise’ meeting this morning after mass at St Clare.  There were many illuminations received during the reading and commentary on Nicodemus encountering Jesus, one-on-one, during the night.  I will just present the words that struck the hardest:

Truly, truly, I say to you, we speak of what we know, and bear witness to what we have seen;

I add a text to the man of prayer, in response to his gratitude for assisting him with his electrical issues.  I just finished the ‘Arise’ gathering at St Clare’s.  It is phenomenal.  God is healing me through proper fellowship.  My experience with Ann and the recovery world really wounded me.  God is showing me his power through community. It is a message I needed.  I am thankful for both you and Mary, our time together Sunday.  You are both important to me and a part of God’s revelation.  Thank you for allowing me to help you. 

Another matter coming together nicely is a telephone conversation with my son driving home from work.  He assisted his older step-sister, catering to her desperate situation of having nobody who would drive her from prison to a rehab center.  Most have given up on the young lady, however my son said to me: ‘she has never done anything to me, always loving to me, and I could only respond that I would be there for her’.  He spoke about being with her as she was admitted into the rehab facility, the fact she leaned heavily upon him while they waited.  It struck him she had no one.  Meeting the authorities at the rehab center he became fearful, convinced the women were psychologically unsound.  He could only observe the women and disappointingly wonder how in the hell they would be able to help his step-sister.  It is a brutal fact of the recovery world that the majority of people willing to dedicate their time to the recovery of others are so broken themselves.  I have moved beyond all of that, allowing a greater life to be defined through obedience to God’s will.  Thankful the recovery world has been removed from my life.  In the void, greater things emerge.

Father Estabrook presented, and I pursued, a continuation of the expansion of my communal faith life, my Lenten divine mission, a fulfilling of capabilities and potentialities.  This weekend at St Clare I will attend a program sponsored by groups associated with the church identifying themselves with the names: ‘Families in Christ Jesus’, ‘Catholic’s Men Fellowship’, ‘Men of Praise’.  The weekend program is titled ‘The New Way of Living’.  I am so taken aback by the obvious affront by God upon my worship that I am praying and discerning cancelling my Easter retreat to Massachusetts.  The vacation days, Thursday and Monday, are scheduled.  I will enjoy a five day work free Easter weekend.  I am now asking God if he wants me to spend this time with my new community and my family.  Should I concentrate my worship locally instead of journeying back to the Maronite Monks of Adoration?  I am so humbled by the profound communal experiences I am encountering, I advance my surrender to the will of God.  Let me do as You please Lord.  One of the points mingling about everything, for there were many thoughts I felt I wanted to express in this post, yet now they elude me.  I wanted to stress that what is happening is not theoretical or contriving.  It is not an effort of my scheming and planning.  There is a flow, a spontaneous happening that delights, an experience and encountering that I will compare to Nicodemus venturing through the night to speak with Jesus.

A final note.  As this post burst forward, it was interrupted by the Hospice.  A bedside vigil with a Roman Catholic is scheduled for tomorrow from 10 AM to 2 PM.  Prayer at the bedside of a passing Catholic sister calls forth.

Today during the first reading, Naaman, the gentile esteemed war leader of men, a leper, a man who nearly shunned Divine providence through the rejection of the ordinary, I reflected upon basketball. Something all tied together, yet I am not really sure how. I thought of what often happens during open gyms, gatherings of basketball players upon various levels. There will be a player who is quite advanced in skill and competition. Often, he will refuse to play with others. Some of the others will become angry, calling him arrogant, accusing him of thinking he is better than them. The truth is the advanced player will identify only negative possibilities in competing. He understands he could possibly get hurt. The game will progress in a way that will drag him down in experience, forcing him to deal with frustrating situations, lowering the possibility of excelling. If he plays and loses, an internal wrath and festering may plague him for days. If he wins it means nothing. He comprehends that if he plays with those at his level or above, he can compete in a manner that exercises his skills to their fullest potential. Even if he plays poorly and loses, or plays his best and loses, he understand he improved his skills, fulfilled in the fact he had the opportunity to be the best that he could be. There are some players whose skill level may not be the highest, yet their ability to adapt, their insight and intelligence to bring out the best in others allows them to advance. I am convinced attending mass at St Clare is elevating my spiritual life. The surrounding, and abundant, attendees solidify a profounder calling. Father Estabrook deeply satisfies ecclesiastically. I was placed amongst a mature community of worshipers able to bring out the best in me. The depth and Presence I experience during prayer and mass is warmly accentuated. Yesterday, I spent the day with Mary, a surprisingly delightful day. She took me to Mount St Joseph, an elderly care facility run by the Sisters of Saint Joseph of St Mark. It is the religious community she belonged to during the mid-seventies. We walked around the magnificent, and brand new, facility as she told me about the various and dramatic visions she encountered during her stay with the sisters. There was a plentitude of remarkable stories. Details do not effect veracity. The day was the most intimate time the two of us have shared. She not only told me her visions, yet she also told me about being strapped to hospital beds, strange periods of being drugged, a plentitude of psychological examinations, and finally the religious order, accompanying priest, and bishop easing her out of the community and into a normal life. She speaks lovingly of how considerate the Church was in helping her attain a career as a nursing assistant and a solid life as a layperson. There are no hard feelings, nor animosity. In fact, we were there to visit her former mother superior, a woman she cares for deeply, however the sister was vacationing in Florida. We ended up eating out twice during the day, and paying a visit to the man of prayer. The man of prayer was experiencing electrical problems in his home, and through the grace of God I was able to alleviate his problems. It was a splendid day with two unique souls strongly in the service of God. Mary and I ended up at Sacred Heart. I figured the Adoration chapel would be locked, yet we tried anyway. Lo and behold, Rodger and the Tanzanian priest associated with the parish were unloading groceries from a car. They both greeted us warmly. Rodger informed us he was about to go in for Adoration, thrilled with the idea of us joining him. He showed us the code to enter the chapel, inviting us to visit whenever the Lord called. God is good and all giving. He is gracing my life with a true sense of Catholic community, with the spiritual maturity I easily see I needed. Even if everything is being done simply in order to remove me, I embrace the Lent renewal with faith, hope, and charity.