My husband and I cared for a little 6 year old girl this weekend. She has a wonderful vocabulary and a maturity that is well beyond her years, so I enjoyed our conversations very much. Often, they revealed more than I expect.

Her “step-mother,” and her father are not yet married, though considering it seriously, as a turning toward God in their relationship.

She began a long description of her family, how she had two “Moms,” and how much she loved them both. She is a very happy child, though her natural mother does not have custody or visiting rights.

She asked me something about her “Papa,” my husband, referring to him as my boyfriend. I told her he was my husband. She seemed confused, wrinkling her brow. She said again that she thought he was my boyfriend.  I asked her what she thought marriage was.

“A lot of work.” was her first response, followed by, “It is the best way to take care of a baby.” She had heard her parents discussing marriage, and probably repeated what they had told her.

“But, you don’t have any babies, so why are you married?” she inquired. She seemed not to be able to comprehend why my husband was not my boyfriend.

I was suprised at first, then considered her position. Most of the important people in her life are not married. Some co-habitate, but married couples are a rarity in her life. My and Papa were the rare exception in her life.

It was a real challenge to try to explain my marriage to her. My husband and I have been happily married for almost 29 years. How could I explain Catholic marriage to her without seeming to condem her parent’s situation?  I briefly explained that marriage meant that a man and a woman promise to love each other forever, askng Jesus to be part of their marriage.

It was difficult for me to keep from extolling the deep and holy commitment that seems unimaginable to many people in her parent’s age group. Hopefully, I will have many more opportunities to show her by example what marriage is. I have been praying about it, asking God to inspire my words when the time and place is right. It is humbling to realize what a huge responsibilty I have to live my own marriage in the holiest manner possible. It may be the only example of Catholic marriage experienced by this child. Perhaps it will be so for her parents as well.

For that purpose, I respectfuly ask the readers to provide input. What do you thing about this situation? How would you respond?

Please respond as  a comment to this article. I hope this will begin a conversation about the topic as genuine, happy marriage becomes more rare in our time.

I just returned from a delightful vacation in Ireland. It was renewing to my husband and me to have 10 days alone together with no distractions, no obligations, only each other. We searched the beaches for shiny rocks, listened to the waves while lying on a down blanket on the beach. The sun was warm yet there was a chilly Arctic breeze. We laid there side by side, wrapped in our sweaters and coats, laughing and talking for a long time. That simple afternoon was by far the favorite time had for each of us.

After relaxing in the quiet and cool northern part of the island, we traveled down the narrow and bumpy roads to Dublin for a few days before flying back home.

While in Dublin, we visited St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It is the National Cathedral of Ireland. The ancient Church was rebuilt into it’s current state in 1205, about 800 years after St. Patrick’s death. It is masterfully crafted, with spectacular side altars and chapels, magnificent ceilings, beautiful stained glass windows, sculptures and lovely details in the architecture. We wandered around taking pictures and just basking in the beauty for hours.

I had a nagging uneasiness. It bothered me that the immense building felt strangely empty, more like a museum than a Church.  The popular tourist destination was filled with images of saints and inspiring art, but my soul did not soar toward God as it normally does when faced with such awe-inspiring beauty. Despite the other people all around, it felt strangely silent.

I wondered about the state of my soul because I did not feel the Presence of God that is a constant in our Church. When I am in a state of serious sin, my sense of physical closeness to God is obscured, even that close to the Tabernacle. What had I done now?? I spent a long time that night examining my conscience, looking for a reason that I did not sense the Presence of the Lord. I was puzzled to discover that I knew of no mortal sin that would have distanced me from God so. I put my puzzle before the Lord and fell asleep.

It was only the next day that I realized what was amiss. I was reading the guide to the Cathederal and noticed in the welcome message, “…Welcome to St. Patrick’s Cathederal……built in 1205 ‘… in the Anglican tradition…..’” What??? There was no “Anglican Tradition” when the building was rebuilt! It was then that I realized that was an Anglican church! There was no Tabernacle present. The Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist did not illuminate the stained glass. The gilded sculptures seemed dull and dusty without the light of Christ shining upon them.

Jesus was missing from this Catholic built Anglican building. The Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, reserved in the Tabernacle was what I missed, what I expected to find. And I did miss Him! It was as if I went to visit a friend, and was shown around their vacant home instead.

The event left a deep impression on me. As Catholics, we are immersed in holiness within our Church, and often take it for granted, as if it were background music. Sensing the lack of that holiness, that Divine Presence, in the Cathedral deepened my appreciation for the Catholic Church, with Her treasury of Sacraments that help to keep us face to face with God. It deepened my sense of intense awe at the sheer glory of the Eucharist.

Now, back at home, I look forward to Mass this Sunday at my local parish. It will be a home-coming. It is where I belong, no matter what country I find myself in.

Dearest Mary, Holy one.

I have known your name and story

from the first days of my life.

I never thought I had much in common

with the Woman of the Sun.

Then one day I realized how mistaken I had been,

and so I come to tell you,

I’m in love with your Son.

Dearest Mary, Blessed Mother,

I have watched in wonder

as my child quickly grew

and every wound that she received

wounded me as well.

You watched as your Son suffered

then cradled him in death.

Mother to mother,

dearest Mary I must tell you

I’m in love with your son.

Dearest Mary, Holy Woman

Surely you were amazed

at the man your Son became.

Gazing deeply into his eyes

you recognized His Father’s face.

His words were those of that same Father,

And Their love filled your life.

Dearest Mary, Finest Lady,

I have seen the mercy

in those eyes as well.

I yearn for the day I will hold Him

im an eternal embrace.

Woman to woman,

Dearest Mary,

We have this much in common,

I am in love with your son.

Dearest Mary, First Disciple,

I have learned how to live

from the the example set by you.

We follow Him together

down long and dusty roads.

He has shown us that those roads

lead on to Heaven,

and to our Love’s desire.

We walk along together

towards His close embrace.

Disciple to disciple,

Dearest Mary,

I must tell you

I’m in love with your Son.

Nearly every day, I reflect on the great Mystery of the eternal gift of Christ in choosing to become our Paschal Lamb, in choosing  to feed us with his own sacred Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity.

During Mass, we receive what appears to be mere bread and wine. As Catholics, we believe that it is Truly the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ. As my life as a Catholic continues, this Mystery seems deeper each day. As well, my faith in this teaching of the Church takes on a more central role in my life.

Often I speak to those who find this teaching absurd. I spoke to a protestant minister about it one day. He insisted that the Bible didn’t really mean what was written when it spoke of these things. Strange, how this concept of spiritual food; Christ as the Passover Lamb is beyond his comprehension. Even when Jesus’ spoke of it, many followers left him, finding the teaching too difficult. It is often difficult, unless we surrender our understanding to the Presence of Christ.

There were references in Christ’s day to the Passover lamb, slaughtered in the Temple every year in preparation for the feast. Each year, people would bring their lamb to the temple, looking into it’s eyes, touching the soft wool, and receiving the slaughtered animal after the priests sacrificed it. It was graphic and tangible. In our day, we do not seem to have the same earthy examples of sacrifice. Our food comes to us neatly packed,  not resembling the animal of origin at all. Jesus as Paschal Lamb is often a very vague and etereal concept for us.

What then, can help us understand this act of Christ in every Eucharist? He feeds us with his Body and Blood, and does not become less for it. He nourishes the Church in every Mass around the world, likely being celebrated somewhere every hour of the day and night.

Looking through my own life experiences for some kind of reference point, I recall an experience that may be more understandable to women than to men.

In the months before my daughter was born, I was her sole source of her life and nutrition. My own body and blood provided life for her, sustaining her until birth.

After birth, the miracle deepened for me. I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to stay home with her during her childhood. As her mother, I was blessed to be able to provide sustainance for my child.

As she was nourished by my body and blood before birth, as an infant, she was nourished in the form of milk produced by my own body and blood. I watched her in a sacred awe, as over days and months she grew and developed from a helpless infant into a little child.

For the first 10 months, she had no other source of nutrition than what my body and blood provided to her. In our first nursing embrace, I watched her follow the guide within her as  I held her in my arms, exchanging first tentative interactions. She looked up at me and snuggled close, as if we were still one. Although mother’s milk is only a product produced by the body, every drop contains the mother’s DNA, that which defines her as an individual. When my child nursed, we both deeply looked into the other’s eyes. I felt as if I could perceive her very spirit. She would often nurse until she fell asleep, often uttering soft sighs of profound contentment. I held her closely as she rested, feeling utterly at peace.

This example pales in comparison to the spiritual nourishment we gain when we receive Communion; the Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. The example is very imperfect, not fitting well at all, but in human life, I find that ordinary experiences are much like the Parables that Jesus taught in order to reveal a faint gleaning into profound realities that our minds can not completely comprehend.

Mother’s milk, like liquid manna, was produced by my own body and blood with no instruction from me and fed my baby in the desert months of early life. It was all that was required in order to sustain her life. The most sacred aspect of the experience was in our full presence with one another. As an innocent child, she had nothing to let go of, her trust in me was total and unquestioning. As an adult, I had to make constant choices to put aside for a time the multiple tasks that I felt I “needed” to do, and to relax into the moment. It is much like putting aside distractions in order to be fully present at Mass.

The emotional bonding of the nursing experience was profound. She learned that I loved, protected and nurtured her. Similarly, in the embrace of Christ in the moments after Communion, we rest within the embrace of the One who sustains both our physical and spiritual lives. In this Divine rest, we sigh in prayers of deep contentment.

Usually Easter is accompanied by chicks, bunnies, ducks and eggs. This year, a new Easter animal was added to the list.

The Monastery held their Vigil Mass at 4:30AM. It included the intense Morning Prayers that the monks pray every day.

The monks had been awake all night, not in prayer, but keeping vigil with their female pug, Maggie, as she went into labor and began delivering her pups. When they began preparing for the Mass, Maggie became hysterical when her “Father” left the room. This presented a problem. She could not be left in the sanctuary during Mass, so they moved her whelping box toward the darkened choir area, out of the sanctuary, but still within sight of about half the congregation.

The Mass began with the outside fire, which Maggie attended, puppies put on hold for a time. During the first part of the Mass, there were audible squeeks from the two previously delivered pups. Then, during a silent prayer, the vet called over a monk for assistance. He reached down into the box, then stood up with an object in his hand. The look on his face was one of mixed emotion, mostly disbelief . He held up the placenta high enough for us to see, and then took it away. When he returned he again reached in and held up a tiny black puppy.

Just as Brother did this, and oblivious to the action in the nursery, the priest began the Gloria. It was as if the birth had been synchronised perfectly. He brought in the symbolism of new life, the struggle of the vigil, and the pups squeaked at the appropriate moments.

The entire event was not a distraction, as would be expected, but a joyous acting out of the meaning of Easter. New life found it’s way, dispite the unusual circumstances.

Father’s guide dog got up from his place at the chair to investigate the going ons of his friend, Maggie, then quietly walked back to his station.

It is often the simple events of life that make the most impact upon us. There is no event more mystical and holy than Easter. To be accompanied with a real birth was amazing, as if God were showing us in the whelping box the reality of the mysteries of life.

Maggie and her four pups are doing well.

This week, the Vatican based news source, Zenit, posted an excerpt from Pope Benedict XVI’s recent question and answer session. The Pope addressed a question that most people have certainly considered:

“…An Italian mother named Maria Teresa explained that her son, Francesco, “has been in a vegetative coma since Easter Sunday 2009.” She asked the Holy Father, if her son’s soul has “left his body, seeing that he is no longer conscious,
or is it still near him?”Benedict XVI assured the mother, “Certainly
his soul is still present in his body.”He explained: “The situation,
perhaps, is like that of a guitar whose strings have been broken and therefore
can no longer play. The instrument of the body is fragile like that; it is
vulnerable, and the soul cannot play, so to speak, but remains present.”The
Pope assured the mother that “this hidden soul feels your love deep down,
even if unable to understand the details.”…” Zenit 4/22/2011

Several times in my life, I have been seriously injured or seriously ill. After an auto
accident, I was in a coma for several hours. During the illnesses, I also experienced coma states.

I do not know if my experiences were typical or common, but I had awareness
during the times that I could not communicate with the outside world.
Reflecting back on it, I found it to be awareness greater than in my normal
state of living.  During those times, I faced God without the distractions that lucidity brings. At times I felt my own struggle for life, the choice always being whether to move toward God or not. Sometimes, when my husband or daughter was present, I could sense their love for me, and that love gave me strength to continue the wordless dialogue. I could almost hear their words, but clearly heard the messages of love for me. Their being there brought me tremendous happiness. Often the conversation with God was in images. Sometimes I saw myself spiritually moving, with enormous effort, toward the loving arms of Christ, seeking safety, other times it was out of great
desire for God’s presence, living, warm, filled with light. Each experience was
totally different, except for the deeply intimate conversations with the Divine
and the intense love I felt while in the presence of the Lord. Those experiences each changed my life dramatically. After I regained consciousness, I was able to discern my path in profoundly new ways, as if I had been given a roadmap.

I have come to understand that it is our responsibility to lovingly maintain the
body of a comatose person. I believe that God is having a personal and
confidential conversation with them, and has eliminated all distractions. Often
people have little or no memory of their time in a coma. I can only recount my
experience. Many people do die after prolonged comas, but they have had the
opportunity to encounter God during their last days of life.

Palm Sunday began Holy Week as as we gathered palms and recalled Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jeruselam. We find ourselves outside of time as we join with the mobs of adoring fans trying to get a glimpse of the now famous Jesus. His disciples must have felt great pride to be in the company of the man whose message seemed to be gathering momentum, perhaps culminating in a wonderful victory. Did they imagine that state of adulation continuing, with promise of wealth and fame for themselves?

Tucked away in the rolling hills of Central Florida is a small Catholic monastery,
where the monks live a quiet life of prayer. They support themselves by the
work of their hands and pray for the intentions of the entire Church.

Their beautiful bells can be heard tolling several times a day.

The present accommodations at the monastery are unassuming,

a little house they have converted into a makeshift monastery set amid gentle hills far from their neighbors, with room for “the girls,” their small flock of hens.

Much of the space inside the old house is given over to a chapel, where they spend much of their time every day in prayer. 

Several years ago, they began a building fund for a larger building.

They hoped to provide a meeting space for visitors and more room for their activities.
Although they raised enough for the building, the contractor went out of
business, taking their money and leaving them with a shell of the originally planned building.

The half finished building still stands waiting for more money to be raised.

The monks are serious about their vocation and their life, but occasionally meet
people who treat them with less than the respect they deserve.

Recently, one of the monks was at a grocery store, doing the weekly shopping. As he was leaving,  a man stood staring, then spat at him and walked away. Similar incidents have occurred before. And yet, the monks still smile, they still pray for those who persecute them.

by JoAnne Thorn

Check out their website:

www.augustinianmonks.com

Augustinian Monks of the Primitive Observance
Mother of the Good Shepherd Monastery
2075 Mercers Fernery Road

Deland, Florida 32720

monks@augustinianmonks.com

]]> http://marianews.com/wordpress/696/monks-among-us/feed/ 0 http://marianews.com/wordpress/671/thoughts-on-the-sacraments-1/ http://marianews.com/wordpress/671/thoughts-on-the-sacraments-1/#comments Mon, 21 Feb 2011 00:44:15 +0000 Jthorn http://marianews.com/wordpress/?p=671

by JoAnne Thorn

“…Take these words of mine into your heart and soul…” (Deuteronomy 11:18, 26)

I call myself Christian. I call myself Catholic. These words define me in a vague manner. But they do not fully describe my true self, the self known only to God.

My most hidden motive behind every word and action is a manifestation of that true self. Others, who see me only at a superficial level, might call me a good person, but I cannot call myself that, for I know I am only a sinner.

There can be no pretense with God. When I retreat to the deepest level of my soul, I find myself torn between wanting to run into the arms of Christ and wanting to run and hide because of my sins.

The Sacraments are the most powerful ways to encounter Christ. But I can go only so far toward the Light. My sinful nature holds me back. The brilliance of the Light, the Holy of Holies, is too pure for me right now. My sins become like loud static, not allowing me to hear the Word of God. My sins are like clouds darkening the sky, obscuring my view of Jesus. The longer I am in a state of sin, the more distant I drift away from the Lord.

When I am cleansed by the Sacrament of Penance, I am freed once again. The Sacrament removes the obstacles that get in the way of my relationship with Jesus. I used to fear the Sacrament of Penance, not wanting to reveal my failings to a priest. That fear has given way to a deep desire to receive the peace that comes with Confession.

When I am cut off from the Presence of God in sin, I feel lost, as if I am drifting with no direction. I miss the ongoing conversation with God that is prayer. And so, I make my way to a priest, ready to cast off my self-imposed chains. I find it less stressful to make an appointment for Confession, rather than standing in line on a Saturday night, where I would worry about holding up people behind me, or hoping that the short time allotted to parish confessions will not be up before my turn. When I find myself alone with the priest, there are fewer distractions or stressors.

I am fortunate to be able to celebrate Confession with the same priest most of the time. Over the years, he has come to know my personal weaknesses and proclivities toward certain sins. He can uniquely suggest ways to avoid future temptation. In this way, I slowly learn better ways to deal with temptation when it inevitably returns. I reveal my sins to him as he stands in place of Christ, and he always treats me with the mercy of Christ. His words have more meaning to me than he could possibly know. Christ is very powerfully present in the Sacrament. The one to One interaction is more healing to me than anything else I have experienced in life.

When my sins are forgiven, the most prominent feeling I experience is one of great freedom. I am freed from my sins! Nothing stands between me and God! I pray to remain in this Divine embrace forever. Once again I can envision the brilliant Light in my mind, hear the sacred Word whispered by the Holy Spirit. I resume my journey toward the One I Love.

The Mass, leading to Communion, becomes life-giving to me once again. The words from the three readings and the Psalms are taken directly from the pages of the Bible, and I hear them as if for the first time. Their meaning fits this particular moment in my life, and in the lives of everyone who hears them.

When receiving Christ in Communion, I always envision a brilliant white Light in my heart. With all my being, I desire to enter into that wholeness; the Oneness that is God. For me, the Presence of Christ in Communion is an implosion of history, bringing together my Sunday Mass with every Mass celebrated around the world, throughout the centuries, and uniting them with the Last Supper. The words we hear at consecration are spoken by Christ himself. We sit at the table in the Upper Room, celebrating the new Passover with the Lamb Himself.

“This is my Body. This is my Blood.” Those words are being spoken somewhere around the world at this moment. The Mass stands outside of time; “…on Earth as it is in Heaven…”

Healed and strengthened by the Sacraments, I try once again to live as I am called. It is the deepest longing of my spirit to run unencumbered into that Light and finally embrace the source of my desire. No matter how the world sees me, the goal of my life is one day to be held forever in the arms of “the One I Love,” Jesus.

That would be Heaven.