Our Lady of Sorrows

I wrote this poem during the Ignatian Exercises last year during the weeks we prayed with the Passion.  It seems appropriate for the beautiful memorial today of Our Lady's Sorrows.

The Seventh

Have you ever

Picked up a newborn

Only to feel your heart

And your womb

Contract at once and together?

This primal longing

Now completed and fulfilled

As Mary receives Jesus’ Body

At the foot of the Cross

That I might one day

Receive

His Risen Body as Eucharist

She now receives His lifeless Body

And that final sword in Her Immaculate Heart

At the foot of the Cross

Heart, womb, soul

Can they burst?

No

It must not be so

If it didn’t happen here

Mine, too, will survive anything God allows

My hand in Mary’s

Be All Fire

Burn, dross, burn

Leave no trace of web

Entangling wings of passion

Fire frees flight

Solders me to Him

New Golden Wings

Cannot fly low

Nor safely hover near

Fly high, they must,

And shout His Name

"Redemption!” Above the din. 

Simon, son of Jonah

The Gospel reading from August 24th, Matthew 16:13-20, included:  “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah…”

Weeks ago ISIS blew up the tomb, relics and church of the prophet Jonah.  The world, in its din, barely noted.  This Old Testament prophet, prefigurement of both John the Baptist and Christ himself, wearily and warily proclaimed repentance to the inhabitants of Ninevah. 

Though I doubt it had this much significance to them, it can be seen as an attach, by the Enemy of our Souls, on the Rock, the son of Jonah, Peter, and the Church herself.  That is the Enemy’s goal, and also, without a doubt, ISIS’ goal.

St. Peter, St. Jonah, all Saints, pray for us.  

"Dad"

In prayer there is Mary.  I can always go to Mary.  And so I do, wrapped in a mossy midnight blanket, I go to Mary and explain how little and how poor I am.

She knows.  She holds me.  She turns me to her Son.  He is waiting.  My big brother, so beloved of the Father, so trusting of Him and His love.

Together, we go to Him.  He immediately receives me in warm embrace.  Together they turn me to the Father.

In the middle of the workday yesterday, I let out a small word, almost a sigh, from I don’t know where:

Dad.

I miss my own dad always.  He loved so simply, so unconditionally.  Unmoved by both my talents and my flaws.

But this “Dad” that emitted from my soul, seemed more.

Back in my pre-conversion days, twice I called out, “Mommy”.  Bewildered and in pain, lost and despairing, I called out, “mommy.”  Even in the moment I knew it was not a call to the good, but imperfect woman who bore me.  It took me a while to discover the Lady I was calling out to.

Now that lady

She

Is my Queen

She is my Momma

I am all hers

Forever

Now, My Lady

Brings me, by hand

To Dad

Yes, in knowing Jesus,

I have known Him,

But

He is His own Person

This Father God of mine

He wants to dance with His daughter

Hand in hand

We head to the dance floor

The forest our ballroom

Dappled with sunlight

Pillared by cedars

A soft bed of pine needles

Beneath satin slippers

To bird calls and breezes

We dance

In an ancient Catholic hymn to the Holy Spirit, Veni Creator, there is this beautiful stanza:

Thou in Thy Sevenfold gifts art known,
The finger of God's hand we own;
The promise of the Father, Thou!
Who dost the tongue with power endow.

Like a small child, walking with his Father, too small to hold his whole hand, instead holds and owns his Father's finger.  The gift of the Holy Spirit is the means by which we, the beloved children, hold our heavenly Dad's finger.

On this memorial of the Most Holy Name of Mary, I want to thank you, Blessed Mother.  You always gently turn me, by your spouse the Holy Spirit, with your Son, my Lord Jesus, to the Father, my God and my Dad.  

Black "Mass" and the Abducted Nigerian Girls

As members of the Body of Christ, we understand that all sin is corporal, that is, every time I sin, it affects the entire Body, all of us.  As the sad story of the 300 + Nigerian school girls abducted by Boko Haram continued to unfold on the World News Stage, something newsworthy happened at Harvard University on the other side of the world. Such vile and indefensible actions as the Black “Mass” have been going on in secret for a very long time.  However a new level of audacity by the Harvard Extension Cultural Studies Club was reached when they chose to callously advertise that they had a consecrated host (i.e. – Jesus) in their possession and that they planned to inflict their despicable ceremony on Him. 

The unholy convergence of a Satanic Temple and our nation’s most prestigious university highlights just the sort of extremist sin which tends to lead to more extremist sin at the other end of the cultural-political-philosophical spectrum.  As soon as I heard about the planned Black “Mass”, it was linked in my mind and in my soul, to Boko Haram’s kidnapping of the Nigerian school girls.  God seemed to be showing me something here.  In the Mystery of the Body of Christ, the evil plans to desecrate the Eucharist and gleefully publicize it under the banner of elitist education and tolerance directly led to the Nigerian school girls being kidnapped, some killed, others sold into slavery, others into sexual slavery, right out of their school. 

Then I learned that Boko Haram translates to “Western Education is Evil”.  This violent group exists to combat this perceived evil.  Suddenly the inevitable kernel of truth behind the warped and broken reasoning of Boko Haram is exposed.  Calling bigotry and mockery “cultural education” is evil.  Only in heaven will we see exactly how evil in God’s eyes.

The Nigerian school girls knew they were in danger.  They knew that attempting to prepare for testing to keep up with their now banned studies could cost them everything.  Sharia Law forbids all girls, Muslim or not, to receive an education.  These girls were not hoping to go to school so that one day they could be at a ridiculously costly university and have the opportunity to mock the very source and summit of faith for 1.2 billion people.  They just want to learn so that they can have a future with hope.

The irony that adherents to this Puritanism on Steroids religion will sell pure young girls into prostitution and call it service to those girls’ Maker, seems lost on Boko Haram.   The sin and evil that this Muslim group is encouraging by feeding the supply chain of child sex slavery is also the ever-present sin which forms the foundation of the Satanic Temple itself.  Check out their website if you can stomach it.  You might want to say a St. Michael prayer before and after, and keep your Holy Water and Blessed Salt handy. 

These lost souls aid, abet and boldly support sex crimes against children.  In fact their leaders are registered sex offenders for the crimes they have been convicted of.  Imagine what goes on in secret.  On second thought, don’t.  Just pray for them.    

Sadly, the words, “Boko Haram” do hold that kernel of truth these days.  The Harvard Extension Cultural Studies Club has proven it.  The hypocrisy of Boko Haram profiting and “serving God” with evil of selling girls into slavery, rape, prostitution and death truly boggles the mind.  But then so does the hypocrisy of calling hatred and desecration “tolerance” at a school founded by Christians.  Harvard’s motto is simply, “VERITAS”, Latin for “TRUTH”.  Perhaps the coat of arms should be inverted these days, as they seem to prefer to serve the Father of Lies. 

In the end the Black “Mass” was held above the Hong Kong Restaurant with about 50 lost souls in attendance, whilst downstairs patrons sipped or swigged the famous, “Scorpion Bowl” cocktails oblivious to what was going on over their heads.  Across the Square hundreds of the faithful and their friends of good will exercised their freedom to practice their faith and honor Our Lord.  In the end reparation was made and Love was loved. 

I pray that as we continue to pray for the lost souls of the Satanic Temple, the Harvard Extension Cultural Studies Club and of Boko Haram, those prayers and the acts of Love at St. Paul’s Church on Harvard Square will affect the Body of Christ in an opposite and over-abundance-of-grace-way.  I pray that the Nigerian girls will be freed.  Some are lost to their families forever already.  But none, not one, is lost to God.

Praise You, Jesus.

This year, Jesus has me doing the "Ignatian Retreat in Everyday Life" with the good Jesuits (and associates) at St. Michael's.  It is blowing my mind.  It has also loosed my pen.  Back when I was in Mr. Ingerson's 6th grade English class (now dubbed ELA), I wanted to be a poet.  Somewhere in there the 11 year old still lurks:

I thought I saw a future

Arrayed in crimson glow

The heat, the want sustained me,

Til I perceived the foe,

Jesus did correct me,

He turned me right around

And offered, instead, shadows,

With love beyond all bounds

A bit precious, I know, I know.  It is a tendency of mine.  Even in the free-fall of Letting go into Jesus hands.  No matter, the landing will alter all that. 

Jesus:  You are now in your cocoon and liquefying.  As this happens, all of the things you were float past one last time.  Let them go.  Do not worry that you are becoming them again.  Let them go.  Fall into my hands.  As the nothingness overtakes you, be still, be quiet, choose your “inputs” wisely and sparingly.  Do not let in anything that is not of Me.  On the other hand, be immersed in Me and the things of Me – My Word, My Sacraments, My Music, and most of all Prayer.  I will come to you there and re-order every cell.  Then you will see other things you were, long ago, before you turned away.  Let them come.  They are a part of what you will become.  They are a part of my restoration of what the disturber attempted to destroy.  But remember, I have promised Double for your trouble (Instead of your former shame, I will give you a double portion – Isaiah 65:7).  Restoration is just the foundation.  THEN we build, you and I.  For now, quiet, still, prayer, let go and allow the darkness of winter to rest the houmous of your soul.  

God's Little Flower in Pink and Purple

I have been looking for a new, affordable purse for a few weeks.  No big whoop, but wanted something smallish, lightweight, durable and attractive without any flashy doodads or designer advertisements on it.  My old one has just plain worn out.  I used to be a clothes horse and would have had several others to choose from whilst I hunted.  Years of single-income family life has whittled away my store of such things and the only “spares” I have are ancient beaded evening bags.  If I got invited to a 90’s themed wedding, I’d have been all-set, otherwise I had to keep looking.  

My daughter and her peeps have gone through, and are pretty much done with, the Vera Bradley craze.  When she was in 4^th grade, she was accused of having a “fake” VB lunchbox, and it was true.  I just thought the lunchbox was cute when I bought it and that it wouldn't matter to 10 year olds that it wasn't designer.  Wrong, so, so wrong.  Well that is all behind the now almost 7^th graders, but I have finally warmed up to the appeal of the bright colored, soft bags.  They are generally way beyond budget, but I happened to find a tremendous deal on one after another fruitless search for above mentioned bag in traditional leather.  So I bought it.  I splurged and spent almost $30 on a purse for MYSELF.  I rationalized.  I am working part-time and am entitled to buy myself a nice Mother’s Day present.  My daughter could not believe it.  My husband was glad I treated myself.  I felt o.k. with it and liked the addition of color to my wardrobe.  It is a pink fabric with a multi-colored paisley pattern.  Pink and purple pretty much; girly fun. On with life.  Catching up on what was going on in the world I read the incredible story of the young Bangladeshi woman pulled from the rubble of the garment factory she works in seventeen days after its collapse.  

She was in the prayer room at the time of the collapse and her first public words were thanking God for saving her life.  Over one thousand of her coworkers did not escape.  They died keeping our garment prices down.  What was this beautiful, hauntingly beautiful, young woman wearing upon her resurrection?  Pink and purple.  We are all one body.  Everything we do effects the other.  We may be separated by half a world and vastly different circumstances, but that young woman is my little sister. 

Pope Francis is trying to remind us of our communion with the poor.  We are all poor and dependent upon God for everything from each breath we take to all the provisions we need.  The more we find our security in our bank accounts or our personal abilities the more we are in danger of losing everything.  Our nation has been given more gifts and blessings than any other nation in any time in human history.  We have been given the ability to change all human society by spreading basic technology, like water supply, medicine and hygiene, etc.  Many, many Americans have done those things.  Many, many more have adopted the lifestyle of hoarding and setting up stores for our own small circle.  We have not been faithful with our talents.  

We have plundered our land and killed our children for our own false prosperity and convenience.  From Gosnell in Philadelphia to Castro in Cleveland and thousands just like them across the country, we have shown utter disdain for all that is good and pure and beautiful.  We have preferred dumpster diving to God’s banquet and are proud of it.  We have cast God out and asked Him to remove His hand of blessing.  He is a gentleman.  He will continue to allow our free will.  As in Hosea, He constantly calls, “Come back to Me,” but we defiantly turn our backs. 

Our walls have been breached.  We mourn, make repairs, celebrate our strength and move on, forgetting the depth of our need of Him.  We ignore the signs piling up around our ears.  He is calling.  He is Mercy.  He is Love.  Repent.