At the cross her station keeping
stood the mournful Mother weeping,
close to Jesus to the last…
Christ above in torment hangs.
She beneath beholds the pangs
of her dying, glorious Son…
Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled,
she beheld her tender Child
all with bloody scourges rent…
Let me mingle tears with thee,
mourning Him who mourned for me
all the days that I may live…
– Jacapone da Todi
Newer than a newborn and older than the universe is the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.
– Mark Shea
On our spring break this year I decided to do something different. I made arrangements for a one-day personal retreat at St. Joseph Monastery in Whitesville, Kentucky, home to about 15 cloistered Passionist nuns. That’s just outside of Owensboro, where my parents and my sister live. So it’s very handy to incorporate into a family visit, which is just what I did.
A patient and kindly Sister Mary kept in touch with me via e-mail as I debated on which day to come, whether or not I would spend the night and what all of the plans would be. I opted for a day retreat, and had a wonderful visit. Next time around, though, I need to arrive earlier; the time went by too quickly!
Though the guest facilities had been booked for a group retreat the previous weekend and would be again the following weekend, I had the place to myself on my Thursday adventure. Sister Mary started me out with a tour of the guest facilities, which included very nice rooms (each with a private bathroom), a library, a small prayer room/Eucharistic chapel, a large conference room with adjacent chapel, an indoor sitting area overlooking the lake out front, a rear patio and a lovely dining room. Outdoors there are several paved walking paths, including the Stations of the Cross. (more…)
Not long ago I wanted to call a lady that I knew…but not too well. I didn’t have her phone number, but I knew her husband’s first name so I figured I could find it in the book.
A search revealed two men by that name. I knew my acquaintance’s in-laws lived in the same town, so one number was probably her house and the other her husband’s parents. This shouldn’t be too hard. If I called the wrong one it would still be some of her family, right? And they would let me know that the other number was the correct one. It was the process of elimination with extra help; this seemed like a win-win situation to me.
I chose one of the numbers and punched it in. I waited. The ring was answered by an obviously young child. Very young. I’d say three years old, or maybe even two.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” I began, hoping for the best. “May I speak to Carolyn please?”
The small voice that couldn’t pronounce its “r’s” sounded helpful. “She’s not hewe.”
I knew Carolyn had grandchildren, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what she’d told me their ages were. This raised another possibility. This number might belong not to Carolyn or her in-laws, but to her son and his family. Did she even have a son? I couldn’t recall.
At first I thought this must be her house and the grandkids were visiting. No, wait. It must be the grandchildren’s house and Carolyn wasn’t visiting. Or it could still be the in-laws’ number and the great-grandchildren had come over to play. Oh, dear. I opted for one more query.
“Does Carolyn live there?”
Have you ever talked to a toddler on the phone? It had been a while for me, and I’d forgotten how heavily they breathe into the receiver. I waited for probably a full minute or more as my miniature Darth Vader adjusted the controls on her iron lung and pondered the question. At last came her near-whispered response.
“I don’t know.”
Give the tyke points for being honest. What amused me was how long it took her to come up with her answer, given what it turned out to be. It made me wonder what would happen if any number of people were asked of my life, “Does the Holy Spirit live there?” Would they respond quickly, or would they have to think on it for a while? And even after deliberating would they finally shrug and admit, “I don’t know”?
Christ came to be Emmanuel–God with us. May His light and life shine in our hearts so that the world may know. Merry Christmas.
Monday evening I went with a group of friends to see a passion play at a church in a nearby town. They did a wonderful job, and it was quite moving. As the Roman soldiers drove the spikes into Jesus’ feet and wrists and lifted the cross into place, my only thought was a truth I’ve known all my life that still at times seems utterly surreal.
God sent us His Son and we crucified Him.
Lord, have mercy on us all. Agnus Dei, qui tolis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Today we celebrate Palm Sunday.
I’ve seen the scene acted out in plays and films. Jesus, meek and mild, riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. People everywhere, lining the streets to shout “Hosanna!” and honor him as king. You’ve probably seen it, too. Think back. In the scenes you’ve watched, was he smiling? (more…)
Happy birthday to me!!!
Yes, today’s my special day. That’s how I choose to think of it, and on my birthday I make it a point to feel special all day. I’m nice to myself, and I revel in other people’s niceness to me.
So far today… (more…)
This is not quite intended to be a commercial, but it may seem that way. I’m going to talk about chiropractic care.
Are you still there?
All of my life I had never given a thought to chiropractors or what they did, probably because I didn’t know what they did. I never thought they were quacks or witch doctors; I just never knew anything about them at all–until I finally had to. (more…)
Two weeks ago I got a much-earned but completely unplanned rest. I got sick. Sicker than I'd been in a while.
It all started a year ago. Our pressman left the OBI print shop, and we've been working short-handed ever since. Tamara and I had been on our own before, but never for a whole year, and never in the spring. You see, spring is our busiest time at the print shop. But somehow we made it. We buckled down, rolled up our sleeves, pitched in, put our noses to the grindstone and all the other appropriate cliches you can think of. We're a good team, and by the grace of God (and a few extra hours) we published our newsletters and hammered together our plaques and we got the job done.
Then we both collapsed.
