Because of Who We Think We Are (Music for Mondays)

Would you believe the Blues Brothers?  Because we are on a mission. Hot on the case. Cool under fire. Or something like that. This is music to fly under the radar with.

We just have to watch out for Carrie Fisher and the rocket launcher, LOL.
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Am I hearing some kind of theme here?

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LOL, the young Webster Bull? I think not!

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Another day in front of the keyboard.  Without prayer, it would be like this…

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Our guest Allison, Webster, and Frank.  In that order…

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Umbrellas? We don’t need no stinking umbrellas!   We might need a cattle-prod though,  ’cause, OUCH!

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Because It’s OK for Catholics to Have Fun, and Even Place a Friendly Bet

Until I became a Catholic I never went to a Super Bowl party. Last night, Catholic friends invited me to two. Bob and Deb invited the Beverly CL crowd to their place, and I would have happily gone there. But Ferde had been making chili since Wednesday, and he sealed the deal by accepting a bet on the game.

A footnote about my pre-Catholic Super Bowl experience. I’m not the misanthrope that makes me sound. Until a few years ago, Katie and I and our daughters all performed together in Sunday afternoon performances of a world-famous magic show, after which we were always exhausted and wanted only to get home and crash in front of our own tube. Our theatre friends came to our place, if they weren’t exhausted too.

But back to last night’s party. It was a friendly crowd packed into Ferde and Heidi’s cozy TV room. Their daughters, Jenean and Elaine, were there, along with Marty (whom Ferde is sponsoring in RCIA), Jonathan, and myself. (Katie was in New Hampshire helping her sister move into a new home.) Father Barnes even put in an appearance at the party, though he’s the exhausted one nowadays Sundays at six, and he begged off early, after wings and a beer. When the tide of the game began turning about 8 pm, I got a text message from the padre: “Is Ferde still taking bets?” When I texted that Ferde wanted to know “your proposition,” Father sent back a sermonette that I’m still pondering: “Beware of trees with $50 bills hanging off of them.” That forestalled negotiations.

Frank’s post today refers to four virtues: mercy, pity, peace, and love. Our reading in CS Lewis this week refers to the four Cardinal Virtues: prudence, temperance, justice, and fortitude. These four were mostly on display at Ferde’s last night, though once Father Barnes was gone, temperance got a run for its money. It took fortitude to eat all of the tasty foods Ferde and Heidi had prepared (I had to eat three brownies as an act of charity); and justice was served because my side bet proved prudent. I had the Saints, along with a generous spread of seven points. The Saints won by fourteen.

I’ve never gone wrong taking the saints.

Because Blake Could Paint Such A Portrait With Words

I’m sure you recognize the Divine Mercy image. Seen in a vision by Sister Faustina in 1931 she was disappointed in the original painting of what she had described.  She thought it would be impossible for any painter to depict Jesus as beautifully as she had seen him.

Long before Sister Faustina’s vision in the 20th Century, the English poet William Blake painted the following image with words instead of paint. [Read more...]

To Get Back to Basics

After a week wandering in the wilderness, I find it’s Sunday again. What a miracle! A chance to begin again! God is merciful. Sunday is an invitation to get back to first things. Because I let my life get too complicated sometimes. This business of being a Catholic is not that difficult.

Being Catholic means believing a short list of things, understanding them as facts, and living my life moment to moment as though these facts were true.

Listen.
If God exists—
If God created me and you and the laws by which our world works—
If God loves his creation so much that he sent his only Son to live among us as a real, living, breathing, loving, suffering man two thousand years ago—
If this “Jesus of Nazareth” came into contact with real people like John and Andrew, performed miracles among them and taught them how to live, and then really was crucified, died, and rose from the dead to appear among them once more—
If He, Jesus, then promised and delivered the Holy Spirit to guide his followers after his final bodily disappearance from this earth—
Well, these facts have consequences. I need to bring my life in line with them.

But how can I do so when I forget most of the time?

Most of the time I do not live my life conscious of God, the way a child in a classroom is always aware of the teacher at the front of the room—and not a nasty, critical teacher, by the way, but the wisest, kindest, most forgiving teacher you can possibly imagine.

Most of the time I act as though I created my life and control my existence, as though what I do with my life is “my business, keep your hands off.”

Most of the time I act as though Jesus were a really good dead guy, a nice thought, a word to warm my insides, a slogan to wear on a lapel pin—not a Presence in my life, as real as the Man who appeared walking beside some of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. Someone I can see and talk to and learn from moment to moment. (Heck, even those disciples were oblivious to His Presence, to who he really was. And they were walking alongside the most significant figure in earthly history. And he wasn’t going to be around that long. No wonder we’re usually oblivious.)

Most of the time I cower under the fear of death instead of living my life as if Eternal Life were not just a wish or a dream but a reality.

Most of the time I forget the implications of Pentecost and of what the Apostles carried forward, the Church and its teaching. 

Most of the time this past week I have lived this way: forgetful, oblivious, self-absorbed, keep your hands off.

But it is Sunday again, the day the Lord made for us to rest from labor and to honor and especially to remember him. Sunday is his ever-returning gift, like Christmas celebrated for the children of his family once a week. God’s offers us his forgiveness, he invites us to return to his courts, where one day is worth a thousand elsewhere. We just have to remember and ask and the door will be opened. We just have to remember.

Because God is Not a Television

It’s one of those mornings when God seems to be speaking directly to me. Maybe that’s because last night was troubling, one of those times in a 25-year marriage that challenge both partners. This is no big confession. We’ve all had times like these. Father Barnes gave his usual A+ homily at Mass today, saying that we shouldn’t think of God as a television set, where we can change the channel when we don’t like the message.

No sooner had he finished his homily than a new program came on my channel: An elderly couple I have never seen before, maybe 25 years older than Katie and I, made their noisy way up the aisle behind me to the left. Father B had begun the communion rite, and here this old man and woman were talking between themselves and—what—arguing?! They plopped themselves into the pew directly in front of me.

She said something. He said, “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” Apparently they were looking for some people they couldn’t find. They continued to exchange querulous words and shrugs as the rite unfolded. They did not receive communion, and neither did I. Instead, I meditated on marriage, in and outside of Church. And wondered if this was a vision of the future.

After Mass, I came across the street to my office and found Frank’s beautiful post about Sister Wendy on prayer. The message on this channel is clear too: Pray with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength, and God will answer. You just have to pray really hard.

Then came men’s group and, after it, a brief chat with my dear 85-year-old friend Frank G. “It’s really simple,” he said after a complex hour-long discussion of science and faith by a biochemist at Harvard Medical School. “I don’t know why people complicate things,” Frank G. continued. “God gave us the Ten Commandments, and he wants us to follow them. It’s simple.”

No need to change channels this morning. From an elderly couple to Sister Wendy to Frank G., God is giving me all the messages I can handle.

Thanks to Sister Wendy On Prayer

I’ve never really had trouble praying. When I was growing up, my mother taught me to pray. And prayer was never confined in my mind to any specific time or place. It still isn’t now. Prior to my conversion, I had heard some Catholic friends speak about the difficulty of praying. I always thought, what is so difficult about it? Just do it.

I’m still not sure what kind of problems they were having with prayer. I always thought it was pretty simple to just ask for what you need. Or to give thanks for what you have been given. I’ll be honest with you and say that I’m still warming up to the Rosary. We pray the Rosary  as a family at least one night a week now. Usually on Tuesdays. It’s good because with five of us, we each lead a decade of the prayer. Everyone is a leader.

After my conversion, I was perusing the religious book section of our public library and I came across this title in the photograph above. Sister Wendy Beckett wrote a book on prayer? Neat! My wife and I love Sister Wendy’s PBS specials on art. So I picked up this little tome and brought it home. I think it was very helpful. It is the first book that explained to me the idea that prayer can even be done silently. I don’t mean praying silently, but listening silently.  Hard to do in a house full of kids, but it is possible after they are in bed.

It is a short and very readable book and very straightforward.  It has three sections and is only 144 pages in length.  Heck, the first 31 pages are an autobiographical introduction by the writer and producer of her PBS art documentaries. So it’s really only 113 pages.  It’s good that it is short and simple because Sister Wendy prefers that you actually pray rather than just read about praying. I’m with her on this idea to. The K.I.S.S. method of prayer, you know, Keep It Simple, Silly!

Let me give you a brief taste from the first chapter,

The simplicity of prayer, its sheer, terrifying uncomplicatedness seems to be the last thing most of us either know, or want to know.  It is not difficult to intellectualize on prayer.  Like love, beauty, and motherhood, it quickly sets our eloquence aflow. It is not difficult, but it is perfectly futile. In fact, those glowing pages on prayer are worse than futile; they can be positively harmful.

Writing about prayer, reading about prayer, talking about prayer, thinking about prayer, longing for prayer and wrapping myself more and more in these great cloudy sublimities can make me feel so aware of the spiritual—anything rather than actually praying. What am I doing but erecting a screen behind which I can safely maintain my self-esteem and hide away from God?

Striking any chords here? Sister Wendy doesn’t pull any punches, does she?

Ask yourself: what do I really want when I pray? Do you want to be possessed by God? Or to put the same question more honestly, do you want to want it? Then you have it. The one point Jesus stressed and repeated and brought up again is, “Whatever you ask the Father, He will grant it to you.” His insistence on faith and perseverance are surely other ways of saying the same thing: you must really want it, it must engross you.

You see what I mean?  Sister Wendy lays it all on the line right there in the first couple of paragraphs of chapter one! To finish out this line of reasoning she writes,

Wants that are passing, faint emotional desires that you do not press with burning conviction, these are things that you do not ask “in Jesus’ name;” how could you? But what you really want, “with all your heart, mind, soul and strength,” that Jesus pledges himself to see that you are granted. He is not talking only, probably not even primarily, of prayer of petition, but of prayer. When you set yourself down to pray, what do you want? If you want God to take possession of you, than you are praying. That is all prayer is.

The astonishing thing about prayer is our inability to accept that if we have need of it, as we do, then because of God’s goodness, it cannot be something that is difficult. Accept that God is good and that your relationship with Him is prayer, and you must conclude that prayer is an act of the utmost simplicity.

And that is why I say thank you to Sister Wendy.  There is much more practical advice in this charming, little book, and that is a good thing too.  Because Sister Wendy and I want you to read it quickly and then start praying, whenever you can and wherever you happen to be.

For Minor Miracles (c)

Blogging can be a lonely business, especially when it gets personal. Anyone with wit and blind endurance can blog about marital relations in pre-Constantinian Rome or post funny cat pictures (h/t Joseph Bottum). But try posting every day and long into many nights not just about Catholicism but about why Catholicism makes sense for you, and you’re going to hit some squalls.

This post is the continuation of a series about how this blog began and developed. The series began here and continued here.

Chapter 4 — The Crisis of Faith
My YIMC partner, Frank, ran into some squalls this week, as friends of this space know. I privately said to myself, Let’s see how Frank weathers this one. Result? Never prouder to call him partner. Because I know what it feels like, and it’s hard. I ran into my first squalls in mid-October and early November, storm season here in New England.

Converting to Catholicism changes a man, and like Frank, I am a recent convert. It changes the way you look at every issue and everyone, even issues and ones close to you. But try blogging about ones close to you or about issues they have strong opinions about, and doing so from your new on-fire Catholic perspective. Try telling your newly discovered truth, even in veiled terms. Try it just once, and if it is not a whitewash job (I’ve written those), I promise you’ll live to regret it.

There is a third rail in blogging: writing about your loved ones in anything but Valentines. I touched that third rail several times during storm season, and I still feel the shock. Most of the “touches” were made with what I thought was care and subtlety. I still got electrocuted.

Like Frank, I may be crazy but I’m not stupid, and I’m not going to remind anyone of the details of my own personal storm season. If you want to dedicate a couple of hours to delving in YIMC archives, you will find some pretty good indications of what I’m talking about; however, you won’t find the posts I pulled.

I call this chapter “The Crisis of Faith” because, as I imagine Frank found this week, it’s surprising to be electrocuted. You thought you were doing right, you thought you were speaking the truth, you thought the words you wrote could do some good for someone somewhere and—CRACK!—the next moment you’re lying flat on your back, looking up at the tines of a pitchfork aimed straight at your face. You ask yourself, How could I be such a faithful Catholic, in word if not in deed, and be looking up at my own destruction?!

Sometimes “I’m sorry” is not a good enough answer.

Storms came and went in my blogging life through mid-November, when I went on retreat at a Trappist monastery. I wrote that the monks made me think of soldiers. I wrote that one of the monks gave me advice that helped the squalls subside. What I haven’t written yet is how a soldier—sorry, a Marine—came along shortly afterward and completely transformed this blog and my experience of it. Until now, I haven’t written—

Chapter 5 — The Crazy Marine from the Old South Who May Be An Angel or Something

I promise to do so soon.

For now, I’ll close with a short poem, which a certain former Marine shared with me recently:

God and the Soldier, all men adore,
In time of danger and not before.
When the danger is passed and all things righted,
God is forgotten, and the Soldier slighted.

Frank calls me Maverick sometimes, a reference to Tom Cruise’s character, a pilot or “front-seater” in “Top Gun.” Which, by the way, is way more honor than a former peacenik like me deserves. When I don’t refer to him as Sir Frank, I call him Merlin, the nickname of Maverick’s back-seater in the closing scenes of the movie.

Therefore, in closing, let me say: Well, done, Merlin! Fire at will!

Because the Devil Is Real

Guest post by Allison Salerno
Have you ever felt the presence of raw evil? Just as I regularly feel to my bones the presence of God, I felt the presence of evil trailing me in the days following the Sept. 11 attacks. My husband narrowly survived the attack on Tower One of the World Trade Center, escaping from his office on the 68th floor 11 minutes before the building collapsed.

He was a senior information officer in the media relations office at the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, the bi-state agency that owned the towers and runs the bridges and tunnels running from New Jersey into Manhattan as well as the region’s major airports.

When I told one neighbor in the days following that I was craving the sanctuary of Mass for an hour of peace against my feelings of sadness, anger and bewilderment, she replied. “I would think you would be happy he survived.”

What she could not understand was that surviving an attempt on one’s life when others do not is its own kind of ordeal. Greg lost 84 friends and colleagues that day, people who were no better or worse a person than he was. Because of Greg’s position as a media relations specialist, after the attacks, for almost three years, he chronicled for the media every life lost at his agency, as well as the recovery efforts. This was not only his job, but also his way to fulfill his deep sense of obligation as a survivor to give voice to those who had been killed.

So, why did Greg survive? Because God protected him? That I what I told our then five-year-old son when he asked me. “Well then why didn’t God protect the other people?” came his response. I had no answer. I know the attacks were not “of God,” but rather of God permitting us humans to have free will.

In the days following the attacks, Greg worked almost around the clock; he was gone when our sons woke up in the morning. Every night, after I had put our boys to bed, I would sit on the couch in our family room, waiting for him to return home. At 9 o’clock in the first few weeks, I would listen as fighter jets roared overhead.

A few weeks after the attacks, I sought out a priest at the church we attended, telling him I was haunted day and night by the feeling that the terrorists stole time – the time of their victims and the time of those who had survived the attacks. I didn’t understand how they could have such power.

“Take the time back,” he told me, suggesting I drive my husband into work daily to Jersey City, where he now was working at the Port Authority police headquarters.

And so I would drop our kindergartner off at the corner bus stop, bundle our not-quite-two-year-old into our sedan and drive up the New Jersey Turnpike each weekday morning to take Greg to work. This hour-long drive helped us both, stealing back moments of time we had lost.

The evil attack on humanity that happened on Sept. 11 had the potential to foster still more evil in my little family’s life. The terrorists offered us the opportunity to fall into rage or cynicism, disbelief in God, or even indifference. I could see that.

I am Catholic because the Church recognizes evil is real, even among those of us who try our best to follow Christ’s example. I am Catholic because I understand that following Christ is a day-by-day proposition.

I am Catholic because my Church recognizes we all wage a spiritual battle – every day – with the forces of evil.

I am Catholic because I believe in the seen and the unseen.

Nothing separates us “good guys” from “bad guys,” criminals, terrorists, politicians, bankers, whomever, except what we do with how we feel. We all are sinners. One of the many spiritual lessons I learned from my husband’s trauma is that just as God is not “out there” floating someplace in the cosmos, the Devil is not “out there” but can settle into our own hearts if we let him.
And there will be hell to pay if we do.
Saint Michael the Archangel,
Defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray;
And do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host—
By the Divine Power of God—
Cast into hell, Satan and all the evil spirits,

Who roam throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls.

Thanks to Seal Because Sometimes . . .

Crazy
In a church by the face
He talks about the people going under

Only child know…

A man decides after seventy years
That what he goes there for
Is to unlock the door
While those around him criticize and sleep


Nikos Deja Vu – Seal – CrazyFunny home videos are a click away

And through a fractal on that breaking wall
I see you my friend and touch your face again
Miracles will happen as we trip

But we’re never gonna survive unless
We get a little crazy
No we’re never gonna survive unless
We are a little

Cray cray crazy

Yellow people walking through my head
One of them’s got a gun to shoot the other one
And yet together they were friends at school

Get it, get it, get it, yeah, no!

If all were there when we first took the pill
Then maybe then maybe then maybe then maybe
Miracles will happen as we speak

But we’re never gonna survive unless
We get a little crazy
No we’re never gonna survive unless
We are a little
Crazy
No no we’ll never survive unless we get a little bit

A man decides to go along after seventy years
Oh darling

In a sky full of people only some want to fly
Isn’t that crazy?
In a world full of people only some want to fly
Isn’t that crazy?
Crazy
In a heaven of people there’s only some want to fly
Isn’t that crazy
Oh babe Oh darlin’
In a world full of people there’s only some want to fly
Isn’t that crazy?
Isn’t that crazy Isn’t that crazy Isn’t that crazy

Oh

But we’re never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy crazy
No we’re never gonna to survive unless we are a little crazy
But we’re never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy crazy
No we’re never gonna to survive unless we are a little crazy
No no never survive unless we get a little bit

And then you see things
The size of which you’ve never known before
They’ll break it
Someday
Only child know

Them things
The size
Of which you’ve never known before
Someday

Because We All Serve As Leaders And Followers

I was in the Marines for a long time, both on Active Duty and in the Reserves. I’ve seen all kinds of leaders, or more accurately, people thrust into leadership positions. Some of the people I reported to were exceptional. Some were horrible. What does this have to with with being a Catholic? Bear with me.

Those who have been in the Church for longer than, say, two years know that parish priests get moved around. They serve tours of duty, if you will. Sometimes two years, sometimes twelve. I don’t really know what the standard length of time is. If you become a monsignor, maybe you get to finish out your career in that parish. I really don’t know.

If the priest does something wrong, he should be relieved of his post. I understand that in the past, this hasn’t happened quickly enough. Like the passengers who foiled the plans of the hijackers of Flight 93, and sacrificed their lives doing so, how we react to transgressions, too, is up to us parishoners. The offender must be relieved and rehabilitated, or discharged from the service. Canon Law gives you these rights and responsibilities:

Can. 212 §1. Conscious of their own responsibility, the Christian faithful are bound to follow with Christian obedience those things which the sacred pastors, inasmuch as they represent Christ, declare as teachers of the faith or establish as rulers of the Church.

§2. The Christian faithful are free to make known to the pastors of the Church their needs, especially spiritual ones, and their desires.

§3. According to the knowledge, competence, and prestige which they possess, they have the right and even at times the duty to manifest to the sacred pastors their opinion on matters which pertain to the good of the Church and to make their opinion known to the rest of the Christian faithful, without prejudice to the integrity of faith and morals, with reverence toward their pastors, and attentive to common advantage and the dignity of persons.

Like the officers I served under in the Marines, some of these priests are going to be exceptional. I have some advice for you. Prepare yourself now for the day they will be re-assigned to another post. Webster once wrote that monks are just soldiers in a different uniform. And so are priests. Your excellent priest may be replaced by one who isn’t so great.

Maybe the new priest should be given a break. I knew whenever a new reporting senior was placed over me, there was a period of time in the beginning where we had to feel each other out. The new guy on the block might have been great wherever he came from, or he might have been a rookie prone to being overbearing in an attempt to compensate for a lack of experience.
That is where the parishioners come in, see. We are the troops in the Church Militant.We are on the front lines as well as in the rear. If you don’t like the army analogy, let’s go back to the naval vessel. But please don’t tell me you didn’t realize that you are living in enemy-occupied territory or cruising in the enemy’s home waters. Have you not joined our ongoing YIMC Book Club discussion yet? Come and see what C.S. Lewis is saying about Satan.  St. Peter, our first Pope, proclaims the following about us:

But you are “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of his own, so that you may announce the praises” of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were “no people” but now you are God’s people; you “had not received mercy” but now you have received mercy.

Beloved, I urge you as aliens and sojourners to keep away from worldly desires that wage war against the soul. Maintain good conduct among the Gentiles, so that if they speak of you as evildoers, they may observe your good works and glorify God on the day of visitation. Be subject to every human institution for the Lord’s sake, whether it be to the king as supreme or to governors as sent by him for the punishment of evildoers and the approval of those who do good. For it is the will of God that by doing good you may silence the ignorance of foolish people. Be free, yet without using freedom as a pretext for evil, but as slaves of God. Give honor to all, love the community, fear God, honor the king. (1 Peter 2:9)

St. Peter writes this and is eventually crucified upside down for these beliefs and for his belief in Jesus Christ. St. Peter’s martyrdom screams that what he believed about Our Lord is True. People don’t just die willingly for causes they don’t believe in. Not without going down with a fight. Instead, they run. But to willingly die for a cause you believe in? That takes courage.  And that courage comes from deep and abiding faith. The motto, Alone, Unarmed, Unafraid comes to my mind. And this verse as well,

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.(Philippians 4:13)

Here is another example of a great leader. King David, fleeing for his life from the murderous intentions of his own son Absalom, is crassly treated by one of his subjects. Is the command “off with his head!” given? Not even close. Take a look at a role model of a King who knows humility and where he actually stands in the world, especially when the entire kingdom knows what became of Bathseba’s husband, Uriah the Hittite:

As David was approaching Bahurim, a man named Shimei, the son of Gera of the same clan as Saul’s family, was coming out of the place, cursing as he came. He threw stones at David and at all the king’s officers, even though all the soldiers, including the royal guard, were on David’s right and on his left.

Shimei was saying as he cursed, “Away, away, you murderous and wicked man! The LORD has requited you for all the bloodshed in the family of Saul, in whose stead you became king, and the LORD has given over the kingdom to your son Absalom. And now you suffer ruin because you are a murderer.”

Abishai, son of Zeruiah, said to the king: “Why should this dead dog curse my lord the king? Let me go over, please, and lop off his head.” But the king replied: “What business is it of mine or of yours, sons of Zeruiah, that he curses? Suppose the LORD has told him to curse David; who then will dare to say, ‘Why are you doing this?’”

Then the king said to Abishai and to all his servants: “If my own son, who came forth from my loins, is seeking my life,how much more might this Benjaminite do so? Let him alone and let him curse, for the LORD has told him to. Perhaps the LORD will look upon my affliction and make it up to me with benefits for the curses he is uttering this day.”

David and his men continued on the road, while Shimei kept abreast of them on the hillside, all the while cursing and throwing stones and dirt as he went.

Let me bring this back full circle. We are the troops, or crew members, of our parishes, which is the battalion or the ship, if you will. We know the insides and out of this ship or unit as well as the Captain or the Colonel. Maybe even better.  If we receive a boot Lieutenant, or Ensign for a priest, break him in gently. If we receive a grizzled old salt who is like a “know-it-all” Commander or Major, feel them out for a while and be flexible with them. And then break them in gently too.

As you can see, our role isn’t small. We are the backbone of the Church.


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