I have a friend who observes: Practice doesn’t necessarily make perfect. Practice makes Permanent.

An astute observation, I think. Its truth is probably why I have such a hard time breaking bad habits. I’ve had so much practice at them, they must be treated seriously in order to stop. They are pretty well ingrained. Permanent (unless I really get out the Ajax Magic Eraser and go to work.) Its truth is also the reason I find it so easy not to make myself sit down and pull together even a single paragraph to post every morning. I’ve not practiced enough to make it a part of my life.

[My apologies, Jack, if I got this all different that you meant it.] In his homily yesterday, Fr. Jack made connections between the first reading where Ezekial sees the water (Life from God) flowing out of God’s house, the temple, and Jesus as the temple – or the house of God. God cannot be constrained by a building. God won’t fit into the Sanctuary. Jesus became the temple – so now God is in a person, walking around. The final connection is the second reading: We are all temples of God. Even me. It therefore behooves me to respect that temple that is myself.

At this point I begin to chuckle as I remember a Jimmy Buffett song in which the women character speaks in frustration at the man: “I treat my body like a temple; you treat yours like a tent.” Let’s have some respect here!

Why does this have any relationship to practice? If I am to remember that God resides with me, I have to practice. I need to write. I need to pray. I need to stop and remember, over and over and over. Until I have practiced so much that it is truly a part of me.