Sunday past was Pentecost. Fifty days after Easter, the Roman [Catholic] Church, among others, celebrates the gift of the Holy Spirit as she descended upon the apostles and gave them a power to speak in all languages. To reach all people with the Good News.
This Spirit moves and animates in all sorts of interesting ways. After mass the Sunday before (where we celebrated the Ascension), one of the choir members approached me and said “None of us [musicians] will be here next week. So, if you want, you could lead some of the old songs.” Hmmmm. I retired from my role as parish musician several years ago after decades of service. It was a difficult call, and not always a smooth transition to be frank. And, my preference for guitar accompaniment and the songs I would choose seem to be a bit out of line with the current administration. Still, I considered the possibility of leading a song or two acapella.
I subscribe strongly to St. Augustine’s thought: To sing is to pray twice. I have struggled with the current music at church. It is lovely and harmonic and to my soul lacking energy. Most weeks I spend most of mass trying to find the things that can build me up and help me to give thanks. It’s difficult and I am all too often just sad.
Therefore, I did consider a couple of hymns that might be appropriate and singable. Like “Come Holy Ghost.” Much to my surprise Fr. Gil came up to me before mass and said “Kim said you would probably be helping with music this morning.” Now, it seemed I needed to at least lead Come Holy Ghost for opening. I don’t really know the current mass parts well enough to lead them, nor to I particularly like them. But, an opening song, OK. By the time I listened to the readings, I had a second hymn and a closing. So, all I needed was a communion song. Listen to the Spirit, listen to the Spirit, listen to the Spirit.
By the end of mass I had four songs/hymns. I could hear those behind me singing. It felt good. A young couple in the row behind us tapped me on the should and mouthed “Thank you” with a smile. The pastor thanked me for helping (in front of everyone). Again — it felt good. My soul was comforted. Isn’t the Spirit the Comforter?
After mass I was also greeted by a small group who thanked me and encouraged me. Fr. Gil suggested that if I wanted to show up at the Saturday 4:30 mass he would welcome the music. We are definitely Sunday folks, but when I first came to this parish I came on Saturday afternoon and helped with music. Is there a pattern emerging?
Not “doing music” seems to have a much deeper affect on me than I have previously been willing to recognize. Not sure what will happen going forward. At this time I shall enjoy the comfort of the Spirit, the praying twice as I sing. I will appreciate those people who responded to the movement of the Spirit and encouraged me.
It feels good. It feels peaceful. It feels like I’m healing, finally.
This idea of seeing and accepting reality has been following me around of late. It nudges me and it challenges me. Somehow, I’m pretty sure it will be a recurring theme so I’d best just learn to deal with it.
Today’s Gospel reading was LONG… we got the whole story it seems. If you want to read it in full go here: John 9:1-41 — yes, the entire chapter. The story is of a man who was born blind. He runs into Jesus, and Jesus makes a mud mask using his own spit and clay soil. He tells the man to go wash at Siloam which the man does, and he can see! And, by the way, this happened on the Sabbath. Well, this guy rejoices, but most folks don’t believe him. They think maybe it’s someone who looks like him. And, the officials, when they have to admit that it is him, and yes his blindness has been healed, they commence to arguing if this Jesus can be from God, since he broke the Sabbath rules and healed someone on the Sabbath.
Enter today’s reflection from Richard Rohr with the observation that sometimes (ok, most times?) we are not seeking to be right, but to be in control. It doesn’t really if I’m actually right as long as my view wins. We see not only in politics but in daily life as well. “If I can’t win this argument, let me turn it to a different argument.”
Back to the man born blind. It seems that because he is willing to tell his experience, he gets kicked out of the synagogue. He has to leave what should have been a rejoicing community, and he returns to Jesus.
My past jumped up in my mind. Nearly 25 years ago I found that God/Jesus/religion as I experienced it got me pushed out of what I had formerly felt to be a loving community. It was painful. I made the decision to look elsewhere in order to survive. I went to a different Catholic church (the only other one in the entire county). And, I found Jesus waiting to welcome me home. Granted, there have been struggles in this community as well, but I knew deep in my soul, 25 or so years ago, that this was right, proper, life-giving. My eyes were opened. I have had years to try to understand that I don’t need to judge Church A, but to accept that they see things quite differently than do I. It’s took years to be able to set foot in there again, and to be honest, I am still not comfortable there. But, it was time to seek Right, not control.
There are so many ways I have to let go of my side and seek truth. Sometimes it scary because God can speak truth to me from the mouths of folks I totally distrust and dislike intensely. I just don’t want to take off my blinders and allow truth to come from these dark places. And, I know well the saying that Satan can quote scripture with the best of us.
I must remember that reality doesn’t care what I think or believe. I remember it seems that the State Legislature in Tennessee at one time thought they could declare the value of pi to be 3, so calculations would be easier. Yeah — but bridges and more would fall down. Reality didn’t really give a flip about how easy it was to calculate certain values. Other current political, social and religious ideas run headlong into reality: You can try to tell people not to talk about sexual preference or gender issues, but that simply won’t stop how a person feels and what he/her/their preferences are. You can declare the value of pi to be 3, but the universe isn’t going to change. You can refuse to believe “supernatural things” occur, but you can’t change my experiences. You can edit the January 6 videos to show only the parts you want to be true, but it won’t bring back a dead police officer (or 2) or the fear felt by so many during the events.
Start with the real. Look beyond outward appearances. Seek the truth.
I’m terrified of deep open water. The feeling of floating helplessly above the nothing, the unexplored leaves me frozen. This was the first time I had ever been in an exihibit that lets you feel like you are seeing fish deep under the water, and I was a little shook. Looking up however, I could see the tank continued and let you see the only light source coming into the water, revealing more of this deep water. I smiled.
Today’s homily focused a lot on Dietrich Bonhoeffer and the concept of “Cheap Grace” and the Cost of Discipleship. It makes sense as we approach Ash Wednesday and Lent that this might be a topic for a homily. After all, it seems that the focus of Lent is so often “Doing Stuff” like we think we can earn God’s love. As Jesus observes, the sun and the rain fall on both the just and the unjust. That light shining through the water hits the whales, the fish, the sharks and the algae — and even a human diver. Nothing earns the light, but the enjoy it you must be present.
Grace is not cheap or expensive. It’s free. It can’t be earned, it can’t be bought. To experience the benefits of this free gift takes an open heart and some “doing” or a change of heart, change of point of view — Metanoia or repentance. But the grace itself: free.
Approaching Lent is always problematic for me. I must identify the attachments before I can let go of them. My eyes were opened last night during an episode of Candice Renoir. While looking at a nun’s cell in a monastery containing nothing personal, I thought “maybe I’m too attached to things. I would be hard pressed to give up everything and walk away like that.” But, I’m of two minds on that. Twenty three years ago our house burned. The cats got out, and somehow the photo albums survived without too much damage.. But, almost everything else was a lost cause. Months later, after rebuilding we moved back in. What we had in storage could be moved back in 2 loads in a small Nissan pickup truck. That would be a table, 7 chairs, a hutch, some dishes (they survive these things pretty well), photo albums and some music CDs. Not much else. Oh — a china cabinet and barrister bookshelves survived. Most of this had to be completely refinished. Later that year, my stepbrother would ask how we survived this. He had lost a couple of friends in accidents that same year. My response was immediate: It was just stuff. Not people, not pets, just stuff. So, perhaps the total lack of anything personal such as a family photograph or some other small momento was the disturbing part of the scene.
What other attachments keep me from benefiting from this free grace? My pride? My ego? I do have to remember that “It’s not all about me.” That hit home the other morning when I said something and got jumped all over. It was jarring because the response seemed so out of range for the comment. After stepping back and pondering a bit instead of snapping back, it seems that I was the nearest object of someone’s frustration. I’m not sure what the real problem was, but I’m pretty sure it was more than the suggestion that someone move their underwear to the laundry hamper.
Maybe I forgo sugar for Lent. Yeah, trite, I know. But, if it’s done in the spirit of interrupting a dependence on the rush one can get from sugar, and focusing on being more attuned to my mental and physical state when I’m sugar free, that could work. I did it in January and I have to admit that there were emotional and physical benefits. I think I sleep better. I don’t have to waste energy fighting cravings because they pretty much disappear. That leaves more energy for other things.
Grace can’t be bought and it can’t be earned. But, it does take a bit of work to recognize and reap the benefits I think.
Last week I celebrated Epiphany on January 6. On the 7th, I took Christmas down. But my Wise Men and their camels and gifts made it to my manger scene in good time. They arrived on the 4th! Must have been great travelling this year.
Epiphany — our young priest tried to explain it Sunday. That’s the day we officially celebrated the feast at church. He [Baby Priest] took the “Tell all the World” approach to Epiphany. Me? I’m more of the “Aha!” as the definition of epiphany type person. But, I can see clearly that the story of the Wise Men clearly tells us that God’s love not only extends to all, but you just can’t control who will pay attention and recognise it. These Wise Men came across the desert because they saw the light and followed it. They weren’t God Chosen Jews — not when they started the journey and not when they returned home. They didn’t take on the trappings of the Jewish religion as far as I can tell.
Our current pastor is a very young priest. He wears a cassock. I do feel for him being thrown into this job. I tell myself he’s young. My epiphany when listening to him this week was that he longs for a magical perfect past that never existed. In many ways, I think that’s what so many “traditionalists” long for. They wish for a time of innocence when there were rules, and they felt quite safe. They wish to go back to a time before their personal age of reason (not before The Age of Reason).
When they speak of this magic past, everything is peaceful and good. Like so many in my generation, that would mean perhaps the 1950s. Ozzy and Harriet, Leave it to Beaver, Andy Griffith. Those TV shows represent an idealized past sold to use by Mad Men and their advertising.
But let’s look closer. Yes, for Catholics this was pre-Vatican II. Everybody (ok, maybe every Catholic) was told what to think, what movies and books were acceptable and the clergy was on a pedestal. It was quite safe and predictable. Except it wasn’t. It was the McCarthy era. Any sex abuse by clergy (Catholic or Protestant) was covered up and/or dismissed. There was the growing threat of nuclear war. It was illegal to be homosexual – or to act on those inclinations. There was redlining that kept a part of our population down and out. And what about overt discrimination based on color or sex or religion that kept children from getting equal education. It was perfect in the US and many other countries if you happened to be white and male (oh, and cisgendered).
Even my father, who was forward thinking enough to work out how my mother would have her own credit history, etc, tried to steer me toward being a legal secretary (maybe today a paralegal) instead of an attorney. Not that I was interested in either. But, I’m sure he would have thought it more appropriate for me to think nursing instead of being a doctor. (Again, not my path. I thought large animal Veterinarian was a good idea).
I never shared a classroom with a black student until I was in high school. I remember white and colored water fountains and separate entrances to movie theaters.
This mythical past just wasn’t.
Or go back further into this magic, traditional past with Latin masses and the altar turned so that the priest’s back was to the congregation, and the word from Rome was not questioned (out loud). If it was so perfect, why was there a Vatican II in the first place?
My guess is that the Church herself reached an “age of reason” where she had to look at herself and take responsibility. That She had to be open to the Epiphany and see/accept that there are many ways to God, and many ways to experience God, and many ways to share God’s love.
Sunday’s mass celebrated Mary, Mother of God. It is her feast day after all.
I’ve long had problems with Mary on a pedestal. No problem with Mary as a sister who could stand by me as a woman or a mother. What I find most fascinating is that in order for God to become human, it required a woman to cooperate. Jesus came as a baby. Jesus grew in a womb and had to pass through the trauma of being born. Yes, I think birth is probably our first trauma — pushed through a narrow gate like the proverbial camel, emerging usually into light from total darkness, leaving the warmth provided by mom’s body. Yup — exciting, but still traumatic! Even with a c-section a baby is suddenly taken from a safe, warm place into a lighted, open space that is likely chilly.
So, while the Word existed one with God (the Father/Mother/Creator), when it came time to take on being a human, a willing woman was required. And, that child was a boy, to boot!
I find it perplexing as well that since Jesus becoming a human required a mother, then why is it that women are not allowed to be ordained as Catholic priests? A woman did cooperate to bring God/the Word into the flesh. Jesus’ words at the Last Supper were “Take and eat, this is my body… do this in memory of me.” Only a human person who could bear children could actually have brought the original “Body of Christ” into the world. So, now, we are not considered valid to consecrate the Eucharist? Hmmmm.
And so, I will continue to ask Mary to pray for me and for many things. And I will continue to be certain that women are more than qualified to consecrate the Eucharist.
