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Bethany Hang Out

Catholic contemplative life and devotion

Author

Shawn Rain Chapman

Shawn Chapman is the mother of two young adult daughters, enthusiastic grandmother of three small children, a Discalced Secular Carmelite and writer. She is the Catholic Columnist for Bryan-College Station Eagle Newspaper and a Care Giver and author of the book Come to Mary's House, spending time with Our Blessed Mother from Our Sunday Visitor, available anywhere books are sold. She likes hanging out with friends, reading, and cooking awesome vegan food.

Decisions. I hate those things.

Photo by O H on Pexels.com

I have been rather dysfunctional lately. I go to work (I still have one of my jobs) and I come home, do the minimum such as take care of my chickens cats and dogs. Then I lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling. My heart hurts. I feel like I am dying. It’s grief of course, for Zane, who died suddenly and unexpectedly August 22 of this year.

At the same time I have lost my job. I took care of Zane for about four years. I also take care of Mac, another special needs young man.

So I have lost my main job, my job with Zane, which is a crisis in itself. It’s hard to make decisions when you’re grieving and it’s not the best time to do it. However, I don’t have time to do this any other way.

I really love working with special needs young people. I seem to have a knack especially with those who are nonverbal. It is a calling I believe, to do this work. It’s a work that is love. It means a lot to me.

I interviewed with a new family. It went very well and they would love me to come work for them. I liked them too. I said I would let them know in a day or two. Then I cried in the car and had to go over and hug Zane’s mom. We sat on the couch and talked for a while about Zane, about things. Her loss is so great I had to stop typing for a few seconds just now thinking of it. I feel guilty talking about my own grief but I can’t help it.

When my mom got restless or had a problem she needed to think about, she re-arranged the furniture and cleaned madly. Sometimes she pulled up carpet or made new curtains and painted the living room to match. I’m not good at sewing. I don’t have money for paint. So I stuck with re-arranging the furniture and cleaning madly.

I talked to my friend Shawna who somehow manages to give me clarity when I need it. I continued to clean madly. My dogs were a little concerned.

I thought about how I am worried about the pay for a prospective new job which is far less than I made at my last. I wondered how I would pay the mortgage now. I finally got a house and I am not giving it up. I was thinking about what to do about that.

However the main issue is grief. It’s hard for me to think of replacing Zane and trying to love someone new already. I reflect that I have never failed to love anyone I have taken care of. In the nursing home where I did my clinicals there is no way to really get to know the people you care for. You take care of their immediate physical needs and even if they’re crying or something you have ten other patients you have to get to who need to be changed or whatever. Even then I always cared for each one in a loving way as best I could. That’s just how I do it. I can do this.

I have a daughter in college. I will do whatever I can to make sure she gets as far with her education as she wants to. She is busy applying for master’s programs lately. No matter what she is going. My other daughter has been going through hell this summer. It’s pretty unimaginable the way she is holding it together. However she needs me. Sometimes she needs my help. I’m going to be here ready.

If there is anything in my life I have learned to do it’s grieve and fight for my family at the same time.

I can work out the pay part somehow but I prayed about my next person to take care of. I think this could be the one I asked for or was led to. . I think I will try it and do my best.

The dogs needn’t worry. I think I am through cleaning for now.

OK, Beloved Lord. Lead on.

Abbess Hildegard

Born in 1098, the tenth child of her family and dedicated as a tithe to a monastery of Benedictine nuns at the age of eight, St Hildegard grew up to be an extraordinary and holy woman. She was a mystic, a poet, a composer of unique, soaring liturgical music so different from the plain chant of the time. St. Hildegard was the author of books, music, and plays. As a  Benedictine Abbess she communicated with Bishops and Popes. She was a popular public speaker at a time women were normally not allowed to teach or speak. Abbess Hildegard was a prophet, an adviser, an influencer of her time. 

Her colorful mandala like art, not created by herself but overseen by her, represented her visions of the Trinity, and other Heavenly realities. The paintings often have a multi-layered appearance leading the eye to a central space containing a symbol. Looking at them makes me feel like I’m  seeing into another world or a into a great depth. 

Her  illustrated book Scivias describes  her mystical visions  and the interpretations of them she heard from God. It was written in 1151. She begins it with her experience of God commanding  her to write it. It is still available now as are other works of hers which ranged from the botanical to the medicinal, to the  theological. Her exquisite music has been performed for centuries.. Her musical play, Ordo virtutum, or Play of the Virtues, may well be the oldest known morality play. It is beautiful but you may jump when in the middle of the serene vocals, the wild discordant  voice of Satan interrupts the song unexpectedly for a moment. I have listened to it so many times but it still startles  me. Otherwise her songs are pure ethereal loveliness. You might start with The Origin of Fire (no devil voice,) or A feather on the Breath of God which sounds as poetic and pretty as the title.

St. Hildegard’s world view, like her poetry, was lush, verdant, filled with rich, vivid imagery. She was deeply in tune with nature and the divine as expressed in creation. She was profoundly  Incarnational, at once earthy and luminous in her spirituality and writing. 

Here is Viridissima Virga, a hymn she wrote in honor of Mary 

“ O branch of freshest green,

O hail! Within the windy gusts of saints

upon a quest you swayed and sprouted forth.

When it was time, you blossomed in your boughs—

“Hail, hail!” you heard, for in you seeped the sunlight’s warmth

like balsam’s sweet perfume.

For in you bloomed

so beautiful a flow’r, whose fragrance wakened

all the spices from their dried-out stupor.

And they all appeared in full viridity.

 Then rained the heavens dew upon the grass

and all the earth was cheered,

for from her womb she brought forth fruit

and  the birds of the sky

     have nests in her.

Then was prepared that food for humankind,

the greatest joy of feasts!

O Virgin sweet, in you can ne’er fail any joy.

All this Eve chose to scorn.

But now, let praise ring forth unto the Highest!”

Hildegard possessed unusual wisdom and compassion. People of every class came to her for medical advise, healing remedies, wise counsel, spiritual help or prayers. At times she even delivered babies. 

She was a Renaissance woman before the Renaissance, a polymath, someone brilliant in many subjects and incredibly creative. 

Her faith was absolute. When she was sure she was doing Gods will she was literally unmoveable. She ran into some trouble with religious authorities for burying a sinner who had been excommunicated on the holy grounds of her monastery. She insisted the man had confessed and received absolution and communion. She was not believed by the Bishop. She was ordered to have the man’s body removed. She refused.  Her sisters stood by her. She and they were placed under an interdict which meant they could not sing the Liturgy  of the Hours or receive the Sacraments. It was basically a mass excommunication. Hildegard became very ill in her spiritual anguish and could not leave her bed. When the Bishop sent six men to remove her, she became so heavy they could not, no matter how many worked together to lift her, be moved at all. It was considered a sign from God. 

The young man’s body remained where it had been buried. 

St. Hildegard Abbey, also known as St. Hildegardis Abbey, is located in Eibingen, along the Rhein river in Germany.  It was founded by Saint Hildegard  in 1165. It is still functioning and is visited by pilgrims from all over the world devoted to her and interested in her life and work. . 

Strangely she was not canonized  for more than 800 years after her death. Finally on May 10th, 2012 Pope Benedict XVI did so though she had been already widely regarded and locally venerated as a Saint after her death in 1179. This lapse was because the necessary paperwork was lost en route to the Vatican when her cause was first undertaken.  Pope Alexander III ordered the witnesses of her life and miracles to be gathered and interviewed again but somehow no one ever did so. 

Maybe the delay was because we need this brilliant Saint to arrive in our consciousness now in these times we live in. Who doesn’t need a beautiful vision, remarkable and holy art, gorgeous music and vivid poetry, showing us a spirit  that is unique in beauty with the ability to open our eyes in new ways to the glory and splendor of God? I think we all need that right now. 

Pope Benedict XVI elevated St. Hildegard  to the well deserved status of Doctor of the Church on October 7 of 2012 because of “her holiness of life and the originality of her teaching.” She is one of only four women Doctors of the Church along with St. Teresa of Avila, St. Catherine of Sienna and St.Therese of Lisieux. 

After Abbess Hildegard’s death the  nuns  of her monastery reported seeing her luminous figure several times carrying a bright light through their monastery. She was radiant and she was chanting. 

We celebrate St. Hildegard of Bingen on September 17. 

An Honor Walk


Today I did something I have never done before. I took part in an “honor walk” for someone I love very much who has died- just yesterday in fact.
I had never heard of an honor walk before. This is something that was done today for this person so beloved by so many. I can’t tell you who this person is to me because the family has not shared anything on line as far as I know so I won’t either.

However I thought this honor walk was pretty touching. Everyone came at such short notice and it was a lot of people!

It had to be carried out quickly due to the family’s decision to donate the organs “so he can be the answer to another family’s prayers.”

His body would be flown to Dallas for this purpose.

This death was sudden and tragic. Everyone I saw there in the ICU was still dazed from the shock of it. Hospital staff had us line the halls. Some of the people had signs with pictures of him saying “We love you.”

We seemed to stand there a long time. I didn’t know many of the others though I could guess who many of them were. I introduced myself to some I had heard the most about. I regretted that I somehow forgot my rosary. I always have one in my pocket but I didn’t remember today. I made desultory conversation with an interesting young person next to me whom I had met several times before. It was awkward or I worried it was.

I repeated “Jesus Maria” in my head as I tried not to let my emotions or my social anxiety overwhelm me.

In High School my best friend, Philip, was killed in a car accident. I remembered vividly watching his mother, Helen, go stoically through all of the necessary procedures. Afterwards I tried to stay close to her through the varying stages of her grief and mine.

A lot of feelings from my past came up standing there because I felt so terrible for the family. I remembered the last time I would ever see my first husband’s face after he had died in a car crash when he was twenty-eight. I had to ask my dad and brother to remove me so the funeral home people could close his casket because I just couldn’t leave Marc’s side. Standing and waiting today I kept thinking of the trauma, shock and horror this family must feel in these last moments with the body. I felt those feelings of horror and bottomless darkness from my past that I wish I could save them from.

I had to sort things out. I didn’t want to avoid my own grief for this person now. But I also needed to be present and remind myself that this is not my trauma. This is their trauma. This is their day, his day. I wanted to pray and to be there. I wanted to grieve this person and not my other people I’ve lost. I so wanted to strengthen the family and love them. As someone who is all full of trauma and loss myself this was hard to do.

Staff handed out water bottles and tissue. I noticed I was crying a little bit. That’s a sign of healing for me because I did not have that ability for many years. It is a recent development.

Finally the hospital bed carrying our person was pushed between the two lines of people from the other end of the hall. Everyone stood in silence. After the family had passed we followed. He was propped up on pillows. His eyes had some kind of shiny stuff on his closed eyelids. There was a ventilator tube coming out of his mouth. There was the face I loved, empty of expression now. He didn’t even look that empty when he was sleeping. He was definitely gone. Still I mentally told him I loved him knowing he could spiritually hear. I asked him to look after his family.

Finally we came to an open door leading to a kind of dock. A chaplain invited us to pray together which we all did. A hospital staff member of some kind read out some words of gratitude for what the family was about to do, and a blessing. She cried while she did it. The mother of our person spoke to him for a while some loving words. I couldn’t hear them exactly. And he was sent out.

I saw a beloved grandmother in the hall and hugged her and the weeping grandfather too.

The parents hugged me. I so wanted to be a comfort to them. I think I was. It seemed that way.

We were all guided back out to the lobby where I joined my step mom and daughter who had come with me, having known him too. I had stood with the family and close friends. My step mom had pushed me over there. I hadn’t been sure I should be so forward but it worked out.

I thought the honor walk was beautiful. It was fitting. It was just like the family, who are so loving, to do this.

I will think about it for a long time.

This is not my trauma but the family’s. However, I grieve. I do grieve terribly.


Now that the family has openly shared about Zane’s death I can too. I was his care giver since he was 16. I loved him – I do love him- very much.


O Brother where art thou

I did not cry for nine years after you self destructed like a kamikaze in our midst. There are not even any pieces left to sort through. Where did you go and why couldn’t I stop you. We were closer than close and I should have known when you locked me out what was coming. We always said when we didn’t spend time together neither of us was right in ourselves so we should always make sure to connect no matter what was going on. You kept trying to apologize, trying to come back into our front porch days. You said “When I hurt you I hurt me and I can’t stand that I hurt your feelings. I hate that.” And I always said it was ok. I said we can work through anything just like we always have. I had faith in that. Absolute faith. How crazy did you have to be for me to not be surprised. Denial is more powerful than I ever thought. When you said “I’m scared I might be mentally ill,” I should not have reassured you that you weren’t. The last time I saw you I hugged you brother and I rubbed your little head. You looked like a small boy that day who had been sick, safe at his parents’ dinner table. Your letter to Dad said I would be OK. Well I’m not. None of us are. You must have hurt so badly to do something like that. You just needed it to stop. I thought oh he will be back like always. He just needs to think. I was so close. But I think you thought we were far away and you had no idea how to get back. You couldn’t find us. And you thought we couldn’t help. I finally cried the other night and it was about something else. It felt weird. It didn’t last long. I wish I could miss you the way I miss everyone else. But there is just a void where you used to be. Like the Mariana Trench. No one knows what’s down there, only how unfathomably deep it must be. I’ve been there. But I couldn’t understand anything.





How to love in troubled times; St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein)

Summer Evening Magnificat

Evenings are my favorite time of day. Especially after the bustle of family end of day reunions, when the cooking and dinner and cleaning up is done I feel both alert and recollected.

The evenings I love most are summer evenings. There is relief from the heat of the day (sort of,) the cicadas and crickets are chanting their vespers, the neighborhood birds gather along the power line to pray and to gab about the day. I love the colors of the light at this time; rose and gold and the blue tint as dusk approaches.

Time to bring the chickens in.

They’re ready for me at the gate, waddling in a line of fluffy butts to their coop for the night.

And I love this traditional time to recite the Magnificat. I like best saying it by a window looking out so I can bless the world with Mary and her vision of the Kingdom of her Son.

Get you some iced tea now. Go to a window and pray it with us. Bless the world out there.

And Mary said,

“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked with favor on his lowly handmaiden.
From this day all generations will call me blessed:
the Almighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his Name.
He has mercy on those who fear him 
in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm,
he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel
for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
the promise he made to our fathers,
to Abraham and his children forever.” (Luke 1:46-55)
Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.

.


The Perpetual Help of Mary

Today is Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I just don’t know what I would do without Mary. Why would anyone want to live without her? Sometimes I want to tell people just to give friendship with her a shot, try it for themselves and they will see right away what she is to us. When I think of Our Lady of Perpetual help, I think of how she was and is a good Jewish Mother. When we are in trouble, she moves in, cleans up, takes over, thinks of the little things that are actually big things we need. She rubs our back, she asks us if we’ve eaten, she calls her Son with updates. She makes sure we take a nap and have a snack and a glass of water.

She says, “Tell me what else I can do. How can I help? I told Jesus not to be late he will be here in a minute. Until then, here is some soup I just made. And a sandwich. Here you need more water you cried so much. Here’s a tissue. Wipe your nose. There you go. You know how much I love you, right? We all love you and you’re going to be OK. We will make sure.”

One time I had been crying for hours. I went to adoration and there were no tissues in there. I was annoyed. They usually have some. I got home and checked the mail. I kid you NOT I opened an envelope from a religious organization and in it there was a small packet of tissues. On it there was a picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I had to laugh.

“Here, blow your nose, and go back out and play.”

She’s the best.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

Corpus Christi and a cautionary note about blasphemy

Today is Body and Blood of Jesus Sunday, otherwise known as the feast of Corpus Christi ♥️ So happy feast.

This is a good time to reflect on the humility of God who became incarnate and remains with us as simple Bread and Wine for us to eat and drink, sharing in our humanity that we might share in his Divinity. There is one Lord who suffered and died for us and we take part in his redemption of all when we suffer with that intention; of uniting our suffering to his in union with his mission of salvation, mercy and love. Under those conditions we can say someone is suffering with Christ or in a way that Jesus did. We can also say he suffers in the poor, the oppressed and those in the margins of society as he said he did in the Gospel of Matthew. That’s it. Anything else is blasphemous. We should keep our eyes on the sinless Son of God who deserves all of our love. One God one faith one baptism. He is God and there is no other.

I’m writing about this because it’s disturbing to see pictures of Trump “crucified” with Jesus or Jesus “embracing” Trump and whispering that he too was wrongly convicted. To me this is an insult to the martyrs who deserve that consolation. We Christians understand that their unjust deaths were for their faith, for their love of God and were their sacrifice for the Gospel.

Trumps’s conviction is not a situation like that whether one believes he is guilty or not. That’s almost beside the point.

Yes God loves the powerful the rich and political figures too and cares about them just as he does the rest of us. However I think there is an innate danger both spiritual and secular in comparing a political figure to Jesus. Let us rather pray for our leaders that they will be what God wants them to be and created them to be. What more could we ask for anyone? Let’s stick with that. We can never go wrong in praying for God’s will. He will give what is right – and only he truly knows what that is.

St. Dymphna

Photo by Radwan Menzer on Pexels.com


700 years ago in Ireland a young girl left her home in the middle of the night as swiftly and silently as she could. She left with a priest,  two household servants and a court jester who were her friends.  She was not fleeing a forced marriage to a foreign prince or running away to a convent. She was running from her own father who seemed to have lost his mind after her mothers’ death and was trying to make his daughter marry him in her place. 

Dymphna and her friends were able to make it to a Belgian town called Gheel.  

She must have been a hard worker and had a compassionate heart. She and her friends established themselves in the town and Dymphna began caring for the sick and the poor. She had a special sympathy for people suffering from mental illness. She still shows that sympathy now through her intercession. 

Eventually her father, who was a minor Irish king, found out where she was. He had her priest executed as soon as he arrived and demanded Dymphna return home. When she refused he beheaded her on the spot. She was 15. 

The people of Gheel eventually built a church over where Dymphna was buried. Over the years it began to be noticed that healings happened at her tomb, especially healing from mental illness. 

Inspired by St. Dymphna’s special concern for the mentally ill the people of Gheel began to take into their homes the pilgrims who came to visit Dymphna’s tomb. In a time when the mentally ill were chained,  beaten and  locked away the families of Gheel made these sufferers part of their households with acceptance, freedom, dignity and whatever level of responsibility they could handle. Some stayed for a short time, some for the rest of their lives becoming members  of the family. 

Gheel became famous for this model of family care that seemed to work so well. This tradition is still ongoing though now combined with a hospital that is only used when absolutely necessary, and with modern medicine as part of overall treatment. 

Gheel’s example makes us want to rethink the way we treat the mentally ill, especially those whose conditions  are severe. Gheel shows us how it could be. 

Among us here the mentally unwell often end up without homes or anyone to assist them. Federal and state agencies set up to help these people are understaffed and overwhelmed. It is a testament to  serious failures on our society’s part. To see some poor emaciated sufferer shouting and waving his arms at traffic with toilet paper wrapped around his legs as I did last week breaks the heart. It’s wrong and we know it. Unfortunately our state is last in mental health access in the country. 

Gheel and St. Dymphna challenge us. How can we as people of faith contribute in a respectful and merciful way to necessary change, to the well being of people who suffer mental, emotional or neurological difficulties? Our society is not set up for them. How can we help? How can we change that? 

Perhaps we can begin by asking for St. Dymphna’s intercession and inspiration. 

St. Dymphna,  healer of mental and emotional suffering, pray for us. Pray for everyone in mental or emotional pain, especially those left on the outskirts without resources. You inspired a whole town to take people with mental  suffering into their homes so that they might live near you and the place you are buried.  They still come and stay with you and the people of your town today. Help us build a culture of compassion and acceptance so these children of God can live with dignity among us  as the people they are and so that the rest of us don’t miss out on what they can give, on their potential part in building community.  Show us the way. Amen.

St. Dymphna’s feast day is May 15th. She is the patron saint of the mentally ill, victims of incest and domestic abuse, and runaways.

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