Warm, soft, vulnerable and alive, this sleeping One in my lap. I caress the tiny forearm, touch the curled, unsure hands. I can’t stop kissing his fast-beating heart, listening to his unpracticed, uneven breath. I touch his soft, dark, baby hair, nuzzling the top of his head with my nose. His little feet, slightly cold- so tiny and perfect- have never yet touched the ground. I hold them in my hands to warm them. I kiss their satiny soles. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” my heart in wonder repeats, repeats. I press him to me, this Lord of mine, with a profound, peaceful, joyful gratitude and love, a protective love. He opens his eyes, still that deep slate gray of the newly arrived human. They hold the newborn’s sage, open gaze; mildly curious, seeming to drink in the powerful love pouring out of the utterly enchanted person looking back at them. He blinks innocently at the tears falling from my eyes into his.
I am cold, my arms flailing awkwardly and out of my control. I’m confused. I don’t know what’s happening. I need comfort, warmth, nourishment. And then I am warm, pressed soothingly all around. A deep, sweet peace flows into my mouth and through my body as my unruly hands tangle in her hair, Mama, Mama. The only thing I know is this love, this union, this protection and assurance. I relax completely.
I am that I am, Being, Love, Light and Life. I surround my Son, inhabit my Son, I am within my Son, I love my Son, I am my Son. I have remained what I have been and will be eternally, and I have become what I was not. In my love of humanity, I have finally become fully human, entering the world of time and space in the most profound and humble way. So great is my love, I have been conceived and born into this human cloud of unknowing, emptying Myself, taking the form of a slave, in order to free and divinize my beloved humanity, made of dust, that they might share my Divine Life.
Vulnerable, human, innocent and unknowing, be, oh Christian soul. I have shown you the way to Me: this little Child, this Way, this Truth, this Life, full of humility and trust, gentle, humble, simple, with the need, the open-ness of the newborn. Come to Me, forgetting everything but Love Itself, and be born again. Be little, be free, be loved. Never be afraid, it is I, the Little One, asking for your love.
Answer Me, say from the heart:
Truly, I have set my soul
In silence and in peace
As the Divine Child has rest in His mother’s arms,
Even so, my soul.
Children of God,
Hope in the Lord forever. (a variation on Psalm 131)
On this Holy Night, take time to be little, humble, simple, trusting, and close to God, like a child.
Now that I have pretty much gotten over the shock, and horrified outrage that this event is most likely actually going to happen, it’s time to write about it, to contribute to the resistance.
The officials at Texas A & M can’t seem to get out of having unwanted speaker, Richard Spencer, promote hate and division here.
I have been praying, researching all I can about what this guy, and the person who invited him, Preston Wiginton, and their Neo-Nazi (“Alt Right,” “White Nationalism”) are all about. I encourage you to learn all you can, as well.
I will surely be at the silent protests planned. I like the way the students are planning to do this: with Aggie dignity and decorum, but with courage to resist what is unacceptable.
I am happy that so many student leaders at A & M have voiced their opposition, including Hannah Wimberly, student body president, and Cecille Sorio, Corps of Cadets commander.
Our local paper, The Eagle, has done a good job educating and informing the community, and I think we will have a good showing as we protest outside this event. I hope to see many of my fellow Catholics, especially from my parish, St. Mary’s Student Center, there as well.
The Jewish student center, Hillel, has already planned to protest, and the Rabbi has publicly reacted to this. The Anti-Defamation League is sponsoring a briefing at Hillel which I plan to attend this week.
I was wondering if there was going to be a public Catholic response to this event. Then I realized that as the Catholic columnist for my local paper, that’s at least partly my responsibility.
My paper’s editor thought it best that I write a “letter to the editor” for this purpose. My regular column is mostly reflections. Besides, it just ran last week already. She said they did not invite the other religious writers to write about this, but she liked what I had to say. So I wrote. Here it is. 🙂
In case you don’t get the Eagle, or don’t live in Bryan-College Station, and you want to catch up on how we are doing with all this, you can check in here. Once there, search Richard Spencer and/ or Preston Wiginton.
Here is my own letter to the editor:
To my fellow Catholics, and to all people of good will in my community,
As we each consider our responses to this event, I suggest reading in the Catechism of the Catholic Church #s 1928- 1948, especially # 1946, regarding race relations in society and our responsibilities in that regard, according to the teachings of our faith.
I have been reflecting and praying Ephesians 6: 10-17 as well. It tells me we are not battling people; in this case, not Richard Spencer or Preston Wiginton, but the insidious, and often well- disguised hateful ideology they promote.
We should pray for the conversion of heart of all neo-Nazis to God’s law of Love.
The Saints of our Catholic Faith who were confronted with direct experiences of the evil one in person, confirm that the best response is simple resistance in the Name of Jesus, rather than argument or engagement. In the Gospel, “Get thee behind me, Satan,” confirms how to respond to someone speaking in ways opposed to the Gospel. We can say that with our actions very well, of course.
Let’s reflect on where we stand according to our faith, and then let’s live those values out with the humility, confidence, and love God commands.
May the Catholic Saints who died at the hands of the Nazis pray for us.
May the many Saints of color, pray for us.
May Mary, Mother of Jesus, a Jewish woman, blessed among all women, pray for us.
As Mary said, “Do whatever [Jesus] tells you.”
We each have to discern what our responses should be.
As for me and my house, we will take this opportunity to serve the Lord of Love and righteousness by standing outside in quiet protest with the Aggies, rosaries in hand.
“For God did not give us a spirit of timidity to go back into fear, but of power, and love, and self control.”( 2 Tim. 1:7)
If you would stll like to sign the petition for the university to cancel this event, though a way has not yet been found:petition
If you would like to attend the silent protest during the event on December 6: Silent Protest
If you would like to attend the alternate event, Aggies United at Kyle Field that was announced last night by A & M President Young.
P.S. Good things have come of this event already:
We are all better educated about what this movement is about and alerted that it can’t be ignored or wished away, but must be opposed vigilantly.
Our town, and its university, have gotten in touch with what we are about, and energized to stand up for what we believe in. It has been unifying, overall.
I bet there will be better vetting of anyone who wants to use the Memorial Student Center for an event from now on, as there is at some of the other places on campus. Thank goodness for that.
A good thing I hope will come of this is for all minorities be reassured that the rest of their community knows they belong, cares about them, and stands up for them and with them.
The world will be watching Texas A & M and Bryan-College Station, to see how we react to this. The “Alt Right” will be watching, too. I hope they all get an eye full.
I have a cup of coffee, and I am listening to jazz (Alice Coltrane today,) because it is 2 o’clock. That’s what I always do this time of day; jazz and coffee. Somehow this makes me feel more present in the day.
The loose, open-ended routine of stopping the day, at least a little bit, to remind myself I am in it, began when I was an overwhelmed young mother with my first new born. I looked forward to the afternoon jazz show on public radio every day. It helped me touch base, and for the day not to just slip away. It started at 2:06PM. It still does, actually.
My best friend, Andrea, lived on the other side of our duplex, and she liked to make a pot of coffee about 2, because she tended to get sleepy that time of day. So we had the afternoon solace of a cup of coffee, afternoon jazz, and an attempt at a moment of peace together each day, with our babies.
Later 2 o’clock jazz and coffee was a stopping place of peace and re-gathering before I picked the kids up from school. There were various incarnations of the same 2 o’clock routine as my life evolved.
Even through all the tragedy and trauma of these last few difficult years, I have continued to put on some jazz and make a cup of coffee around 2PM, if possible. The duration of time I spend on this, and what else I will do at that time, varies, but generally, I will do at least those two things, and make conscious contact with the day.
What does this do? It gives me a little island in the day to reclaim my peace and priorities.
On a busy, hectic day, it reminds me that I need to slow down.
On one of those difficult, timeless days when my ADD seems worse, or I have that PTSD inertia -anxiety I get, it helps me get a foot on the ground and start over.
For me time can be vague, and the day gets away from me. The simple act of turning on the music and putting on some coffee at that same time of day I always do, is a rung on the ladder back to earth.
As Dorothy Day said, “My strength returns to me with my cup of coffee and a reading of the Psalms.”
When I am at work caring for Mac, I still make coffee and put on some jazz at 2 in the afternoon. He has developed a taste for jazz now, and if I put on any other type of music that time of day, he looks confused. “Hey, what are you doing?”
The rhythm of the day means a lot to Mac. I think it is how he understands his place in time and in the world in general.
I can learn from his way of keeping track of his life so that it means something to him. Without the predictable and repeated routines of each part of the day, life would feel like an unsure, confusing continuum to him. He feels safe when he understands, at least in a general way, where he is in his day.
We are the same way, though most of us have more physical senses and more personal choices available to us than Mac does.
Routines and traditions help us to be fully in the present moment, and, if they are appreciated, can help us live more deeply, more consciously, and therefore, more prayerfully.
Maybe that’s why God made time for us to live in, even though He doesn’t need it. He doesn’t have any problem being present everywhere at once, but we do. We need time to truly experience life and meaning.
We have to mark time to keep ourselves in the only part of time we can really live in; the present moment.
The present moment is where we are most able to encounter God, because that is where we ourselves really are. God is within us, so we need to be “home,” to be present to our Guest.
During the day, we can get caught up in the past, in the future, and other distractions, worries, and concerns. Our minds are a constant river of thoughts and feelings.
Sometimes the day is a frantic blur. Sometimes it is like a dream we can’t quite remember.
When we occupy time fully by being present in the day, there we will find meaning; we will find God.
I have been thinking about that.
I am not much of a routine person. I tend to prefer a cadenza of a day, leaving plenty of room for inspiration, for people who show up, for the Holy Spirit to blow through, for random acts of goofiness, impulsive kindness, or happy, dreamy uselessness.
However, I understand that touch points in the day can be sacred. They give me a way to put the day back on track, put first things first, and remember what I’m trying to do with my life.
Besides making sure I get certain things done each day that have to be done, routines can be boxes to put presence in.
They can be conscious bridges into the next part of the day, helping me live intentionally for the next few hours.
I am trying to aim for small and attainable things to do here and there like modest ornaments for the day I am crafting.
One of these little routines is to turn off any music or stop whatever noise or activity or device is on at noon and pray the Angelus prayer.
I try to get certain things done at work by then so that I can sit down beside Mac and pray the Angelus at the traditional time of noon, or as close as I can get.
Mac likes this, too. He knows when all is tidied up and quiet, and he is made comfortable, that I will come sit and pray with him for a while. Sometimes he likes me to scratch his head while I pray the Angelus, and mid day prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours.
Mac and I hang out
Another thing I have been trying to do: When I get home from work, before I do anything else, is to make time for a mindful sweeping up before I let myself settle down or get obsessed with anything. It’s an easy thing to do, but it makes a big difference in how the rest of the evening goes.
The temptation, when I get home from work, is to flop down and start reading or messing around on the Internet, or get caught up in listening to the news.
When I succumb to that temptation, it seems I only get more and more tired and unmotivated, and that time is wasted. There goes the evening, before I know it; myself and the world, none the better.
I am more likely to do other good things if I make the transition into the evening by doing a simple, silent routine like sweeping, paying attention to what I am doing, often accompanied by inwardly saying the names of Jesus and Mary prayerfully as I sweep.
Jesus. Maria. Jesus. Maria. Jesus. Maria.
Sometimes I even think there is another pair of playful, encouraging feet dancing with mine as I move across the floor with the broom; sneaky, sandaled, dusty feet behind my bare ones, and a silent voice that playfully says, “1,2,3, 1,2,3,” as if we were waltzing together while I sweep.
It makes me chuckle.
Maybe I’m on the right track.
painting by Bob Chapman
*If you would like to try praying the Liturgy of the Hours, you can try it for free on Universalis
For more on finding meaning and mindfulness in house work, you might like my post The holiness of house work
Something that seems to be returning to me as I very slowly recover from the grief and trauma of the past year, or even four years, is a slight sense of self determination. I had not realized it was gone in the first place.
What I did know is that it was very hard for me to talk about the future without feeling really freaked out, or even angry. It was hard for me to let go of anything, or make any changes, even though I kept having to do just that.
I felt like my inner infrastructure had been bombed out and I was not at all sure it would ever really be rebuilt. It’s not that I thought God could not do this. I was just not sure He wanted to.
Actually, He was waiting for me to remember a few things. “You are not dead,” Jesus says, “…only sleeping.” (see Lk. 8:52)
photo by Renee Bork
One thing to remember is that God does not create our hearts to be empty wastes, but to be lived in. (see Isaiah 45:18)
Why in the world would God create me and send His Son into the world for me only to have me be destroyed and stay that way? That makes no sense, and can’t be true.
“I came that you may have life, and have it to the full.” (see Jn. 10:10b)
The next thing I remembered is that we are each co-creators with God, and even though we always want to be guided and conformed to God’s will in our lives, this is actually a creative process in which we work alongside with God with a combination of His inspiration, His help, and our own volition and creativity He gave us.
welding art by Stefan Pauc
Then I remembered one of the many things my beloved second late husband, Bob, and I learned as we journeyed through our fight for his life against Brain Cancer. We discovered the beauty and strength there is in thinking of each day as an entire life time in miniature. Each day begins with the re-birth of waking up, and the gentle death of falling asleep in our Father’s arms.
We found a lot of peace, courage, empowerment, manageable self determination, and a new way to stay in the present, living fully, in this idea of life being represented in each day we lived.
I thought about how to apply this idea in the new life I realized God wants me to build.
I can make a life one day at a time; one day, my life’s microcosm.
I have to decide what is important to me, what ingredients I want in each day, what ornaments I want to decorate my life with, what design I am trying to trace.
Then I have to start somewhere.
Right now, I have decided to start with rebuilding my prayer life, which has altered along with the rest of me.
What else do I want?
I want peace. I want peace in every day.
What else? Love. I want to live love every day.
That’s a good beginning.
So I am setting off , one day at a time, with a bit of holy self determination, to adorn my days with prayer, with peace, with love; to rebuild my life.
“…rebuild the temple, that I may be pleased with it and be glorified,’ says the LORD.” Haggai 1:8b
my tree house sign made for me by “Red” Gary Moore
That is the verse that came to me at adoration last night that illumined for me my place as a writer at this time of intense division and loaded topics.
This makes sense to me since I have myself decided that further discussion on election politics is both fruitless and needlessly agitating; a distraction for me, at best.
I’m going to do something else.
So, whoever you are, and whatever you think about it all, you are welcome to come take a break from that stuff with me any time.
I plan to re-focus on trying to craft a beautiful, holy, fruitful, and pleasantly goofy life, one day at a time.
Gandhi said, “My life is my message.”
I want my message to be love.
So I hope this will be a refuge of peace when you need one.
I’ll be writing in these weeks ahead, about ways I am attempting to cultivate peace in my life. You are welcome to come hang out and see what I’m doing.
In honor of World Cerebral Palsy Day, I want to talk about a great part of my life, Mac, who has C.P., and about what it’s like to spend my days with “his Eminent Lovableness. ”
Mac and I don’t actually “do” much. I mean, not really. We mostly just hang out together. We mostly just “are.”
Fortunately, we are really good at that.
I do change, dress, move, and feed Mac, as needed. I brush his teeth, give him his medicine. I do his laundry, dishes, and other light house work. I accompany him to doctor’s appointments. I push his wheel chair for walks. I guess at what is bothering him when he is annoyed or unhappy in some way. I try to make sure he is always safe, clean, and comfortable.
That’s the stuff I’m supposed to “do.”
Mac does his best to cooperate most of the time. He does his best to communicate his needs and preferences.
I make a little bit of money for this, and my job is very rewarding. Also people often say I am sweet to be doing it. Encouragement is always nice.
The part that is harder to see unless one is with us, is that Mac and I are friends.
If you ask Mac about me, he will often say one of the few words he is able to make come out right, “Yuck.” He thinks this is funny, and I do too.
However, “yuck,” doesn’t actually describe our friendship that well.
In normal life a young man in his twenties and a woman in her forties, who were not related, would not hang out all the time. They would probably not find much reason to be in the same place for long.
But here we are, hanging out during one of our favorite times of the day; the late afternoon, when lunch is cleared away, and the sunshine through the window is turning a honeyed gold. Miles Davis is on the radio, the laundry is folded, and my feet are on the foot rest of his wheel chair next to his own. I am writing. He is gazing in the general direction of the window.
This is it.
We both love it.
I look up at him, and he smiles. I don’t know how he knows I looked up, since he can’t see much except possibly shadow and light.
I like to think he knows I am looking at him because we are connected by heart.
“Cells” by Bob Chapman
Mac doesn’t “do” anything, in the way the world defines doing.
What Mac does is be present, love those around him, and deeply enjoy life.
His face lights up when someone he loves is near, when his family comes home, when he hears his brother’s voice over the phone, when he knows he is about to go somewhere with his parents. (OK, also he is very happy when he thinks he is getting away with something, like when I have forgotten his pills, for instance.)
He can’t hug us since his arms don’t work well enough mechanically to do so. But he leans his head against us and nuzzles us. That is a Mac hug.
“Isn’t she ridiculous?”
He shows love by forgiving us when we make a mistake, like accidentally spilling something on him, or inadvertently pinching him or something.He might be mad for a minute, but he forgives.
He trusts us that we will be there when he comes off the edge of the bed toward his chair in our arms. He knows we will make sure he is safe.
Sometimes he is so happy to be with the ones he loves, he screams with joy.
He listens closely to anything I want to read him, and to music that I play him. He lets me know if he doesn’t like the song. He lets me know how he is feeling.
Sometimes he squeezes my hand when I am sad.
He swings his head up like a crazy periscope when I come in in the morning, especially if I have been gone for a while.
He hangs out with his good friend, Shawn, enjoys the afternoon, and smiles at her.
All these he does because he loves. Love is not always a “doing” kind of thing. It is also a being kind of thing.
Mac takes deep joy in the quotidian routines of living. He loves all the different parts of the day; each ritual of the days’ passing, each interlude of inactivity or quiet.
He shouts with enjoyment when he hears music he loves. He appreciates the people around him. His wild laughter at everyday situations, like being getting caught in the rain, are about the joy of living. His various “happy Mac” expressions are enthusiasm about the moment. He expresses his contentment by saying, “Good-good!” These are all expressions of gratitude. Gratitude is about being, too.
The news that is standing out most for me today is about the deaths of Terence Crutcher and Keith Lamont Scott, and the aftermath that is still going on now. With so much argument about what happened, didn’t happen, and what needs to be done, maybe we should remember, at least for a few minutes as we pray, that St. John of the Cross taught us that “the language [God] hears best is silent love.”
I’m thinking about that. And I want to pray the news like that today.
Take me there, Jesus.
Humble me, that You may take my praying heart wherever you want it to go, to do whatever You want to do, with Your mercy and love.
Jesus said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice.” (Mt. 5:6) So let us hunger for righteousness intensely, that we may be filled.
Let us also be willing to be shown what is ours to do, and to allow the Holy Spirit to pray within us in this matter.
Before God’s altar in our hearts, let us be silent and open for at least a few minutes today.
In this way may each of us become, “a smooth channel for the outflow of [God’s] divine will into this world.” (Adrian van Kaam)
There shall be no hurt or harm on all my holy mountain,
and the earth will be filled with the knowledge of God
as water fills the sea. (Isaiah 11:9)
Amen.
Mary, Queen of Peace, pray for us.
I’m going to turn off the news now and do something more useful.
“All generations to come will call me blessed.” Luke 1″48b
Today, September 12, the Church celebrates and reflects on the Holy Name of Mary.
According to custom, Our Lady’s parents would have named her eight days after her birth, like any other Hebrew girl. Most likely her parents had ordinary hopes for her. They would have the joy of raising a daughter who would love them, learn from them, live and play and pray with them. They likely had expectations for her of a future husband and family of her own.
All these things Mary did, but in an extraordinary way, and for a purpose no one knew.
Her mother and father fittingly named her Mary (Maryam or Miriam.) I wonder if they were thinking of the prophet Miriam, sister of Moses, who partnered with Moses and Aaron in leading his people to freedom through the Red Sea.
The Church sees the journey through the Red Sea as a metaphor prefiguring Baptism in Christ. This little one was a new Miriam, who would partner with her Son in His work of our Salvation.
I am enchanted by the fact that the origin of Mary’s name was most likely taken from ancient Egyptian; from mry “beloved” or mr “love.” She is beloved and her name is love. That reminds me of Romans 1:7, which greets the Christians of Rome as, “Beloved of God and called to holiness.”
In a way, every Christians’ name is “Love.”
The Son of Mary taught us that holiness is love.
As the Beloved Disciple said, “And we have come to know and believe in the love that God has for us. God is love; whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.” 1 John 4:16
Blessed little Mary, I will take up your holy name, “Love,” many times each day. Come to me, and lead me through every challenge, singing of my victory. Today as I honor your childhood, inspire me to walk ahead through all that life brings, made brave for love by the companionship of your spirit. May I may live in love, live in God, and God in me. Help me to follow Jesus with faith and simplicity of heart.
Bethany Hang Out 