Easter Tridium

Easter is almost here, and that means the end of Lent, for which I am always eternally grateful because Lent is the gloomiest season of all in the church. 

I didn't go to church on Holy Thursday this year because I was scheduled for shows. I didn't think I would mind, but I did. Mostly because in the past year I found a church community that takes the feet washing to a new level. That may seem weird and uncomfortable to some people, but it's exactly the hands-on version of Catholic theology that I relate to so well. 

"You're not a real Catholic," Jeremy said recently with an air of surprise, "you're like a strange Christian- hippie hybrid." *

I guess I am. It doesn't help (or should I say that it doesn't hurt?) that during Lent this year instead of revisiting The Devout Life by St. Francis de Sales, (as I have done in years past) I instead read:

- If God is Love, Phillip Gulley and Jim Mulholland

- If the Church Were Christian: Rediscovering the Values of Jesus,  Phillip Gulley

and excerpts from 

- The Women's Bible, Elizabeth Cady Stanton 

 Throughout the years I have had periods in which I have taken great comfort and pride in the church. I have also had periods, difficult to shake, where I am embarrassed, ashamed, saddened and troubled by the church.   But I've always retained my membership. I've never not been Catholic. The same is true now.  Although, now I am more comfortable than I have ever been just defining myself as a Christian-Catholic Hybrid. **

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* This is because I told Jeremy I like to pray in the woods. He doesn't even know about the feet washing.

** If we have to have definitions. Which we don't. Because that's, like, just The Man trying to keep you down.  Let's go burn our draft cards. And our bras. And the tip of this joint. 

all you need is love, love is all you need

On the Thursday before Easter known to Catholics as "Holy" or "Maudry" Thursday, the gospel reading for the mass is about the Last Supper. When Luke, Matthew and Mark recount the story of the Last Supper, the focus is on the   covenant Jesus speaks of ( "This is My body...This is My blood.").
John, on the other hand, gives us the only account of the Passover meal where Jesus gets down on the ground and washes every body's feet.

Every parish does this next part differently, but in each church after the gospel and then the homily, there's  usually some literal foot washing. It's often the priest who washes the feet of some lay ministers. One year at the church I attended at college I was asked to be one in a handful of parishioners to have their feet washed. I sat rigid in my chair as my feet got washed. It felt weird. I hoped no one would ask me about it later.
This year, at St. Cecelia's in Boston, Fr. John closed his homily by introducing the foot washing saying, "For those of you who don't know us, here at St. Cecelia's we don't just wash the feet of the twelve men on the church board." The congregation chuckled knowingly and my mouth opened as I realized what was coming next.

Father John reminded everyone that they didn't have to participate, but he invited everyone who wanted in to ditch their shoes and socks in the pews. I shook my head in disbelief.

As the choir sang and bowls of water were set up, I reflected on the first half of Fr. John's homily. He had pointed out that in the midst of everything else going on with that Passover night Jesus told his disciples to wash one another's feet. "That's it," Fr. John said in his comforting Boston accent, "that's all it comes down to. Washing each other's feet."

He urged us to think about the feet we've washed, literally and figuratively. And to think about whose feet we should wash next. He asked us to think about those in our lives who need to be "scrubbed" by our forgiveness, or our compassion. He implored us to try to "rinse" those around us by being refreshingly positive in every day small talk rather than respond to those around us with sarcasm or negativity.

My thoughts tumbled as I stepped into the aisle and got in line with the other bare foot men, women and children. I thought about the people in my life who need compassion, patience and positive energy the most. I thought about the people in my life who provide me with the compassion and love I need to survive.

Then I couldn't help but start to think about the literal feet I've washed as a CNA and then as an RN.  For that reason alone I imagined this ritual was less scary for me  than for some of the other strangers in line. (Or the ones sitting with their shoes securely tied on in the pews).
That made me remember about the man who wouldn't let me wash his feet.

As I stepped up to the bowl to have my feet washed by the stranger in front of me, who had just had his feet washed by the stranger in front of him I thought about the people I met in Haiti. I remembered how most of the people doing the "foot washing" in those tents weren't blood relations of the injured or dying patients - they were just neighbors who were responding to the need they saw around them.

After the man at my knee was finished washing my feet he patted them dry with a clean towel. He put it down, and an altar server appeared to refill the bowl and replace the towel. As she did so, the man and I embraced and I thanked him. Then I took my place at the bowl and washed the feet of the next seated stranger. After I dried his feet he thanked me, and hugged me goodbye. I padded back to my seat, struck by a lack of discomfort in the whole thing. Mine and everyone else's too.

"We belong to a church with a ton of hierarchy, huh?" Fr. John had challenged at the top of the homily, "sometimes it seems like people are more interested in getting their feet washed than washing other feet."

He continued, "We have a lot of ways of describing the hierarchy and power and ritual, huh? High mass? Low mass? But no matter how you understand religion, or what parts (pahts) of it are attractive to you... in the end it is all about washing one another's feet."<

That, as it so happens, is actually exactly how I choose to understand religion.

Lenten Dread

The true focus of Lent is on a renewal of Baptismal promises. A turn away from sin and a return to true Life offered in the Gospel. However, many of our Catholic Lenten rituals come to us from pre Vatican II, when the focus of Lent was more on the suffering and death of Jesus.

And that is why I have been dreading Lent.

 I find it hard to focus on that for very long. The reason used to be a childish one. It was because I felt guilty for my own shortcomings.  As a child I remember a certain elementary school teacher vividly describing the mechanisms of a crucifixion and then reminding us (as we pondered things like hypovolemic shock, mind numbing pain, and asphyxiation secondary to the body's inability to expand the thoracic cavity efficiently) that it was for our sins that this human sacrifice occurred. That stuck with me a long time.

I have since processed a lot of this guilt into a much healthier faith life, a topic for a whole other conversation.

But the reason I now find it hard to concentrate on this suffering for very long is because there is still so much suffering in the world. Jesus' death and Resurrection bought us all everlasting Life after death, but it did not wipe out the darkness and sorrow in this life. It wasn't meant to.

I find it nearly impossible to  bear witness every single day to the personal tragedies of the individuals I work with, and then meditate on even more suffering when I get home without getting deeply depressed. 

Watching The Passion of the Christ in 2004 did not inspire me, or help me feel closer to God, or turn me away from sin. It traumatized me because I can not watch senseless violence inflicted on a living creature without a great deal of mental anguish. It effected me the way Requiem for a Dream did and I have only seen each film once because of it.

Working as nurse has only augmented my aversion to thinking about suffering for the sake of just thinking about it.

What I find brings me closer to God is focusing on the promise that He will "wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore" (Rev 21:4).

I always rationalized it as "we need the forty days to really appreciate the miracle of Easter".  But I don't buy that anymore. Why does Death get 40 days and the Resurrection only get Easter Sunday?  How can anyone expect me to manufacture sadness for this long? Why isn't anyone else going crazy with this gloom? 

Then, at the 8pm Mass at St. Clement's on 2/21 something amazing happened. Father Peter gave a sermon that made me think of Lent in a refreshing new way.

"In forty days," he said, "you'll be watching the Red Sox play baseball. Think about that." We thought about it.

"In forty days," he continued, "you'll hear birds outside your window. In forty days the bulbs I planted will be growing and in forty days that tree outside will have buds."

I have been taught about mentanoia, and the deep change we are supposed to go through during Lent, but my own experiences with Lent have been too wrapped up in a focus on the darkness to really feel a change within me. 

But Father Peter put it this way. He told us he's been cranky recently. Irritable. It's hard to do service to others when you're irritable all the time. So he gave up answering email at night and started reading books.

Sounds selfish, right?  Sounds less like a sacrifice and more like a leisure. Not very "Lenten" at all. 

But it made him stop being cranky. It made him less likely to be short with his loved ones. It made him happy to get up and go to work in the morning. It made him better at helping people.

He asked us to replace one undesirable behavior or habit with a good one some how.

"In forty days," he asked us all, "everything will look different. What will you look like?"

I like his take on Lent because it matches the beliefs I am newly forming. Which is to say:

I believe that Lent doesn't have to be about gloom and doom and pain and hurting. 

It's about finding new ways to combat the gloom, doom, pain and hurting we see every day.

Lent is a training season for putting our own needs second, and the needs of others first. 

It's a challenge for us to seek out the suffering of others and to find ways to relieve it.

Because then and only then do we imitate Jesus' victory over evil and death.

So as Lent marches on I find myself still having some problems with the ways the Church goes about observing the season. Many people have to go into the Dark place to find the Light. The long Latin prayers, and the stripping the church of decorations, and the songs about bleeding and dying bring them there. 

 But  I am beginning to  understand that I personally do not have to go into that dark place if it will actually be more harmful than useful. There are other ways to glorify God, and those are the actions I must identify and engage in. For that will bring my personal mentanoia. 

Rehashing Advent: The dark, the light and the Hallelujah

The Hallelujah

I was really excited this year about Jack visiting from Costa Rica for Christmas. Jack is my mother's cousin, and I met him for the first time last spring when Mom and I visited Santa Ana. He's a really fun person, and he and I are very alike in spirit and humor.

The last few weeks I have been preparing for Jack's arrival. Although he was only spending one night at my house before going to stay with my Aunt Mame, I wanted everything to be perfect. I scrubbed my apartment from top to bottom. It took five hours. I even cleaned the inside of my medicene cabinet. Did I think Jack would care about my medicene cabinet? No. But I cared. I cleaned my pantry. I bought a six pack of Coors, his favorite American beer. I put together a selection of books for him to read. I spent two days creating the most "welcome back to New England" meal I could think of, Beef and Potato stew with Guinness.
Before I left for the airport Tuesday night I set the table for two, turned the crock pot to "simmer," and put Dad's old leather jacket in my car so Jack would have something warm to wear. Everything was perfect.

Then everything fell apart. Jack didn't get off the plane. While other happy families reunited at the gate, I stood holding Dad's heavy jacket, distraught and worried. I got terse with a security guard who sent me to the wrong gate. I had Jack paged. Someone looked up his name and told me Jack had missed the flight; he was on the next one. I had two hours to wait. I sat and thought about the stew simmering away in my kitchen. I thought about how early I had to get up for work. I longed for my ipod. I got grumpy.

Once Jack arrived, things started looking up. We didn't stop talking all the way home. I forgot how tired I was, and put my early morning shift out of my mind. On the way to my apartment we passed a pizza place. Jack nearly jumped out the window of the car because he hadn't had a decent slice of pizza in twelve years. Excited for his "first" taste of American pizza, I stopped the car quickly, and he ran into the little store. Then I remembered my stew at home and started to laugh out loud.

I had spent all this time preparing and working and planning. In the end it was a good thing because my house was clean and comfortable, and Jack ended up eating some stew after his pizza anyway. But still, things didn't go as I planned.

This Advent I promised myself I'd really prepare a place for Jesus. I tried to be mindful every single day. I said I'd pray an hour a day at least. I told myself I'd find extra prayer services to attend. In the end, I didn't do that hour of prayer every single day. But I did pray more often. And I missed Mass twice but I went to a very moving yoga - prayer service at Hope Church. I also attended Taize, which I wouldn't have done if I hadn't missed Mass last week.

In and of itself preparing is not generally bad or futile. Because otherwise the apartment would be cluttered , the fridge would be gross and there'd be no six pack of Coors.
But flexibility is key in planning. It's important to keep in mind that airlines aren't always on time and that sometimes a man just wants a slice of pizza.

We can pray for Grace and make ourselves as open as possible in preparation, but it's still all up to God. Rigidity in faith, I am learning, might not be as useful as I once thought it was.

So, (ready for a corny and moralizing anaology to end this one?) I'm going to keep making stew but I'm not going to freak out about how many potatos to buy,* because in the end we might end up just getting a pizza and eating both.


Hallelujah!
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*right, Shannon?

Rehashing Advent: the dark, the light and the Hallelujah

I challenged myself this Advent to think about my Faith in new ways, and to open myself up to unexpected changes in my relationship to others and God. I also made a rather secular deal with myself to do at least one fun thing every day until Christmas in the hope of rekindling the spirit of the child who waits with hope and joy (and without stress) for December 25th each year. So I give you the Dark, the Light and the Hallelujah of my Advent journey.

The Dark

On the fourth Sunday of Advent I overslept. Still, I wasn't concerned, knowing I could catch a 5pm service at St. Paul's in Harvard Square. After sledding most of the afternoon with a friend, we grabbed a cup of cocoa at Diesel in Davis Square. We got to talking and before I knew it, I was running late. My watch read 5pm exactly as the train pulled into the Harvard Square stop. I realized that I still had about a ten minute walk to the church. Thinking quickly, I decided to play things safe, stay on the train to Park Street and then take the Green line to a 6pm Mass at St. Cecelia's. Better to be early than late, I reasoned, the events of the previous week fresh in my mind.

I was freezing when I finally got to St. Cecelia's. While we were sledding I had failed to bail out of my saucer on one unlucky run and ended up in a small brook, which had soaked my clothes through. Still, I was early, and consoled myself knowing I'd have time to warm up and meditate before the service. But when I got to the door a sign posted read "Silence Please."
The church was full of candles. And empty of people.
"Welcome to Taize," a man greeted me warmly.
My dismay showed on my face and the man's face fell too.
"There's no 6pm Mass today because the students are all on break," he explained, "but you're welcome to join us for prayer."

The week before, as I partially alluded to, I was late to church and missed the Gospel reading. On top of being late, when I got in line for Communion, somehow the priest looked me over and returned to the altar without administering the Sacrament. I was left standing alone in the center aisle like lost toddler or a forgotten bride. God's unwanted child. No Gospel. No Eucharist. Essentially no Mass on Gaudete Sunday.


I'm a pretty terrible Catholic in plenty of ways but weekly Mass is a discipline that I practice the way some people play an instrument or do martial arts. I have attended Mass in many different cities, states and countries in all sorts of languages with all sorts of people.

And now, this Advent, at a time when I have been focusing more instead of less on my faith... I somehow managed to miss church two weekends in a row.

I thanked the man and took a copy of the music. I walked down the center aisle, my snow boots creating jarring noises in the silent room. The candle light danced all around me and I tried to remind myself of how much I love Taize services. I tried to tell myself that it would be good for me to just listen to God for an hour instead of just reciting all the traditional prayers. I tried to clear my mind. Then I knelt down and tried to stop myself from crying.

a bit of light Advent Reading

Over the past four weeks of Advent one of the things that has kept me the most on track with staying spiritually mindful has been the writing of a man whom I have never met.

I found Stephen Hough's blog on the first Sunday of Advent when I googled the phrase "darkness to light," which led me to the first of his four Advent posts.

Four sentences in, I was hooked.

Hough, an internationally acclaimed professional concert pianist, decided to choose a new musical piece each week, and explain it in a seasonal context.

It wasn't what his entire blog has been about during Advent. I'm guessing that religion is not a subject matter he speaks of often since in that initial piece he writes "for the next four Sundays, atheist, agnostic and freethinking readers might want to avoid posts with the word ‘Advent’ in the title - you have been warned!"

I have become a regular follower of his blog (and recommend that you do to), because he is a truly engaging writer no matter what the subject matter is, but for now I'll focus on the four Advent pieces. It's been fascinating to read about the season through the eyes (and ears!) of a professional musician who is also extremely well versed in Church theology and doctrine.

The musical pieces he chose to write about are as follows:

1. Prelude Chorale and Fugue, Cesar Franck
2. The Fountain and The Bell, Federico Mompou
3. F minor piano sonata (specifically the second movement), Brahms
4. Ave Maria, Franz Liszt

The pieces he chose to explain are not explicitly religious. In fact, the only one I immediately registered as liturgical was Ave Maria. But Hough writes of the composer's backgrounds as well as the historical context of the pieces. He also focuses on the music itself, the notes, the melodies and the instruments. The way Hough connects each musical masterpiece to the themes of Advent reminded me of the way someone else may find God in a sunrise, or in the ocean waves, or the movement of an electron.

I also took the time to read some of the conversations taking place in the comments sections of the four Advent pieces. Because I do not have a large or steady faith community of my own here in Boston*, I found myself drawn to these discussions between Catholics, Protestants and atheists. Together they've created conversations in which Hough's ideas were questioned, built upon and further explored.

I was amazed as I read through the various conversations. Everyone who comments, it seems, is genuinely interested in creating dialogue to further each individual's understanding of Advent. Hough also takes part in these conversations, explaining and defending his own views when necessary, but very open to the ideas of his peers and readers. People don't always walk away from it agreeing. But everyone comes to the table willing to listen and interested in hearing what was said in response.

I will certainly be posting more about my own thoughts on the season in general, and especially on Advent 2009. In the meantime I hope that if it interests you at all you will click on one of the links above and read some of Hough's insight into how these four pieces capture the pre-Christmas season.
He has certainly been an inspiration to me these past four weeks.
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* the subject of an upcoming post for sure

Father Richard Cleary 1932-2009

This is Fr. Cleary dancing to "Baby Got Back," at the Newman Semi Formal my freshman year of college. He was not an ordinary priest. Then again... what Jesuit is?

Yesterday I found out that Fr. Cleary passed away. Ever since then I have felt anxious and heavy hearted.

The more I read about his life outside of the few years I got to know him, most notably the time he spent as University Chaplain at Boston College the more astounded I am, and the more awed by how many lives just like mine he touched.

My five years at UMass were formative in many ways, and I often overlook religion because I was a Catholic before I showed up and I was a Catholic when I left, but what took place in between can only be described as turbulent growth.

Father Cleary was the leader of many programs for students at Newman. Notably, he the championed the 48HOURS retreat, and ran the Know Your Faith program, designed to encourage young Catholics to ask why, and seek answers. Fr. Cleary was also the person responsible for bringing taize prayer to the Newman Center, a now weekly tradition for the community. My first year at Newman I took on co-directing The Passion Play for the Palm Sunday masses., with my roommate Jen. Fr. Cleary oversaw the production and was the one who gave us the confidence (and the go-ahead) to break from tradition, write a brand new script and even add music to the program.
Well, of course, music. Father Cleary could sing, and loved to sing. He often sang during his sermons, encouraging the entire congregation to sing along, a cappella. His favorite song to sing was "Lights of the City." And when he sang, his voice was so full of joy that you couldn't help but join in.

But perhaps my most important memories of Fr. Cleary are more private. We used to have long talks, sometimes within the structure of the sacrament of reconciliation, but often times not. A close friend of mine from college summed it up when I told him about Fr. Cleary's passing. "I did not meet him" he said, "but I do remember you being upset and going there, and talking to him and coming back a lot better."

I was always better after talking to Father Cleary. Sometimes he told me things that were hard to hear. Sometimes, I admit, I didn't take all of his advice. But he was always right on. I remember wondering, while we were on retreat one night, a retreat which included many silent components, if my loud personality was a test from God. If I was meant to overcome my tendencies to become a smaller, more humble lady. And Father Cleary told me no. That I was not meant to be anyone but myself.
His mentoring helped make me who I am. I hope I was able to express how grateful I was, but of course I wish now I could have said or done more to make it clear.

Father Cleary was an amazing energy force within the student faith community at UMass Amherst, and also at Boston College. Everyone who met him couldn't help but walk away feeling happier, and more at peace.

I lost touch with Father Cleary when he left the Newman Center, which I regret deeply. I do not know how much he suffered in the end but I do know that he is in a better place now. And I am comforted by the knowledge that his memory lives on in the hearts of all who knew him. Any time we reach out to spread the joy God's love, and the knowledge of God's acceptance and saving Grace we are continuing Fr. Cleary's work. And that, plus a little more singing, is exactly what he would want.


Brady Fallon Funeral Home and Cremation Service - Obituary

Hidden

This is a rare post because it is very personal, and largely un promotional of "Misch" as a savvy RN with a sharp comic wit. Proceed with compassion and caution.

I mentioned recently that my Lenten journey was less than successful this year. After admitting it out loud I upped the stakes a little bit, and tried to find the peace and love that has centered my life in the past.

As I drew Jesus closer in my prayer life, I became happier, healthier and more fun to be around. I stopped feeling burned out at work and began reaching out to old friends. Clearly, my faith had needed some serious healing.

Unfortunately, inspired by this change in myself, during Holy Week I dove head first into a bunch of theology which I found I simply do not have the support systems to be dealing with.

Easter, which is the celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus and the Redemption of humanity through His rising, is supposed to be a day of great joy and hope.

And, it was. But with it came what felt like centuries worth of anxiety and bad feelings.

I was visiting family all day long, and tried to focus on how good it was to be with loved ones. I tried to generate the happiness that spirituality usually brings to me. But anxiety kept building up inside me. Instead of feeling awake and joyful in the Risen Lord, I went to bed at 7:30pm just to escape my thoughts.

As of right now I am in the process of seeking help from several friends in various doctrines.

I have prided myself since leaving college at not having a home parish. I have bragged about how I sometimes go an entire month without mass in the same place two weeks in a row. I go every week, but count several different locations as "my church," depending on the zip code. It's because I refuse to forfeit weekly mass to my hectic schedule as a performer and nurse. It's a system that has for the past two years allowed me to never feel cut off from the Sabbath day even in the craziest of weekends.

But now I find that this system, although convenient, has robbed me of the very thing church was made for. Community.

I have questions. Big questions. Questions that are keeping me awake all night long.
And no one to field them.

It will never be a question for me whether God exists or not. Nor will I question the Divinity of Jesus. Right now, more than almost ever in my life I am questioning the idea of church, religion, and the Bible.

It has happened before. It's not new news. I've struggled a long time with some of the same issues.

People closest to me will remember some of the biggest times of spiritual wrestling in my life. When I was in high school I almost didn't become confirmed*. In college, sophomore year most people will remember how I wanted to become a nun. I even went to a retreat at a convent for women my age thinking of the same commitment. I think fewer people will remember that the very same year I almost left the Catholic Church because I thought women should be ordained. (A good friend of mine who is now a priest talked me down from that one.) After I found peace in my decisions to neither leave the Church nor become a nun my life was calm for a while. Another struggle came junior year.

I don't see myself as particularly strong because of these battles. I can never be sure if I've won over doubt or just silenced a snooze button. In the end I'm mostly just relieved to have the joy of believing without fear or anxiety back in my life.

I am sharing this with you for two reasons. One is so that you can relate.
In the past I have been scared of sharing what I consider spiritual weakness with others. I felt they'd then doubt my leadership in the Church, or doubt my ability to help them with their own spiritual needs. But now I know that it is only through our weaknesses that God can make us strong. I believe very strongly in God. But I know something in my life is being called to change, and I don't know what it is. And if knowing that I'm going through this helps you, then it is good to share it.

The other reason is to try to branch out my community more. If you pray, please keep my troubled heart in your prayers. If you don't pray and you'd like to sit and logic some things out with me, I'd be up for that too. I believe we are called to Faith which means sometimes walking blindly. But it never means walking unthinkingly. It has been a combination of my mind and my heart which has brought me here through God's grace. And that is how I will move forward again.

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* My parents told me that it was my choice to make and they'd love and accept me either way which was very wise. It has prepared me for a lifetime of making informed decisions for myself.

... and to dust you shall return

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent for Western Christians.

Because I am a practicing Christian I am often asked questions like "Do you really think that God cares about what you eat?" and "Isn't fasting actually just ungrateful since so much food goes to waste every day?"

I love to answer these questions and can do so ad nauseum because I have put a lot of thought into my beliefs over the past five to seven years or so. Additionally, I think questions like this are important because they help me to look at my beliefs from new perspectives. Who knows, maybe I'll change my mind.

I will be doing a lot of writing about Lent (I hope), so please feel free to ask me questions, even the most inflammatory ones. I'm not easily offended.

Today was the first time in maybe 16 years that I did not attend a Catholic service for Ash Wednesday. Instead, I attended an Episcopal service meant for homeless men and women and their healthcare providers. It was very similar to what I'm used to except of course, for the Eucharist* which I was prepared for, having attended some Protestant masses in the past.

(Is this the beginning of a metanoia? Only time will tell.)

I enjoyed this particular service because there was a real community involved. It was so much better than going to a big half empty church on a cold Wednesday night. Patients and nurses alike sat in a circle and the service was informal. Three men volunteered and did the readings. One of them stumbled over the words of Matthew and looked up apologetically to say he was nervous. Everyone nodded in understanding and the reading continued. A woman dabbed her black rimmed eyes.

The reverend spoke about second chances and forgiveness, and I felt a real chill run through me. To my left was a man I know who is dying and who is scared. He kept his eyes downward until it was time for the peace offering. We shook hands and hugged. I accepted the Eucharist from a woman patient who I've seen around but do not know. It was a really wonderful reminder that we are all here to serve one another, this breaking down of staff versus patients for the hour long service.

I felt a bit odd not going to a Catholic Mass to begin the season. But in some ways, this might be the best start a Lent has ever had.

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* Protestants and Catholics differ on the opinion of whether or not the bread and wine actually become the body and blood of Jesus during the Mass. Protestants, because they believe the bread and wine only represent Jesus may use various substances to fill in. Catholics have stricter requirements about what substance may be consecrated. After a brief speech about the unity of Christians in the breaking of the bread, we all ate a doughy cookie and drank grape juice.

Toy Boat Toy Boat , T-Pain, Bless my throat

Laura called me into her room to watch this last night when I got home from work.
I loved it. It's no Dick in a Box, but these days what is? Without spoiling it I will say that the exposition to the joke is quick and easy, the rhymes are clever (and some of them are even tight), and the simplicity is inspired. Of course, as soon as T-Pain got involved I was hooked anyway. My favorite very quick shot (don't blink, you might miss it) involves a man who is very unhappy with grass.
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In other internet news my favorite blog author is back in the country and is writing again. When Other People's Emergencies lit up again in my Google Reader I thought I was imagining things. Welcome back, TS!
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Annnnd in real life news, I was at St. J's Saturday night for the 7pm Mass to lector when Sister M informed me that I was also going to be helping with the Blessing of the Throats. I got a bit anxious. But then I thought about all of the things I usually dislike about the Church and one of them is how I feel that the hierarchy can get really possessive about God. So for a lay person like me to go around blessing throats, that's way more in line with my actual beliefs. I don't think we always need intercessors. We can bless each other.

So I stayed and blessed throats after Mass. The absolute best part was that once I memorized the blessing I could look into people's eyes. I was smiling uncontrollably because it was kind of silly -- me with those huge candles and so much shorter than everyone else. Since I was grinning so madly, the otherwise very solemn congregation started to smile back. So as I said the blessings, we just smiled at each other, and sometimes laughed a little.
I got to just stand and make eye contact and smile with so many strangers. To me, that was the whole blessing in a way. As we handed candles back to Fr. M later he winked and said, "You know it doesn't work without the candles." And we all laughed, the veil lifted. We don't need candles or oils or waters. It's all in the people. Tradition is just a way to get everyone there at the same time. Like going to your high school football game on Thanksgiving. Being in a church where the priests think that way and understand religion in that way too is so refreshing.

Epiphanies

Today at church Father Charlie gave an amazing sermon. I'm going to share some of it.

Today is the Fest of the Epiphany. Known elsewhere in the world as "Three Kings Day." Fr. C is my favorite preacher with good reason. He spoke to us very frankly about the fact that the "Three Wise Men," that we sing about did not exist. They are part of what theologians call "True Myth." But we can neither throw the story away or be fooled into taking it at face value. The legend has a lesson : The magi did not find God on their own. God sought them first by sending a star.

Father Charlie went on to say that God comes to us every day. When we are open to it we can experience those moments as epiphanies. Any time we catch them, an epiphany. Seeing an old friend can be an epiphany. A birth, a wedding, a party. Maybe even in grieving, if we are open, we will find epiphanies.

However, he said, sometimes our lives can get so hectic that we don't realize all the different ways we're missing those moments of revelation and joy. It's possible to get so caught up, even in the good things in life, that we miss them somehow. Many of my friends who have gotten married say the same thing. They are so wound up in the planning that when the day comes, it's almost a let down. They missed the moment.

Father Charlie referenced this article from the Globe today that says city life might actually be changing our brains. Because the article touches on the idea that nature plays in the development of our minds, he then talked a bit about nature. The Native Americans, he pointed out, understood our need to communicate constantly with the Higher Power. They spoke to the Great Spirit in everything from rocks to trees to deer to people. And we need to take a page from their book. Because we're missing it.

I know my schedule is about to blow up. But somehow I need to take these moments. And make them mine. And make them mindful. And live those epiphanies. Because otherwise, what's the point?

I was underneath the tree and thinking about the stars.

For Catholics in the Unites States the official Christmas season began three weeks ago, at the start of Advent. Although for many people Christmas ends the next day, in my culture Christmas lasts until January 6th. I knew a wonderful priest by the name of Father Douglas, and he preaches at the Newman Center in Amherst, Ma and he used to stand really firm on this. He would "order," us with a gleeful look on his face to not stop the celebrating and the joy and the dancing and the carols until the 6th.

However, I'd like to take it even further than just five weeks.

In the book Jesus and Buddha As Brothers Thich Nhat Hanh writes about the Buddhist tradition of "Beginning Anew," and compares it to the Christian idea of baptism and being "born again." In a chapter called "Let the Child Be Born Unto Us," taken from an address he gave December 24th 1996 he asks all Christians to recognize that

Jesus Christ is born every moment of our daily life- not only on Christmas day, because every day is Christmas day, every minute is a Christmas minute. The child within us is
waiting each minute to be born and born again.

(A bit more info: The Globe recently ran an interesting article about the intersection of Buddhism and Christianity and reactions to the concepts from everyone to lay people to the Pope. Since I have been studying this intersection since high school when Grandminister of Funk Toro wrote me one of the nicest letters I have ever received, I found this small media piece interesting.)

I live my life mindfully. At least, I try to. It's takes discipline, and it's something that needs to be actively practiced. Because of this practice I hold the belief that Christmas and the idea of Christmas can be every moment of every day. You can interpret that secularly to mean that every day should be filled with the goodwill and inclinations of generosity that permeate "the holidays." I think that's fine and can certainly cause more good than harm. On a more theological level I would also add that every moment can be rebirth of spirit, a confirmation of purpose and a redefining of salvation. And although I experience it as a Christian, I also believe you don't have to be any particular religion to live your life that way.

Merry Christmas Saturday, everyone!

All of this is here with me.

Here, because I'll lose all of this otherwise:

The last Saturday we spent in Tokyo we went shopping. We believed this day to be John's birthday. It wasn't but we believed that it was and so we acted accordingly. Meaning, of course that we ate sushi four times that day. At different places. And drank. No matter what. Actually, I only went twice because then Steph and I got into a cab and gave the driver the address of the church I wanted to go to. Yes, even in Japan I was able to find a Catholic mass in English! Meanwhile the guys and Casey explored more of the city's sushi and sake population.

Catholic Mass outside of the the Northeastern part of the US is very different. I hadn't been expecting the sermon to be so conservative. It was hard to sit through, and made me question a lot of my faith. It made me wonder if I am really Catholic anymore or if I shouldn't really take those steps towards a Christian religion that is more in line with my beliefs. Those of you who know me best will say, "same old story, Misch." And the age old arguments I have against leaving are all the same. Steph actually walked out during the sermon, it was that bad. Afterwards I found solace in a long talk with John about organized religion versus Faith.
And although it was uncomfortable I am glad I went because in a week so full of moving and acting, I had done little in the way of meditating or praying and I needed the discipline of a full hour just for that.

When we all joined up again we traveled to Roppongi. Now, Gavin, our Australian friend whom we met on Friday had told us we had to go to Roppongi Hills. He showed us amazing photos he took from there of the whole city. Naively, I led the rest of my friends to busiest night club district of Tokyo. A place where Dave instructed us firmly to not talk to any men outside doorways and above all to NOT GET INTO ANY ELEVATORS. This was because all of the establishments on the first floor were legitimate, but just one look at any sign post could tell that decadent sketchy places dominated every other floor.

Nevertheless we imagined that Roppongi Hill must be a magical sacred mountain somewhere tucked behind the buildings and lights where we would meet some monks and sip on green tea and play tag with monkeys.

So we sent Casey to talk to one of the men in a doorway with whom one should never speak lest one find oneself on an elevator. She returned unharmed and laughing told us she would lead us to the Hill. We followed her across a busy street, around many corners, through some oncoming traffic, and ended up at a huge building with the words Roppongi Hill on it.

Yep. It's a skyscraper with an observation deck 52 floors up. Unfortunately the outdoor sky deck was closed so we all paid $15 to go to the top floor and look around. It was well worth it and we took some really great photos.

In our usual fashion we got lost on the way home, bought some sake in the Family Mart and had an epic pillow fight. The photos from which will never see the light of day. What happens in Sunshine City stays in Sunshine City.