Snakes...on a Pole?

   Exaltation of the Holy Cross   

From Empty Hands · Snakes...on a Pole?

The Power of the Beads

   Our Lady of the Holy Rosary   TLM 

From Empty Hands · The Power of the Beads

The Real Enemy

 Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time   B  

   Michaelmas    

From Empty Hands · The Real Enemy

Just Can't Say Enough

   The Solemnity of St. Joseph   

From Empty Hands · Just Can't Say Enough

Holy Patron

Holy Patron! Thee saluting,

here we meet with hearts sincere;

Blest St. Joseph, all uniting,

Call on thee to hear our prayer.

Happy Saint, in bliss adoring

Jesus, Savior of mankind,

Hear thy children thee imploring,

May we thy protection find.

Suffering

From yesterday's funnies...but somehow appropriate to today's feast of Our Lady of Sorrows:

Glad Tidings

Today's solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord is always a feast of great hope...but especially for us northerners if you take into account the old folksy proverb:

Saint Gabriel to Mary flies:

This is the end of snow and ice.

  

Telling Stories

My NPT partner, Lawrence, put me onto this interesting article/study.  Go figure that in the midst of a 120 mile hike we'd be talking about what makes some people more resilient than others...

   Solemnity of All Saints    

Readings

It comes as no surprise to hear someone say that the family—the very building block of society—is in crisis.  So it should also come as no surprise to hear that many studies have been done on this troubling situation.  Most of these studies focus on what it is that’s tearing modern families apart.  But a number of years ago, a few psychologists decided that it would be much more helpful to study strong, successful families to see what was keeping them together.

Their research began by studying the children.  They gave the kids a “do you know?” test, and the focus was on their family stories.  The children were asked questions like: Do you know where your grandparents grew up?  Do you know how your parents met?  Do you know about a serious illness or other family tragedy?  Do you know the story of your birth?

The result?  They found that the more kids know about their family history, the higher their self-esteem and the stronger their sense of control over their lives.  Children are happier and far healthier emotionally when they know their family story.

As the researchers took their study deeper, they realized that there are essentially three different family stories.  The first is the upward climb: “When we came to this country, we had nothing.  But we worked hard, and your grandfather opened this store.  Your father graduated from high school.  Now you’re headed off to college…”  The second is the downward spiral: “Once upon a time, we had it all!  Then there was the fire, and we lost everything…”   But the happiest, healthiest kids heard a third story—one marked by both ups and downs: “Our family has come a long way.  Your grandfather built a strong business and was a pillar of the community.  And your mother served on the hospital board.   But we’ve also had our setbacks.  Your uncle went to jail.  And your father lost his job.  But no matter what has happened, we’ve always stuck together as a family.”  (cf. B. Feiler, NY Times, 3/15/13)

I think we’d find pretty much the same thing if we did a study of the children of God.

Today is a feast of family as we celebrate the Communion of Saints.  We—as St. John reminds us—are God’s children now.  Which means that all the holy ones who’ve gone before us are our elder brothers and sisters.  Today is a feast for retelling their story—for recalling our family history, the history of the Church.  It’s so very important for us to know where we’ve come from!  The saints need to be for us more than a collection of dusty statues.  Our origins have a huge impact on who we are now—living in the world—and who we long to be—living forever in heaven.

How would you do on a “do you know?” test when it comes to our saintly ancestors?  What so you know about the saints after whom our churches were named?  What do you know about the saint after whom you were named?  Believe it or not, the lives of the saints and the history of the Church make for some very fascinating reading!

But it makes a difference how we hear this family story.  There are some who speak of the saints in a constant upward climb; they make them so otherworldly that we could never hope to follow their example.  Then there are others who get caught in a downward spiral; they can see nothing but corruption in the Church’s past and crisis in her present.  But the Catholic family story that is most healthy and helpful—and which just also happens to be most accurate—is one marked by both ups and downs.  (Doesn’t that sound like the Beatitudes, where Jesus can declare the poor and the mourning, the thirsty and the persecuted, to be “blessed”?)  We must never forget: every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.

If you want to have a stronger family, if you want your children to be able to bounce back better in the face of adversity, then keep retelling the family story—including both the good times and the bad.  What is needed in our homes is just as much needed in our Church.  Learn the Church’s history!  Get to know the saints!  Do so and, as God’s children, we’ll build a much happier, healthier, and holier family.

  

God's Passion

God is
always
was
yet becomes
as small as a speck
in a womb,
as a crumb
on a plate
placed
on the tip
of a tongue,
unleavened and raised
between fingers and thumbs,
lifted, beheld
manna become
Man
taken in hand
to be eaten,
absorbed
forgotten
remembered, re-offered, re-stored,
all whim and all wisdom
eternal
in fashion:
God's Gift
of Himself
in the Flesh
is all passion.

Poem by Rita A. Simmonds

in The Magnificat Year of Faith Companion

It's Spring

On today's Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary...

"When God created the first Adam, he made his preparations beforehand; he fashioned a paradise ready for him to dwell in. And when he restored our nature in the second Adam, once more there was a preparation to be made beforehand. He fashioned a paradise for the second Adam to dwell in, and that paradise was the body and soul of our blessed Lady, immune from the taint of sin, Adam’s curse. It was winter still in the world; but in the quiet home where Saint Anne gave birth to her daughter, spring had begun."

Fr. Ronald Knox (1881-1951)
  

Trick or Treat

I hope it's not too late to say, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

(As you can see, FideliCat sends his greetings, too.)
 

Hello, Kitty!

On this feast of the great St. Francis of Assisi, patron of animals and those who love and care for them, we received this cute little bundle of joy on our doorstep...

We thought for sure we knew the identity of our generous benefactor, but--alas--we were wrong and he or she remains a mystery.

I have a funny feeling you're going to see a whole lot more of FideliCat in the days ahead.
 

The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

I fondly recall my father singing this song (well, the refrain, anyway) when I was a child, with both great affection and great gusto.  Little did I know that I was in such good company: it seems that St. Thérèse of Lisieux used to sing it along with her friends, having learned it from her mother.  The story behind this beautiful French hymn to Our Lady is a rather touching one, and its text seems most appropriate to me on this great solemnity.

The Mother of God's high destiny is ours, as well: to be raised in the full integrity of our humanity--body and soul--to heaven.  Where Mary has gone--now dwelling in complete, eternal union with her divine Son--we long one day to follow.

We sang this (although not nearly as well as Patty Griffin does, who first heard it as a lullaby sung by her French Canadian grandmother) at the end of the holy day Mass here at Notre Dame...

J'irai la voir un jour Au ciel, dans la patrie! Oui, j'irai voir Marie, Ma joie et mon amour.                Au ciel, au ciel, au ciel,                J'irai la voir un jour! J'irai la voir un jour! C'est le cri d'espérance Qui calme ma souffrance Au terrestre séjour. J'irai la voir un jour! J'irai m’unir aux anges, Pour chanter ses louanges Et pour former sa cour. J'irai la voir un jour, Cette Vierge si belle! Bientôt j'irai près d'elle Lui dire mon amour. J'irai la voir un jour! J'irai près de sa trône Recevoir ma couronne Dans l'éternel séjour. J'irai la voir un jour! J'irai, loin de la terre, Sur le coeur de ma Mère Reposer sans retour.

I will go to see her one day, In heaven, in my homeland! Yes, I will go to see Mary, My joy and my love.                To heaven, to heaven, to heaven,                I will go to see her one day! I will go to see her one day! It is the cry of hope That calms my suffering During my earthly stay. I will go to see her one day! I will join myself to the angels In order to sing her praises And to form her court. I will go to see her one day, This Virgin so beautiful! Soon I will go to be near her And tell her of my love. I will go to see her one day! I will go near her throne To receive my crown In eternal rest. I will go to see her one day! I’ll go, far from the earth, To rest without return On my Mother's heart.

Fr. Pierre Janin (1853)

Free for All

Bonne fête à tous!

   The Nativity of St. John the Baptist   

Readings

June 24^th is a big day for our neighbors to the north,

as the province of Québec celebrates la-Saint-Jean-Baptiste.

No one’s quite sure how John the Baptist

became so beloved among French Canadians.
Saint Joseph has been the official patron of what would become Canada

since the 1600’s…but his feast day is in March,

and it’s not the best time of the year to have a party.

So with John the Baptist’s birthday

happily coinciding with the start of summer,

I guess he was an obvious choice for a fun-loving people!

The early observances of the feast in Québec

carried over traditions from Europe:

lighting bonfires, for example, during the night preceding June 24^th—

one of the shortest nights of the year.

But the celebrations grew over time—

in particular, during the mid-1800’s.

Festive parades began to spring up,

often including a small boy 

dressed up as a young Saint John,

escorting a lamb through the town.

A flag was designed for the festivities,

which looks an awful lot 

like the provincial flag of Québec today,

except with a large image 

of Jesus’ Sacred Heart at its center.

(You can still see this flag 

in one of the stained glass windows

upstairs at Notre Dame.)

Everything, of course, led up to the celebration

of a solemn, sung High Mass 

in the principle church of each region.

But times have changed.

The stirring sermons of old began to be replaced

by patriotic speeches concerning national identity and pride.

The sung Masses in the churches faded away

as concerts and dancing sprang up in the parks.

The flag of fleur-de-lis still waves…

...but lacks the Sacred Heart.

And the parades continued…

...but without a little John the Baptist.

In fact, since a government decree of 1977,

June 24^th is now officially known 

as La Fête nationale du Québec—

the National Holiday of Québec.

Even in name, 

it’s become a pretty thoroughly 

secular observance.

Faith, it seems, 

has gradually given way to politics.

This past Thursday, Catholics in the United States—

at the urging of our Bishops—

began observing a “Fortnight for Freedom,”

leading up to our own national holiday on the 4^th of July.

Most people who’ve heard of it

have scratched their heads wondering,

“What in the world is a fortnight?”

That’s an old-fashioned word for fourteen days.

But we’d do much better during these two weeks

—in my opinion—to spend our time considering, 

“What is freedom?”

We live in an age 

that often confuses liberty with license.

Despite popular notions to the contrary,

everybody getting to do everything they want

is not the definition of democracy;

it’s the definition of anarchy—

a proven recipe for chaos.

A truly free people is governed not by the principles of majority rule,

but by the principles of the common good.

According to its founding documents,

our nation was intended to be one

where the law of the land is determined

not by what will help keep our elected officials in power,

but by what’s in accord with our human nature—

and our human nature, of course, is determined
by the God who made us.

The current troubled nature

of the relationship between faith and freedom

is not—though some who portray it so—

because religion is under violent political attack.

If that were the case,

then both the enemies of the Church and her plan for defense

would be abundantly clear.

The real danger we face today is one of neglect.

Many of the Catholic faithful in America

are—to put it bluntly—unfaithful.

They do not come to Mass with regularity;

they do not give Church teaching much influence over their lives;

they are overwhelmingly uneducated in the faith,

whether from lack of information or from misinformation.

Ignorance and apathy are the real enemies the Church now faces…

…and they are some of the most difficult to defeat

because they do not launch a full frontal assault,

but foster a slow, downward slide.

The goal of the prayer and penance, the education and action

that make up the current Fortnight for Freedom

isn’t that the U.S. become a Catholic nation,

nor even an explicitly Christian one.

This is not an attempt to impose our religious doctrines or discipline.

(A quick look around the world reveals

how such efforts regularly degenerate into violence.)

But what the Church hopes for American Catholics

is that we’ll make an honest examination of our national values:

how they’re established, and then how they’re expressed in law.

It’s a rather foolish—though frequently repeated—thing to say

that faith and politics must never meet.

We can’t give God sway—as he desires—of every aspect of our lives

and then make an exception for this one.

And I don’t think it’s too much to aim for

a respectful and reasoned dialogue between the two.

In the history of Israel,

prophets arose at the same time 

as did kings.

Even divinely anointed rulers 

had a tendency to forget

that their kingdom was to be governed by the law of God

rather than selfish human interests.

Prophets were appointed 

to remind kings of this.

Needless to say, 

it’s always been a tense relationship!

John the Baptist—

even from his birth—

arrives on the scene

as a prophet to the nations 

and a light for Israel:

preparing a way for the Lord 

who comes to set all people free.

But the freedom announced by John 

and won for us by Christ

is clearly not primarily 

a political reality—

not a matter of self-rule;

not the elimination of all government interference and restrictions.

The Baptist, after all, 

died at the hands of a puppet king,

and Jesus himself was sentenced 

under the laws of Roman occupation.

Thus the freedom for which 

we are to work and pray 

during these days

is not simply the ability to choose the manner in which we worship—

even whether we worship at all.

It’s an inner freedom—a freedom of conscience—

which naturally seeks outward expression:

the freedom to pursue the truth and live our lives according to it.

True religious liberty is not so much a matter of what we’re free from.

(Faith, you’ll remember, has generally best flourished

when it’s been most aggressively oppressed.).

No, true religious liberty is a matter of what we’re free for:

free for virtue; free to live by a higher law;

free to do good, and free to be good;

free to know God, and free to love and serve God in all things.

Such a freedom ought to always be protected by civil authorities…

…but even when it isn’t,

such a freedom can never really be taken away

because it’s part of our innate human dignity—

a freedom which has been granted,

not by the Constitution, but from above.

It is of this freedom that we—like Saint John the Baptist—

are called to be courageous prophets in the world today.

Unlike our neighbors in Québec,

our national holiday was never an explicitly religious one.

And it’s not the purpose of our Church to make it so.

But during this Fortnight for Freedom leading up to Independence Day, 

we are reminded of our duty as Catholics

to be a real force for good in our beloved country.

Following in the footsteps of Saint John the Baptist,

let us courageously seek and speak the truth

which alone has the power to set all people free.

  

Roped

I've used this quote from Annie Dillard before (according to my records, also on Corpus Christi, back in 2007), but it's a great one, so it bears repeating.

   The Most Holy Body & Blood of Christ   B 

Readings

The Jerusalem Temple was the scene 

of daily animal sacrifices.

But one sacrifice in the course of the entire year

stood out above all the others.

On the annual Day of Atonement, and only on that day,

the high priest would enter the Holy of Holies—

the temple’s inner sanctum, 

where the Ark of the Covenant was kept—

to sprinkle a bull’s blood as a sin-offering 

for himself and for the people.

But before passing through the curtain,

the high priest had a rope tied around him

just in case, while he was in there,

he encountered God face-to-face and died;

then the other priests would be able to drag him out

without having to go into 

the sanctuary themselves.*  (cf. P. Feldmeier)

The Letter to the Hebrews 

builds on this potent imagery.

Jesus Christ is our great high priest.

And he stands on our behalf before the Divine Presence—

not drawing back the curtain of a temple made of stone,

but piercing the veil between heaven and earth.

To the Father, Christ offers—

in atonement for the sins of the world—

not the blood of bulls and goats,

but his own Precious Blood, beyond all price.

“This is my blood of the covenant,” 

he says at the Last Supper,

“which will be shed for many.”

By his perfect sacrifice, 

Jesus reveals that those who approach God

do not so much have to fear dying

as they should come expecting a new life.

While his own Passion 

was, indeed, quite gruesome, 

Christ offers us communion 

with his saving death and Resurrection

under the common appearance 

of bread and wine—

in the familiar, comfortable context of a meal.

We believe his blood becomes 

really and truly present for us…

…but there’s no gore, as at the temple.

I get enough smirks from you 

when I sprinkle you with holy water;

I can only imagine the reaction

if I were to sprinkle you with blood, 

as Moses did the twelve tribes!

In Jesus, the true Lamb,

Israel’s long history of bloody sacrifice is fulfilled.

Perpetuating his self-offering sacramentally in the Eucharist,

Christ has made God infinitely more approachable

than in the temple rites of old.

But this incredible approachability—

being able not only to see God and live,

but to hold him in our hands, to receive him as our food and drink—

while its one of the Eucharist’s greatest strengths,

is also one of its greatest liabilities.

American author Annie Dillard 

once observed

that most people 

set about going to church

in much the same way 

they would a pleasure cruise:

getting on board like tourists 

ready for the packaged excursion,

hoping to enjoy 

the program of entertainments,

if not also take in 

some lovely views along the way.

But Dillard finds this perspective 

most inappropriate.

To her mind, 

going to church 

should be a whole lot more

like heading out 

on an expedition to the North Pole.

If the words 

we dare to speak here are true,

and the rituals we enact 

have the capacity 

to do that which they claim,

then participating in the Mass

means embarking on 

a much more daring 

and dangerous journey.

Dillard writes:

On the whole, I do not find Christians…

sufficiently sensible to conditions. 

Does anyone have the foggiest idea

what sort of power we so blithely invoke? 

Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? 

The churches are children playing on the floor

with their chemistry sets,

mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. 

It is madness to wear ladies straw hats…to church;

we should all be wearing crash helmets. 

Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares;

they should lash us to our pews.  (Teaching a Stone to Talk)

How often do we stop to realize the lofty mysteries

which we are privileged to handle when we come to Mass?

Are we conscious of the staggering power we invoke—and unleash—

when we call upon the Lord at the altar?

We do not need all the studies that have been done

to convince us that many Catholics today

no longer believe in the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist;

we can see it in our empty pews.

When—due to falling attendance—

Mass schedules change or churches close,

it’s hard for me to fathom why so many otherwise faithful folks

can’t make the switch to another time or another building

[though we’ve experienced that very thing right here in this parish].

I can understand the struggle of dealing with change…

…but how can Catholics choose to live without the Eucharist?

And if faith in this cornerstone of our religion had gotten so shaky,

then neither should we be surprised

that so many First Communions are also the last for quite awhile,

or that the Church is repeatedly rocked by scandals,

or that she’s rapidly loosing her voice—

losing her place as a moral authority

in the lives of individuals and of society.

All, however, is not gloom and doom. 

There are signs of hope.

The number of men studying for the priesthood in American seminaries

is on the rise.

In some parts of the country,

Catholics are building new churches rather than closing old ones.

Even right here at home,

when we took a headcount at all the Masses last weekend,

it was the highest attendance we’ve seen for an “ordinary” Sunday

in the past two years.

I’m not sure how to explain that…but it’s very encouraging!

Once upon a time,

this Sunday’s feast was marked by public processions.

I’ve seen old black-and-white pictures from my home parish

where thousands of Catholics on Corpus Christi

were prayerfully marching through the streets of Plattsburgh

accompanying their priest, who was carrying the Blessed Sacrament.

Even just seen in photographs, that makes quite an impression!

It unmistakably said to the entire community

that something very, VERY important was being celebrated.

It’s high time for us, once again, to take our faith out into the streets.

I, for one, am convinced

that if we could make our Catholic faith in the Eucharist

clear and credible,

then people would be crawling over each other to get to Mass.

So how do we do that?

We can begin by considering the manner in which we come to Mass.

(1) How we dress for church says something about what we believe.

I’ve more than once had people tell me after Mass

that they’re headed home to change into nicer clothes

for a party, or a meal out, or even to go shopping at the mall.

(2) Getting to Mass a little early and staying until Mass is truly ended

are other ways to show our faith in the Eucharist.

A retired priest I once worked with regularly announced:

“I should be the first one out of here!”

What are we rushing in from…or rushing off to?

(3) And how we approach the altar for Holy Communion

is another thing to consider.

We’ve gone from—just a few decades ago—

always receiving on the tongue and on one’s knees at the altar rail

to often being exceptionally casual

in the way we take the Sacred Host.

We should always handle the Lord’s Body

in the same way we would handle gold dust,

for it is, by far, more precious.

But the witness we give to our faith in the Eucharist

must also go well beyond these four walls.

I recently read a reflection online by an adult convert to Catholicism.

In his earlier days as a Protestant,

he hated Catholics for what he thought was our bad theology.

But after studying Catholicism carefully,

he ended up joining the Church precisely because of her doctrine:

teachings which made good sense to him—more than all the others.

But there’s a part of him, he confessed,

that still hates Catholics…even though he’s now one of them.

What he hates are the Church’s “robot dissidents”:

not those vocal Catholics who picket on the street corner

or write letters to the editor

because they take exception to some dogma or another;

what troubles him are—as he writes—

“those people who go [through] their life,

[sleepwalking]**—immune from Catholic teaching

and behaving in ways that the Church characterizes as gravely sinful,

but still calling themselves Catholic, [still] taking the Eucharist,

apparently oblivious to the logical inconsistency

between the two acts.”  (The Daily Eudemon, 10/27/08)

What we do here at Mass

must make a real difference in the rest of our life,

and how we lead the rest of our life

really and truly matters 

when it comes to what we do here.

Non-Catholics can see this about us;

we must recognize it about ourselves.

I am glad, as a priest today,

that I don’t need to tie a rope around myself

for fear that I should die

whenever approaching the presence of God on the altar.

But I look forward with great hope to that day

when Catholics are tempted 

to lash themselves to their pews

because, in the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ,

God has chosen to dwell right here in our midst

and they can’t even begin to imagine 

living apart from him.

  

*This story about the rope is not found in the Bible, and may be apocryphal...but it's still a great story.

**Author's original word: somnambulist.   (Yes, I had to look it up, too!)