On the subject of papal cats...

The papal dogs would really be enhanced by kitten heels.

Anointing the "Cat" in Catholic

The headline for the April 21st New York Times article was absolutely correct, Cat Lovers Appreciate Soul Mate in Vatican. I certainly appreciate the pope's fondness for felines. I think this speaks volumes about his intelligence and sensitivity. No slobbering sycophantic pooches for this pope. Clearly, he realizes that "God" is not "dog" spelled backwards.

Yesterday morning, a gal pal and I chatted about B16's affinity for cats. She's distressed that he didn't move his kitties with him. "If I were pope, I would not leave my cats behind," she said. I'm not as disturbed by this, trusting that B16's decision was made after prayerful discernment. What do we know? Maybe there are more mice at the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith than at the Apostolic Palace.

At least the pope bothered to think it through. Let us remember, shall we, that Bill and Hillary Clinton schlepped poor Socks from the governor's mansion to the White House. They went dog after one term in office, something that also speaks volumes.

Wearing Life Like a Seamless Garment

Someone called me a "workaholic" earlier today.

Considering the source, I couldn't tell whether the characterization was dig or compliment. It's not the first time I've heard this commentary about my apparent inability or unwillingness to carve life up into "work" and "relaxation." But it's neither inability nor unwillingness on my part. It's a lifestyle choice.

I once thought gender distinctions explained why men felt more compelled than women to make this observation about me. I've come around to thinking that while gender may be a factor, it doesn't entirely explain differences in how women and men organize life. I now believe that personal spirituality factors into an individual's definition of what is -- or isn't-- work.

This epiphany occurred during the recent Triduum. Although I found myself actively disliking John's gospel this year, internal spluttering did not prevent me from having a Holy Spirit moment upon hearing the word "seamless" with reference to Jesus's garment (John 19:23).

I was instantaneously reminded of an invitation, issued more than a decade ago, to "wear life like a loose garment." Next, I mentally drifted through conversations I've had about the perils of making rigid distinctions between life and work. And then, I realized that what I really want -- and have always wanted -- is to live life like a seamless garment.

Lifestyle choice? More likely a calling, which is probably why I can't recall ever being accused of workaholism by other spiritual seekers.

Again with the "real Catholic" thing...

In my mind's ear, I can hear my Jewish mother heaving a big Brooklynesque sigh and saying, "Oy vey, Maria."

This morning, I got around to reading yesterday's Wall Street Journal, the only secular newspaper I read. (I'm also a big fan of The Week magazine which delivers top stories and news analysis from a zillion national and international periodicals.)

Front page, below the fold: an article about scalping tickets for Pope Benedict's public appearances.

The lead: "Brooklyn native Charlie Pigott says..." blah blah about his ability to score seats for baseball games and his inability to get "his mother into the bleachers for New York's hottest event." Next, he explains why people are going to such costly lengths to see the pope. "To a real Catholic," he says, "it's the closest thing to God you're going to get."

Tempted as I am to correct Charlie's grammar and syntax, it's his view of Catholic reality that needs tidying up. Yes, Catholics tend to go gaga over the pope, but because "it's" the closest "thing" to God? Lord have mercy.

Someone -- maybe his mother? -- should remind Charlie that the papacy traces its origins to St. Peter. (Mt. 16:18) For this convert from Judaism and real Catholic, it's the extraordinary reality of apostolic succession that stimulates feelings of awe and reverence relative to the pope. Also his outfits, especially the shoes.

Reading My Refrigerator Door

Like just about everyone else, I have stuff affixed to my refrigerator with magnets. Not a lot of stuff, and certainly not a jumble of kids' schedules, permission slips, and drawings. I have lovely stuff. Inspirational stuff. Lovely and inspirational stuff that I can no longer see because it has been posted for ages.

The other day, in an epiphanous moment, I realized that comfort was available on rather than in my refrigerator. One minute I was poised to chow down its contents, the next I found myself zooming in on this line on a posted Prayer to St. Jude:

Pray for me that I may receive the consolations and succor of Heaven in all my necessities, tribulations and sufferings, particularly (here make your request) and that I may bless God with you and all the elect throughout eternity.

At first I got a little distracted by the word, "succor," in part because St. Jude looks like he's holding a lulav and Sukkot is long gone. Next, I got side-tracked because I've always tended to confuse Sukkot with Shavuot. Shavuot is also Pentecost, which is big this year because of a friend's ordination erev Pentecost.

And then, before I could refocus on St. Jude, I found myself reading more stuff on my refrigerator door. Verse 14 from Psalm 27 reminded me to "wait on the Lord: be of good courage." Fr. Pedro Arrupe's wisdom about the practicality of finding and falling in love with God instantly redirected my priorities, as did Ghandi's counsel to "be the change you wish to see in the world."

In the end, I didn't bother whimpering to St. Jude, although I've become very interested in receiving "the consolations and succor of Heaven." Hope I'm eligible.

First Pages

Elephant gestation. That's how I've always characterized the book writing and publishing process. It generally takes years from the time an author first comes up with an idea and the published book is shelved. The time it takes for a book to move from shelf to remainder bin is, alas, much shorter. Interesting life cycle, books.

Yesterday, the good humored production manager at Morehouse called to say "first pages" for The Word Made Fresh: Communicating Church and Faith Today are ready. How did I want them? PDF? Hard copy? I'm the first author he has worked with who'd rather mark up PDF files.

The dear man conveyed this info without groaning or gagging. I wondered out loud if, after working with me, he'll demand future authors be banned from using Adobe Acrobat. Apparently not, because used properly, Adobe Acrobat speeds production. That's the theory.

Still, I asked to receive this evidence of progress electronically and on paper. Different "issues" pop out in each medium. I want to make sure that what looked like an unreadable font size on my screen at 1:30 AM, is more readable during normal working hours. I'm also ready for some tangible evidence that this book is going to be printed before Jesus comes again in glory, or I get to see him seated at the right hand of the Father. Amen.

Meanwhile, on the Earth plane...

Not only has production begun on The Word Made Fresh: Communicating Church and Faith Today, but I'm actively involved in making this book look like something anyone would want to read. I spent part of yesterday reviewing the interior page design, tweaked as per my requests. I'm still waiting to see yet another revision of the cover.

Other authors gasp with shock and awe whenever I reveal how much the team at Morehouse Publishing has allowed me to authentically participate in the publishing process.

Normally, authors lose all power, authority, and influence once their manuscript is flowed into design. Never mind that a good literary agent will write "cover consultation" into the book contract. It's the rare author who gets to say much more than, "love it" or "hate it." Rarely, if ever, are authors allowed to preview the page design.

I happen to be one of those rare authors. In part this is because I've been blessed with editors who share my vision. In fact, I've been blessed with editors who've had an even bigger vision than I for what I was writing. But I also happen to know enough about graphic design to provide input at a level of detail that includes grousing about line spacing and kerning. And I own a copy of Adobe Acrobat.

My editor and the production team at Morehouse knew all this about me from the get-go and so far my participation seems to be working for everyone involved. Their designer gets direction from me that's more specific than, "it looks funky." I end up with a design that visually supports the book's text. Occasions of sin are avoided all around. Thanks be to God.

Mystery Rocks

Today, I woke up to an email from someone wanting to know if I was okay. She had noticed the sudden drop in the frequency of my blog posts. I'm okay. In fact, I'm much better than merely okay.

In Ordinary People as Monks and Mystics, Marsha Sinetar writes:

"The typical imagery of a mystic's vocabulary involves the words of progress, action, of movement toward or away from God: finding; searching; keeping on the way; being 'stuck,' lost, separated; illumination; union; arrival; completion."

This would basically sum up my experience of Lent, Holy Week, and the Octave of Easter. By Easter Wednesday, I finally stopped trying to track how and how often the invisible hand of God was made visible in even the most mundane events. (I stopped believing in "coincidence" decades ago.) And whenever I caught myself thinking that I'd finally experienced a Holy Spirit grand finale, God's absolute, constant, and merciful presence would be revealed. Again. And then, again.

I'm somewhat happy to report that the mystical path is exhilaratingly and exhausting. It's also nearly impossible to write about without sounding completely insane which, if you ask me, only serves to enhance the allure of trying.