The Magi Arrive! (2011)

The Magi didn't expect the Holy Family to be
so much larger than life. Quite the Epiphany!
And the trip was such a schlep,
they decided to head home another way.

Magi Getting Closer

The Magi felt quite welcomed. . .

at the wrong manger.

Celebrating My Baptismday

While everyone else is having whopping huge anniversary reactions re: winter holidays of yesteryear, I'm having one of my own. December 30th is my Baptismday.

Since I was already in my 40s, not only do I remember this blessed event, but I remember the preceding strum und drang. This is my esoteric way of characterizing nearly a decade of spiritual emergency. Not a lot of fun at the time and I have yet to generate any euphoric recall about those years. Lucky me, I can still feel, at the cellular level, the sometimes blunt, sometimes razor-like edges of events that compelled saying "yes" to Jesus.

I'm finally getting around to writing more about all that. For now let me note that I remain grateful for full immersion, each time, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Even though we profess to "acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins,"I doubt dribbling a handful of holy water would've had as much of an impact.

Exorcism Conference in Baltimore!

Oh, how I love the lede on this recent story from Catholic News Service: "U.S. [Roman Catholic] Bishops are looking for a few good men to become exorcists." How could I not keep reading?

Apparently, there's a national shortage of trained exorcists and so 56 bishops and 66 priests are attending ─ as I write this ─ a Conference on the Liturgical and Pastoral Practice of Exorcism. Where? Here in Baltimore (aka, Charm City).

Conference attendees would probably think I'm possessed because right now my eyes are rolling, I'm gnawing on a hangnail, scratching my head, and muttering.*

Why, in the name of all that is holy, are they limiting this training to a few "good men"?

I say they should be recruiting a few good women, especially those whose teenagers have clean rooms and whose husbands always keep the toilet seat down. Exorcism is clearly woman's work.

Lord, have mercy.



*All kidding aside, for a fine social history, I highly recommend American Exorcism: Expelling Demons in the Land of Plenty by sociologist Michael W. Cuneo

An Author's Life: Writing Rituals (XX)

Every writer I know creates rituals to facilitate the writing process. I, too, have rituals. Many of them.

For example, it should come as absolutely no surprise that I begin big writing projects ─ personal or billable ─ by creating analog and digital filing systems. Color-coded. Then, after everything has been written, edited and delivered, I clean and rearrange everything around me.

Turns out I have another time-tested ritual for starting a writing project: I clip my fingernails way down ─ but not unattractively so, heaven forfend.

I do this not to give myself less to bite while on deadline, but to type faster, which is why I spent part of Sunday afternoon cutting off nails that, had they been acrylic tips, would've cost a fortune to replace.

White Communion Wafer Dispenser

May those other copywriters find it in their hearts to forgive me, but I cannot resist offering interlinear comments on some of the copy describing a product now available to clergy (although apparently out of stock) ─ the White Communion Wafer Dispenser.

Ready? And away we go!

No germs. No spills. No waste.
Thanks be to God, because spilling or wasting Jesus would make Jesus weep. Germs would make Jesus sneeze.

Use this Communion Wafer Dispenser during the cold and flu season to prevent the passing of germs, or use it all year long to reduce the cost, time and personnel needed to provide communion by as much as 50 percent . . .
Especially if your One True Church does not condone laity, women, or both to provide communion except under extraordinary circumstances, although perhaps the flu season would qualify as an extraordinary circumstance?

The revolutionary Rapid Re-load System™ dispenses up to 140 wafers without having to be re-filled, while being fast and easy when you do need to re-load.
140 wafers? What is this, Eucharist Goes Tweet? Who chose this number? It's not even a multiple of three. Lord, have mercy.

It uses re-sealable clear plastic tubes of wafers. Tubes have a plastic plug to seal out air and moisture, increasing the shelf-life of unused wafers.
Just in case your church or the clergy who serve it are unable to convey the promise of Eternal Life.

Simone Weil, holding fast...

Never thought I'd hear Simone Weil (1909-1943) mentioned from the ambo, but she was featured during a pre-Lenten homily about spiritual practice of fasting. I thought this somewhat odd.

For one thing, there's dispute among scholars about whether Weil, who died at age 34, had starved herself to death because of an eating disorder or a sense of solidarity with those starving in France under German occupation. Given the current prevalence of anorexia, I feel nervous whenever fasting from food is even remotely glorified by ministers.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of Weil's.

It should come as no surprise that I highly identify with this Jewish Catholic mystic social anarchist who was as enthralled by the Bhagavad Gita as she was by writings of St. John of the Cross. The collection of her writings titled, Waiting for God, had a profound impact on me when I first read it decades ago before seeking the sacrament of baptism.

No, not the part about George Herbert's poem, "Love," which was quoted in its entirety during the homily. I zoomed in on what Weil wrote to her spiritual director, Fr. Jean-Marie Perrin, about the Roman Catholic church: "What frightens me is the Church as a social structure."

Yeah, me too.

*For a beautiful, clear and sane introduction to fasting and abstinence, see what Concord Pastor has to say.

The Magi Arrive!

The Magi didn't expect the Holy Family to be
so much larger than life. Quite the Epiphany!
And the trip was such a schlep,
they decided to head home another way.

Happy New Year!

If memory serves me well, I believe yoga ashram management ended fire ceremonies after a wayward blob of ghee ignited and destroyed carpeting in the main chapel. I, for one, never thought it made sense to have these ceremonies indoors. Scanning a dimly lit room for fire extinguishers wasn't exactly compatible with being fully present.

But I did like the ceremony, especially the symbolic value of tossing into sacred fire all attachments, woes and other ways of being separated from God.

Decades have passed since that pit stop during my spiritual journey, but this New Year's Eve brought those memories back to surface. As I pondered all that has happened from Y2k through 2009, I found myself chanting Om Swaha and wishing my fireplace worked.

Back to $chool $upplie$

For reasons that probably have to do with attending a Roman Catholic church, I have lots of friends with lots of children. While this provides any number of Aha Moments throughout the year, I'm currently fascinated by the annual tribal ritual known as Back-to-School Supply Shopping.

During the mid-20th century, each student arrived at school with a three-ring binder, notebook paper, a wooden ruler, a pencil, and a pen. Big Splurge: a Pink Pearl eraser of one's own. Bigger Splurge: pre-printed book covers instead of using brown paper bags.

The public school system supplied everything else. And if I remember correctly, it even supplied teachers with red pencils and gold stars. If teachers purchased anything to enhance the classroom experience, they bought hamsters, turtles, goldfish, and pumpkins. Not any more. These days, school systems force teachers to force parents to buy the basics -- and beyond.

"If I get away with spending under sixty bucks per kid, I'll consider myself lucky," said one friend who has the blessing/curse of four little darlings. (Actually, two of those little darlings are now in college, so the combined annual tab for their education is more like sixty grand, give or take a few thousand dollars).

I knew she wasn't exaggerating when she forwarded the list, which includes things like glue, tape, dry erase markers, and colored pencils in massive quantities. What really got my attention were the facial tissues and Zip Lock plastic bags. Good Lord have mercy, what's next? Toilet paper?

So for what, exactly, do I pay exorbitant school taxes? And why do 7th and 8th graders need to bring Zip Lock bags to school? I probably do not want to know the answer to either question. Do I?

How do I remain Roman Catholic? Simple but not easy.

Love my God, love the Lord, grateful for the grace-filled gift of faith. The Roman Catholic church? Not always thrilled with that institution. Over the years, I've discovered a few things that help me keep attending.

Whenever I'm feeling bummed about what is -- or isn't -- going on within the RCC at this point in history, I do one or all of the following:

• review the history of the papacy. By now, I can almost lip sync sections of Upon This Rock: A History of the Papacy From Peter to John Paul II, eight hours of lectures by Thomas F. Madden. I'm currently reading William Manchester's, A World Lit Only By Fire: The Medieval Mind and the Renaissance. While it's not exclusively about the papacy, his commentary about the Avignon situation is a welcomed breath of fresh fetid air, as are sections about the de Medici and Borgia papacies. I'm sure I'll return to them again and again.
  

• pay more attention to other liturgical churches. This past week, for example, I've been following (via Twitter) some of what's happening during the Episcopal Church's triennial General Convention. I've been enjoying tweets from Episcopal clergy and lay leadership about the mixed blessing of participatory democracy. Church governance skirmishes among Lutherans also provide a comforting perspective.

• reread key passages in scripture. Depending on what's bugging/bumming me about the Church, I either go directly to Chapter 15 in Acts of the Apostles or Chapter 3 in St. Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians. For the long view of human agency, I reread Genesis in its entirety. Sometimes twice.
  

Calendar Cognitive Disorder: Lenten Edition

If you're thinking that by now I should realize it's Lent, you'd be oh-so-correct.

I did, after all, have the privilege of distributing forehead schmutz during two services on Ash Wednesday. I have indeed noticed the absence of flowers and presence of purple in the church sanctuary. I even made what the priest characterized as "a good confession" during last week's parish Mission.

Still, it doesn't feel like Lent to me. I'm not exactly sure why not, but I may have what one friend calls a calendar cognitive disorder. "Unless I have a calendar in front of me, I don't know what day it is," she explained recently. (I forget which day.)

My form of CCD is, as you might imagine, much more esoteric: Even with a liturgical calendar in front of me, I don't know what season it is.

I'm firmly convinced this has nothing to do with brain biochemistry. I blame exogenous factors like not being able to find Lekvar hamantaschen yesterday, and waking up to purple Peeps shaped like bunnies on Facebook this morning. This too shall pass. When?

The Magi Arrive at Long Last!

The Magi didn't expect the Holy Family to be so much larger than life. Quite the Epiphany! And the trip was such a schlep, they decided to head home another way.

The Schlep of the Magi Continues

If only the Magi would ask for directions. 

As ever, the good Sisters are willing to help.

Do you celebrate your Baptismday?

My Baptismday is December 30th and I'm planning to make a big deal out of it this year, albeit in the quiet privacy of my own home. This anniversary feels significant and I, of course, have some theories about why.

First, I'm in the throes of writing about baptism for my new book, Why is There a Menorah on the Altar? Jewish Roots of Christian Worship. That chapter includes a brief personal recollection of the event, so it's top o' whatever mind I have left.

But it also feels like something else is going on; something deeper and broader. These days I'm keenly aware of interacting more ecumenically and it's expanding my felt sense of being Christian. And where might I be having illuminating conversations with Christians who are not Catholic? On Twitter. No joke!

Here, I simply want to announce my Baptismday. According to my own great advice in The Catholic Home, I'll be eating lots of white food and contemplating seashells. Maybe I'll rummage through my summer wardrobe and haul out something white to wear. You might consider doing the same for your Baptismday when it comes around.

Meanwhile, you can help celebrate mine by suggesting a Baptismal name -- for me. I didn't receive or choose one at the time, possibly because I wasn't baptized in the Catholic church. Shocked? Repeat after me from The Creed, "We acknowledge one Baptism..."

Messy Messiah, Fragments of Faith?

Had I been reading the newspaper on Christmas Day, I surely would have zeroed in on the New York Times article titled, "Bread of Life, Baked in Rhode Island."

But I wasn't reading the paper.

I was reading Isaiah (52:7-10) and Hebrews (1:1-6) from the ambo, trying not to fall asleep on my feet at key liturgical moments and then, staggering home to collapse on the couch.

Only direct experience ever seems to permeate the wall of thought around my consciousness. And so, I believe this year's felt sense of being an exhausted heap of protoplasm is a yet another message from God about my true vocation.

Days later I was awake enough to read about the company supplying 80% of the communion bread used by Catholic, Episcopal, Lutheran and Southern Baptist churches in this country. It is, notes the NYT, "a seemingly recession-proof business." That's certainly one way to look at it. Clergy seem to view the Cavanagh Company's product line in different terms.

I've been thinking about this glowing endorsement from an Episcopal priest: "It doesn't crumb, and I don't like fragments of our Lord scattering all over the floor." God only knows what this priest's bishop said after that quote was published.

After pondering the image of Jesus as Mess rather than Messiah, I've come around to thinking that we could probably benefit from having fragments of our Lord scattered more liberally -- more messily -- throughout our lives. Yes, I realize that "all over the floor" seems sacrilegious. And yet in my experience, people tend to look down rather than up; why not meet them there?

Are the Magi Off Course?

They're stumbling through a scene from Exodus
and it's not even close to Passover yet.

The Nativity of the Lord

Now it feels like Christmas!

Let every heart prepare Him room...

Onward Toward Christmas

The tree prayer in progress.







I suspect they stopped off somewhere for a dreidel spin & latkes.

My Chanukah: When Worlds Collide

Be Not Afraid of Chanukah