In the breaking of bread

One of my favourite Gospel readings is from the end of Luke. Jesus had been crucified, and the apostles reacted as we would; they were afraid, wary, confused, grief-stricken.

This story tells of two of them walking to a village some miles from Jerusalem called Emmaus, "conversing about all the things that had occurred." (Luke 24:14) A man joined them, asking what they were talking about. Naturally they were astonished that he seemed unaware of what had happened, and filled him in... or so they thought. 

They were so silly, because of course that man was Jesus and of course he knew what had happened, but they were not yet able to recognize him. Even when he explained all the prophecies in scripture referring to himself and how what had happened, had to happen, they still did not recognize him. (This sounds so much like me) When they reached the village, they encouraged him to stay the night there, rather than go on further.  This is the best bit: "And it happened that, while he was with them at table, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him..." (Luke 24: 30-31)

Have you ever heard or read something you just couldn't stop chewing on?  I've been pondering on this since it was read at Mass: they recognized Jesus when he broke bread with them.  I love the imagery of these two men walking along with Jesus, listening to him teach and thinking he's a pretty cool guy. But then he picks up a loaf of bread, and #ohmygoshit'sTheLord!! (Oh to Instagram that supper!)  There's something to be gleaned from them not knowing Jesus until they broke bread together. They sat and had a meal. 

We can share all the book learning. Teach all the theology. Most of the time, though, meeting a person where they're at, offering hospitality, feeding them, is the way to really reveal Christ  to them. (All the 'learning' means more later on, after they've been introduced).  It's also how we come to know and recognize each other: spend time together. Have conversations. Linger over a meal. Be present in a moment of each other's life.

How sad it is, that for much of a year we haven't been able to spend time together. How many people are walking alone on that road to Emmaus? How many people have not been able to share in the breaking of bread - in the Church sense, but also in the hospitality sense. Because of that, how many people do not know the Lord?  How many people are unknown in their own lives?

Let us all resolve that, when this is over - or at least when we are allowed to - we share as many meals with others as we can.  Not fancy, planned out, stressy 'dinner parties', but 'come into my home and share my meal'.  We need to break bread together.

Of the tomb and the crocus

As of this morning, we are in Lockdown 3.0. Or is it Lockdown #2, version 19?

I wasn't doing well leading into this, so when I heard rumblings I was a little concerned it would prove too much.  BUT WAIT! Lest you worry this is going to be another depressing post, rest easy, dear Reader! You see, a crocus has popped its charming little head above ground this morning, despite freezing temperatures overnight and snow covering the ground just hours before.

"A crocus?" you say. "What the dickens has a crocus to do with anything?"  Well, I see it as a sign of hope. It encourages me to trust that even though circumstances may seem bleak, like frozen, snow-covered ground, life truly does go on. Yes, it sometimes looks like dandelions, but now and then, when it seems most unlikely, life is a beautiful, unexpected crocus. That is a promise.

Keep hopeful, friends. In this moment (Holy Saturday, when Jesus is in the tomb), the world is silent and sorrowing. But joy comes in the morning! Watch for it...

Law of Perversity, the sequel

A breakthrough of sorts!

The typical routine on a working day is to stumble into the kitchen to break my fast, then prepare for the day with ablutions and wardrobe.  Today I did the opposite. I dressed myself in an outfit that hit all the right notes: it looked nice, was professional, and I felt really good. Then I began assembling breakfast, deciding to have apple cider as I was out of juice.

Now, that might seem an innocuous decision, that apple cider choice.  But there are two important details to know:
1) sediment settles on the bottom of the apple cider jug, so it needs to be shaken before pouring
2) apparently the lid wasn't securely screwed back on the jug the last time I poured some


*sigh*

Apple cider went everywhere. It doused me in a stream of appleness from shoulders to toes. It ran in rivers into the burner pans of the stove. It collected in puddles on the floor. It dripped down the side of the fridge, and collected on the top ledge of the oven drawer.

My typical reaction would have been something along the line of, "Why does this always happen to me?" with a great deal of moaning and lamenting. Today though, I manged to say, "You've got to be kidding me!" with a laugh. Then with a quick wipe down of reachable surfaces, quickly de-cidered and changed clothes. I didn't give it another thought until I got home at the end of the day when I walked right out of my socks because they stuck to the floor.

I actually laughed! And went on with my day!

That is a breakthrough indeed.

The Law of perversity

The Law of Newton states that if something is dropped, it will fall on your toe.
The Law of Murphy states that if you don't leave the house until a quarter past the last minute, you will need to stop for gas.

The Law of Perversity (I haven't been able to come up with a good actual name for it. I was leaning towards Simon, but that isn't quite right. Perhaps you will think of something.) states that if there is some challenge, some difficulty in your life - a task you dread each day, or a job you can barely drag yourself out of bed for each morning - you will begin to enjoy it, even anticipate it just as it's coming to an end.

Why? And does it happen only to me? Is being stubborn and contrary hard-wired into my DNA, or is there any hope that one of these days I will finally learn to be present in the moment

I'm really striving for abandonment (accepting God's will), and trusting that, "All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to His purpose." (Rom 8:28)  I know that Paul, in this letter to the Romans, isn't telling me that life is going to be easy just because I love God, or that only good things will come my way. He also isn't saying that anyone who doesn't love God can expect only terrible, horrible, no good, very bad things to happen to them. I'm not sure that I do understand Paul's meaning here (so many aspects of faith are mysterious) but it is along the lines of: God gives only His best in every moment. We may not see how it is 'best' or understand how it 'works to the good' - maybe not for a very long time - but if we are patient and are looking for it, we can see how all the different pieces of our life fit together and every one of them made us stronger, smarter, more patient, prepared us for something, or brought us to where we are now and we - at last - see that it is very good, indeed.

Eventually, maybe, I'll be able to approach the 'Law of Perversity' moments in Paul's way right from the start. I tend to get on board a little further along the line, but I now have the wisdom to know that I will eventually reach the acceptance-with-grace stage eventually, even while I'm moaning my way through the early mornings at a job that makes me want to stay under the covers. I would watch the clock ever so slowly inch its way toward hometime, and all I could do at that point was prepare for the next day before crawling into bed in order to do it all again. I dreaded those times during the day when students would descend on the library, and the sound of the doors slamming open and crashing closed became louder and louder in my mind.  What a sad way to go through life!

Now, of course, with only six days left at this job, the children have transformed into interesting, (mostly) endearing, appealingly challenging, not-quite-sure-who-they-are-yet, slightly-bigger-than-they-used-to-be young people. They are approaching me in a great rush to help them with last minute assignments (I love the challenge of research!), and they have become individuals instead of the rampaging horde they used to be.  Now I am looking forward to seeing them in the morning (though I will not lie: I do not quite leap out of bed with joy at the new day), and I am able to reach out to them instead of cowering in fear of them.

Of course the change is all on their part, right?

I don't know yet where my next assignment will be. I will probably be back in an elementary school, and if I'm completely honest with you, I am going to miss these big children and all their wonderful challenges.

The Grace of tears and the Year of Mercy

Doesn't that sound beautiful?  "The grace of tears."

The Holy Father, Pope Francis, once described tears as glasses to see Jesus. I have found it to be true in my own life that when difficulties abound or I have a particular sadness in my life, I turn to God and look for evidence of His presence in my life.

Being someone who cries easily, and someone who has cried in awkward, public situations, I tend to think of tears as an embarrassment rather than a blessing.

Recently, Pope Francis spoke about the fact that the world has chosen war, not peace. Traditionally in Christmastide, we speak of  'peace on earth and goodwill to all men'. We can't help but feel warm and benevolent toward our fellows. We spend a great deal of time and money on gifts for a wide circle of people connected to us, and we feel sorrow for those who go without the festivities and largess many of us are immersed in at this time of year. We sing songs and wear beautiful clothes, we trim and decorate, we shop and bake.

Perhaps this year is no different from any other year, but it would seem, after Paris and San Bernardino, and the tangled mess that is the Middle East, that we have turned away from peace and goodwill.  As Pope Francis has said, the world has chosen war. I see evidence of this in my own life when I observe biting comments on social media, near-hysterical outrage at one thing or another, or witness neglect, cruelty, or rudeness as I go about my day.

"It would do us good to ask for the grace of tears for this world that does not recognize the path of peace. Let us ask for the conversion of hearts" - again from Pope Francis. The holy father prayed the upcoming Year of Mercy would bring with it "the grace that the world would discover again the ability to weep for its crimes, for those who make war."

Today marks the beginning of the Extraordinary Jubilee Year of Mercy, a moment of true grace for all Christians. Mercy is, "a wellspring of joy, serenity, and peace [...] mercy: the ultimate and supreme act by which God comes to meet us. Mercy: the fundamental law that dwells in the heart of every person who looks sincerely into the eyes of his brothers and sisters on the path of life." (Pope Francis. Bull of Indiction: Misericordia Vultus.)

Today I pray with Pope Francis, "Lord, grant us the grace to weep over our indifference, over the cruelty that is in the world and in ourselves."
Amen.

Christ the King

This Sunday is the Feast of Christ the King!
We have reached the end of the liturgical year, the last Sunday before Advent.

The world is shaken by the actions of men too cruel and cowardly to fathom. Words are not sufficient to express the sorrow, the disbelief, the regret, that we have come to such a time and place. There is no easy explanation or remedy. All I can think to do is turn to God so that I don't succumb to fear or hatred.

Lord, I place you at the centre of my heart, my life. You are Christ the King, my King, my Redeemer. Transform my heart that I may be wholly Yours. Amen.

Where silence reigns

There is a frequently chattering voice in my head. It is a voice of lists and fears and worries. It speaks of insecurity and falling short, and tempts me to want what I do not need – or even truly want. A dull background murmur of daily life floats on the surface of my consciousness, distracting me from quiet and contemplation and peace.

But deep in my heart, the part of me bearing the fingerprint of God from when He thought of me and called me into being – that is where my silence reigns.

It is the silence of deep water; not empty but full of life and so vast as to be incomprehensible. It is the substance of that which tethers me to God. Within that silence I know who I am and where I belong; I am sustained.

 

 

Be ye lionhearted

I don't often post here pieces I've written for other sites.  Today's an exception.

April 25 is the Feast of St. Mark. He is known as St. Mark the Evangelist, and St. Mark the Lionhearted.  Isn’t ‘Lionhearted’ a wonderful name to have? It paints pictures of brave deeds and acts of courage, of nobility and fortitude. In the case of St. Mark the name is well earned. He preached and taught the gospel, winning many converts to Christ. He founded a Christian community in Alexandria, which grew into a large and thriving church, which roused the displeasure of non-believers who determined to stop him. He was captured, bound, dragged through the streets, imprisoned, and again dragged through the streets until he died. Accounts say the ground was stained with his blood and strewn with pieces of his flesh, but he continued to praise and thank God.  Lionhearted indeed.

 The Church continued to flourish in Alexandria and other cities St. Mark had visited. No doubt his teaching and exhortation were significant factors (along with the work of many other disciples busy spreading the Good News) but there was probably something else at work as well.

In June of 2014, Pope Francis said this: “The Church grows thanks to the blood of martyrs. This is the beauty of martyrdom. It begins with witness, day after day, and it can end like Jesus the first martyr, the first witness, the faithful witness, with blood.”

There are times when, as Pope Francis said, “historical situations require a strong witness.” He has spoken several times of the seeds planted by those who work for the gospel and die for the faith.  In the early Church, when new Christians were being persecuted in horribly creative ways, the fact that believers were willing to die for Christ was a profound, undeniable testament to the truth of the good news.

 Are we living in a time when “historical situations require a strong witness”? It would seem so. There are appalling stories coming from faraway places of beheadings, burnings, drownings, and mass shootings of Christians of many different confessions. Our brothers and sisters are paying with their lives for professing Jesus Christ as the Son of God. They are Lionhearted.

 

“The blood of our Christian brothers and sisters is a testimony which cries out to be heard by everyone who can still distinguish between good and evil.”  This from Pope Francis a few days ago after the news broke that yet another group of Christians was killed.  The part of that sentence that caught my attention was the Holy Father’s use of ‘still’.  These martyrdoms cry out to be heard by those who can still distinguish between good and evil, which suggests that there are those who are no longer able to do so.  Good and evil are one and the same to them, which emphasizes the great need in the world for more – many more – seeds to be planted.  It may take many, many more martyrs to shed their blood, and it will also take us offering our own sacrifices, professing our faith in our own daily lives (which can be a martyrdom in some circumstances) but we can trust that Christ spoke the truth when He said there will be a new heaven and a new earth, and that the Kingdom of God will triumph.

St. Mark the Lionhearted, pray for us.

Very

This is a Very day.

Some days are like that.  Some emotions are like that.

Very.

No further adjectives, no exclamatory punctuation, no suggestive ellipses.

Very. Full stop.

Today is Divine Mercy Sunday.  It is day eight of the Octave of Easter (the Church sees the Octave as being, essentially, one - as if we woke up eight times on Easter Sunday.)

What lifts a very nice day, a very special day to a Very day, is that today were two men dearly loved by the Church raised to the altar of Saints.  Today, Pope Francis proclaimed Pope John XXIII and Pope John Paul II to be Saints.  To make the Very even sweeter, our beloved Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI was present among the hundreds of Cardinals, and it was beautiful to see the joy with which he was greeted by his brothers, including Francis, and the multitude present in the square.

The Church really shines in moments like this, because she understands the need of the human heart for solemnity and ceremony. It is right and just that we celebrate with dignity and reverence, and certainly it is fitting that we present our very best to give honour to God.  But another factor is that as human beings, our experience comes through our bodies - through eyes and ears and mind and heart.  To see the beautiful vestments and flowers and altar, to hear the gorgeous sacred music, the solemn words of canonization, the ancient formula of the Mass, is to remind us of the import, of the magnitude, of what is happening, and of who God is to us.  We do not process our Bishops and Cardinals in all their splendour to please ourselves or to honour them, but because we recognize the things of God are higher, bigger, deeper, more mysterious, than us.

Our imagination, when it comes to God, is like the incense we see reaching for heaven but straining into wisps before giving up altogether not even getting close. And so we have the Saints, those men and women who reveal something of God to us in their lives, their teachings. They have forged a path before us, to show us the way to His heart, and invite us to follow them in the journey.

Saint John XXIII, Saint John Paul II, pray for us!

Very.

Of symbols and substance

Salt

Light

Bread

Wine

 

Those are four significant Christian symbols, once recognized - and their meanings - universally understood. They were a shorthand, as all symbols are. Say the word and the subtext is filled in by the listener or reader.  “Be like salt of the earth and a light to the world.”  Salt gives seasoning to food, and was also the most common method of food preservation. Salt was a good thing, needed for survival.  The good news of our salvation is a light in the darkness. We know we are to be a light in the world, sharing our hope and joy in that salvation.  It used to be that light was treasured, because there were dangers in the dark. Once the sun went down, we hunkered down, too.  Bread was the mainstay.  Wine wasn’t for the elite talking about bouquets  and bottom notes, it was the drink. Bread and wine sustained life.

Now salt is bad for the heart. Light can be had with the flick of a switch so we need never have full dark – and the sun causes cancer. Bread is full of evil carbs and gluten, while wine leads to drunk driving and alcoholism.

I’m not suggesting there is a conspiracy to undermine our Christian symbols (maybe there is?) but I know for sure their impact has been weakened, their meaning diluted because they have to be explained as once relevant in days of yore.  How does that effect how we hear the words? Do the parables have the same depth of meaning?  How about the truths of our faith? When we're told that Christ is the Light of the world , or when we're enjoined to be like salt, how do we hear it? What does it mean to us to hear of the first public miracle when Jesus changed water to wine?

I don't have any answers or deep insights.  This is just something that has been niggling away in the back of my mind for a while.

 

Open

O is for open. The tomb is open. It is empty.

Here is the fulfillment of all our hope: that this life is not the end; that death does not triumph over life; that when Jesus said, “Come and follow me, and I will give you eternal life” he meant it; that even though we look (and feel) defeated and empty, the truth is vibrant and living.

 

Here is a little openness from me: I have been a tomb.   That’s what this Lent has felt like. I have been sealed off, closed up, entombed. Going to Mass has been a struggle (one I haven’t always won, I must admit) in part because I feel so isolated, from God, from friends, even from myself. I don’t offer this insight from a desire to wallow, or as a gambit for your sympathy, but merely to reinforce that how I began this post is absolutely true, whether we feel it, believe it, accept it, or not. I went to Mass this morning feeling I couldn’t (or shouldn’t) participate in the Easter joy because I didn’t make the Lenten journey.  Listening to the readings and the homily, I didn’t hear anything I haven’t heard before. There were no new details, no startling revelations, no comforting feelings of supernatural reassurance. But I knew that no matter how hard it is to sit there sometimes, or how strong the temptation is to resist God, I belong there, with Him. So my Easter joy is more subdued than exultant this year, but it is accompanied by deep gratitude for the loving mercy of our God who keeps His promises.

Monkish

In the words of Beyonce, “If I were a boy, I’d want to be a Monk…”

Ok, so those weren’t her exact words, they were mine. And not that I really do want to be a boy, or that I’m unhappy being a girl, but if I had to be a boy, I think I’d be happy as a Carthusian monk.

Have you watched Into Great Silence?  (I think I’ve written about it before, and I would look into it except that, in Cordon Bleu parlance, is known as “une distraction” and as I’ve got rice on the stove, and also because I’ve burned too many pots and pans lately, and since almost anything else is more exciting than watching rice bubble away, the smallest, unshiny-est squirrel could distract me just long enough for yet another pot to bubble dry so I’ll leave it with this very long parenthetical aside and keep the research for others to do.)

So, Into great silence. I don’t want to mislead you by calling it a movie or a documentary. It is rather a visual meditation using the life of the monks of the Grande Chartreuse in the French Alps.

As a work of art Into great silence is stunning, with the backdrop of the mountains and forests and fog and the beautiful structure of the monastery itself. The director used no supplementary lighting, lending a gentle look to each scene, making the aged stones and white robes beautiful and compelling in their simplicity.

The director, Philip Groening, waited 16 years for a reply from the monks after asking if he could film them. I wonder if the wait influenced his approach to the final film, because it is a quiet, unhurried glimpse at life within those walls. The viewer, to properly appreciate it, must be as unhurried and patient to begin to appreciate this brief experience of monastic life.

Groening lived and filmed in the Charter House for 10 months. I’d so like to see the footage that didn’t make it into the final cut!  As it is, I find myself wanting to direct the camera to show me what is behind that corner, what goes on upstairs, what does the garden look like in the summer, how exactly do they make the Chartreuse liqueur, what are the meals like on feast days, does the Abbot meet with other Abbots of the order, what is the training like for the novices? (There are novitiates to the order while this was filmed. We see the monks process the young men to their new cells… and then leave. What is it like to suddenly be on your own like that?)  oh, and so much more!  I loved seeing how they cared for the oldest monk, watching them getting hair cuts, seeing them skiing down the slopes in their shoes and hearing them laugh, listening in on a conversation during one of their communal times… and especially hearing them chant the offices. 

I know a life like theirs is a distinct and very rare vocation.  Without that definite call from God, a person would either whither into a dry husk of a person, or become bitter and angry.  Neither outcome are healthy for the individual or the community, which is why right discernment is so important.  Still, I can’t help but think that I’d love to have a little cell of my own (they are small but not actually tiny, spread over two floors. One level has their work space and wood shop (they cut and stack their own wood), and the other has their simple bed, a prayer nook, a simple work table for studying and reading, a little table for meals, and a wood stove.  There is a little hutch that opens to the corridor outside, through which their box containing the daily meal is passed. Each cell opens on to a walled, individual garden, and each monk tends his own, so he has his own patch of the outdoors within his own walls.)

Not every monastery has the French Alps in its backyard with the moody drifts of fog and the gentle cling-clang of cowbells as its soundtrack.  Not every monastery has such long-standing, reassuring, and glorious architecture.  Those are all elements that draw me to this particular group of this particular order.  As for being a monk rather than a nun, well, I’m not keen on the idea of living with only women!  I’m sorry, but there it is. 

I think I might pull this out and watch it again this Friday.  It’s time to go into great silence.

Shorn

Bear with me... this is about more than it seems.

What's a girl to do when she suffers from the stress of tight budgets, deadlines, job hunting, relationship fracture, and friends in crisis?

She changes her hair, of course.  And because of stress contributor number one, she visits a hair cutter rather than a hair stylist.

Which results in five inches less hair in length and roughly five pounds less in hair volume.

I don't know where my hair went, but it's no longer at the back of my head. I feel bald in behind from ear to ear.  I can only be thankful it is now hat season, and that perhaps with no hair, my head may finally be small enough to fit a hat.

Of course hair grows back, and in comparison to starvation in the Sudan and testicular cancer not to mention everything being endured in the world the state of my hair is an unmentionably infinitesimal, paltry concern. So I'm not really complaining about it. I'm merely sharing my shock. I went from searching for some way to shake up my life while simultaneously wresting back some control to feeling scalped and vulnerable.

Again, not that my situation bears any resemblance, but in the bible study I'm following, the people have been led out of Egypt and slavery and Pharaoh and are figuring out how to follow God and trust Him. He tells them He will provide, He will be with them, and that He will be talking face to face with Moses.  They're quite keen to go along with that, and say, yes, Lord, whatever You ask of us, so shall we do.  Well, Moses is away from them for a few days, and they go bonkers, thinking God has left them, and they take matters into their own hands. That's where the golden calf business got them into trouble. They forgot to trust God, and things got pretty sticky there for a while.

I haven't been rescued from Egypt or slavery or Pharaoh, but I am having to put into practice... I have to live day to day my faith, my trust in God. He brought me here, back to Sohoe, to Lake Town, which I love so much. I have had this wonderful job that I have enjoyed thoroughly - honestly, there has not been one day that I have dreaded going to work. This year has been blessing upon blessing, and now I must believe that what comes next will be just as fine, that I will still be provided for.

I would so love to be able to carry on with the same job, in the same home, but I have to let that go. I can't turn what I have into a golden calf.  I do my part, of course: searching and applying. But the biggest part is to trust.

So I'll do my best to be stripped of anxiety rather than be shorn of more than hair.

Michaelmas

Today is the Feast of the Archangels.



Statue of Michael, Castel Sant'Angelo, Rome

Right from my earliest days as a Catholic, I was fascinated by Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael... though to be honest, it was Michael who had most of my attention. Angels are fodder for any young person's imagination and I thought it was very cool that every person has an angel of their very own, a guardian angel. If I was going to have an angel to guide and protect me, though, I wanted nothing to do with those cute cherubs on chocolate boxes and Christmas ornaments.  I wanted big, strong, tough and mighty Michael, the prince of angels, the one who battled Satan and cast him out of heaven. He is always depicted with sword drawn, standing on the bad guy's head. Talk about super hero! Growing up in a military environment, literally seeing my dad go off to work in an armoured tank, I understood the importance of being battle-prepared, being equipped. I knew that if I was going to be engaged in spiritual battle, I wanted Michael to defend me. If one guardian angel is good, surely two is better?

Interestingly, The Archangel Michael is venerated in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. We all recognize the need for spiritual guidance and protection.

St. Michael, the Archangel,
Defend us in this day of battle.
Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil
And do thou, oh Prince of the heavenly hosts
By the Divine power,
Cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits
Who wander now throughout the world
Seeking the ruin of souls
Amen

Rublev's St. Michael

Cookies and cocoa and the noise within

How did it come to be nearly two weeks since my last post?  I should be banished from Blogger Land. Or at least have to pay a penalty.

Whilst awaiting the transmogrification of batter into cookies in the oven (350 for 7-10 min = peanut butter goodness) I thought I'd sit down at ye olde faithful lappe toppe and tap out a few lines. If I could just think over the irritatingly happy noise of Daft Punk's Lucky. (Do not even think of the song as it is sure to get stuck in your head. Unless Daft Punk can't get lodged in your brain because you already happen to be thinking of What does the fox say, to which all I can say is... hatee hatee hatee ho)

That, actually, is a good segue to something I've been thinking about a lot since life exploded - in a minor way - this week. I need to be more protective of quiet and peace in my home. I can't really control the events in my life or what goes on at work (though, yes, I can control how I cope with them, react to them) I often retreat into hours of movie watching, endless Youtube clips, or loud music - hard rock being something of a weakness. I reward myself after a day of work or console myself after a difficult week by retreating, hiding from myself. And I can tell I've been doing it because I'm not writing. I'm so completely detached from what is going on within, that I have no tangible ideas, no concrete thoughts, no coherent words to share. There are no stories germinating in my imagination because I'm drifting passively in someone else's.

Here's an example: it was a very difficult week but with my new resolution I had determined to treat this weekend as a retreat. I envisioned myself, notebook in hand, finally fleshing out the handful of ideas I have scribbled in lists into fully fleshed articles, with even a story or two thrown in. I was going to make this an internet-free weekend, strictly me, paper and pen, and the pile of books I'm aching to sink my teeth into.

But you know what happened? I logged in before I was even out of bed this morning. The whole day since, I've been chasing my tail around the internet, from email, to chat, to Facebook, to YouTube and on and on. Oh, there have been breaks of sanity. I watered the plants. I noticed the sun was shining. I washed dishes. But those breaks from the screen have been to the tune of Papa Roach, Arctic Monkeys, and The Black Keys. (Disclaimer approaching) Not that there is anything wrong with that music. It has its time and place. However I know this about myself: my surroundings deeply affect my interior life. While I am disappointed in myself for not having followed through with my plan for the day, I now feel restless, jangly, disconnected, unsettled from a day spent with the bombardment of visual and sonic stimulation.

Well... the cookies are done. Time to turn the music off. I'm going to retreat to the living room with the last pages of a book and a cup of cocoa.

In defense of food

Did you know that food needs a defender?

It does.

And we need our food to be defended.

I've read many books about food lately, from Anthony Bourdain's food travelogues, to books about untrained foodies learning to cook, to manifestos of slow food, local food, and bee keeping.

After reading so much about what we're eating and how - mostly in praise of food in one way or another - I was very surprised by how startling, appalling, and even enraging, Michael Pollan's In defense of food turned out to be.  I've watched Food Inc. more than once... I didn't think I could be more appalled or enraged when it comes to modern western food.  Well, Mr. Pollan refers to western food, western food culture, and western diet, but I wonder if he really means North American. Surely much of Europe keeps to its traditional food culture? I'll forgive him that rather American myopia, and accept that 'western' food is in dire need.

It is in need of being left alone by food scientists, nutritionists, lobbyists, and massive companies. It is in need of changes to industrial farming practices, monocultures, artificial intervention of fertilizers and pesticides. It is need of returning to being actual food.

To me, this book is common sense expounded over the course of some 200 pages: eat real food; eat food your grandmother would recognize; food, what we get from it and what we need from it, is much more complex than we fully understand, much as we tend to believe in the supremacy of science and believe in our grasp of that science.

Messing with food by extracting bits and then adding other bits is causing all kinds of problems we don't even realize are problems stemming from our interventions.

When I first started reading about the 100 mile diet, I sank into a funk. I live in Canada. Think of all you know about Canada, and then ask yourself: what would Canadians eat if tomorrow all international transport ground to a halt? We have such a short growing season with long stretches of frozen earth. People used to eat only what they could grow themselves, or trade with neighbours. (Thinking back on my only attempt at potatoes so far, I wonder if I could have traded short stories for spuds back in the day?) It didn't seem fair to me that we wouldn't have access to pomegranates or avocados or many other 'super foods' we're supposedly supposed to eat for optimum health.

'In defense of food' reminded me that food cultures all around the world are limited because no one area grows - or raises - everything edible. Each region, faithful to their food culture and traditions, thrives, whether they seem to use pounds of butter in their cooking, or consume only blood and milk, or eat mostly blubber. Each region, over the many centuries, has figured out how to best combine and prepare foods local to them, such as adding olive oil to tomatoes, or eating beans with corn and rice. We have gone wrong by over processing our food and over complicating our relationship with food. We now have to eat more of a thing in order to get the same nutrition from it compared to our grandparents' generation. We spend less money for, and less time preparing, our food than Italy, Spain, and France (I'd argue we also enjoy it far less, and have less healthy attitudes toward eating than they do.) but consume more and suffer more food-related health issues. We spend more time thinking about food - snacks, advertisements, shopping, calorie counting, diet-obsessing - but less time actually eating meals than other countries.

Oops. Got sidetracked there. I was going to say, way back at the top of the last paragraph, that the book reminded me that though we rely so much on our knowledge of science to be the answer to all things*, God is a master craftsman, and no detail has been overlooked. If the human body needed the Mediterranean diet for optimum health, we'd all be blessed with the Mediterranean climate and soil. God designed the body to work the way it works. He knows about the omega fats and antioxidants and the vitamin spectrum and how it all works together for our good. He provides it all... it just looks different, comes to us in different ways, from one place to another. And His way of providing nourishment for us doesn't upset the balance of delicate things we do not yet understand, the way that lobbyists, mega corporations, nutritionists, and food scientists have done.

Faith and reason, boys and girls, they do go hand in hand. In other words, do not let blind faith in science blind you to the understanding found in faith.

Eat real food.





*the answer to life, the universe, and everything just might be 42.

Transfiguration

Happy Feast of the Transfiguration

This is my favourite feast in the whole of the liturgical calendar.
It is so because here the Old and New Testaments come together in the meeting of Moses, Elijah, and Jesus. (Elijah is beloved to Carmelites) It is the moment when man meets God, and is transformed in glory.

My prayer is that we will all one day see God face to face, and be transfigured. I look forward to seeing my loved ones revealed in all their glory... the new man that was hidden in the old... when their appearance will reflect their inner self.

O God, who on the holy mount revealed to chosen witnesses your well-beloved Son, wonderfully transfigured, in raiment white and glistening: Mercifully grant that we, being delivered from the disquietude of this world, may by faith behold the King in his beauty; who with you, O Father, and you, O Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Dessert mentality

The title caught my eye and my imagination. And then I realized it actually said "Desert mentality". What a difference an ess makes!

But hang on a second. Maybe it should actually be "Dessert mentality". Instead of focusing on dry and dusty bleakness, why not reach for a little joy and sweetness right here and now? 

Because I'm having some difficulty with prayer, the misreading of dessert mentality inspired me to try to think of the devout life as something to anticipate and savour as I would a brownie. With chocolate sauce. And fresh raspberries.

The things that bring me closer to God shouldn't be the broccoli on my plate - good for me but hard to chew and kept for last. Prayer, contemplation, adoration, confession, Mass, study, fasting, are not onerous ordeals to be endured; they are opportunities and possibilities of joy and sweetness.

You have only to keep still

Fear not! Stand your ground, and you will see the victory the Lord will win for you today... The Lord Himself will fight for you; you have only to keep still. (Gen. 14: 13,14)


How familiar, how comforting are those words: fear not! We come across them often in Scripture. Our Holy Fathers have been reminding us of them. It is good to remember them, to live by them.

That passage is from yesterday's first reading. The fear not bit was greatly appreciated, but what leapt off the page for me yesterday was what came next: the Lord Himself will fight for you.   The Lord Himself will fight for you!  You have only to keep still.

In other words, stop fretting. Stop with the faffing about, the second guessing, the worrying, the trying to force it.

Keep still.

There is so much doing going on around us; so much making, producing, achieving, striving, reaching, wanting.

Stop.  Stand your ground.  Keep still.  The Lord Himself will fight for you.

St. Anne

St. Anne by da Vinci

St. Anne, St. Anne find me a man; find me a good man as fast as you can.


The feast day of St. Anne is approaching (July 26), and there is just enough time to pray the novena (I prayed day one this morning, will do day two before bed. Sometimes it's the spirit of the law that counts, folks!)











Though prayer has been a challenge of late (and by that I mean since Easter it's been just about nonresistant, but more on that elsewhere) I feel the need to do this.  I have a beautiful statue of St. Anne from the awe inspiring shrine in Quebec, St. Anne de Beaupre. For days now, maybe even weeks, I've been feeling nudges to call on her help.  So, while she is traditionally known for helping women who are seeking husbands, in true grandmotherly fashion, I think she and I will spend some quiet time together over a cuppa and some biscuits as we sort things out.

Not to say that I won't also welcome her help with the husband seeking.

The Novena can be found here, at EWTN. 

St.Anne-de-Beaupre, Quebec