The Poetry and Praise of Nature

April 25, 2023/1 Comment/in Beauty, Easter, Inspirational, Poetry, Praise, Prayer/by Sarah Pedrozo

The Poetry and Praise of Nature

Here we are in the middle of Eastertide. One of the things I have always loved about the Easter season is that it seems as though all of nature is celebrating the Resurrection of Christ along with us. In my part of the world, Central Texas, this is the time for our annual display of wildflowers, a riot of colors that starts with deep blue bluebonnets, paired with light pink evening primroses that eventually fade into red, yellow and brown sunflowers as the weeks progress and the temperature warms up.

I was on a morning walk last week and stopped to take a photo of a patch of wildflowers. I was happy to see that there were others who were also pleased to see the wildflowers. Darting in and out of the blooms were butterflies and bees, and overhead birds were busy building nests while squirrels waved their bushy tails at me, peering from behind branches, daring me to notice them. The scene reminded me of a passage from one of my favorite children’s books, The Alligator and his Uncle Tooth, by Geoffrey Hayes. This book tells the tale of a small alligator, named Corduroy, who loved to wander through the hills surrounding his home. He especially loved to meander through the pine forest, always “standing strong and silent through every season. When the trees were hung with snow or covered by fog or moved by wind, Corduroy watched them, and it was like seeing poetry.”

Later in the story Corduroy goes to live with his Auntie Hick, who runs a small stationery shop in a village by the seaside. The little alligator is overwhelmed at his first glimpse of the mighty sea.

“The sea roared as it swept onto the beach, sending up showers of salty mist that tingled Corduroy’s nose. He breathed in the ocean smell. How untamed it was! How alive!

“As he sat there watching it, the sea foam rolling on the waves looked like delicate clouds; and the clouds in the sky looked like flower blossoms; and the sky moved like a song. ‘Poetry!’ thought Corduroy.”

Ah, poetry. That literary form with the ability to teach, communicate and elevate through images and a minimum of syllables, to strip away the familiar and help us see it once again with fresh, new eyes. As I stood in the wildflower patch that morning, watching all the pollinators busy at their work, I felt as though I were watching a living embodiment of poetry, just like Corduroy.

Feeling the warm sun, knowing winter was finally slipping away for another year, I felt the promise of Easter joy rising again; the newness, the light, the victory, the hope. I thought “Someone should write something.” Then I thought “I bet someone already has.”

Upon returning home I opened my Bible and went to the Psalms, that book of precious poetry. Sure enough, I found Psalm 8:

O Lord, our Sovereign,

How majestic is your name in all the earth.

You have set your glory above the heavens.

Out of the mouths of babes and infants

You have founded a bulwark because of your foes,

To silence the enemy and the avenger.

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,

The moon and the stars that you have established;

What are human beings that you are mindful of them,

Mortals that you care for them?

Yet you have made them a little lower than God,

And crowned them with glory and honor.

You have given them dominion over the works of your hands;

You have put all things under their feet,

All sheep and oxen

And also the beasts of the field,

The birds of the air, and the fish of the sea,

Whatever passes along the paths of the sea.

O Lord, our Sovereign,

How majestic is your name in all the earth!

(NRSV Bible, Psalm 8)

It is such a tremendous truth that all of nature worships God, just by doing what it was created to do. From the orange winged monarch butterfly to the mighty oak tree to the towering, silent mountains, all of creation offers its praise. May you, too, find yourself amid ample opportunities of living praise – and poetry – this Easter season!

Spring and the Stubborn Cardinal

April 21, 2023/0 Comments/in Catholic Writing and Publishing, Faith, Inspirational/by Kimberly Novak

Spring and The Stubborn Cardinal

Spring has arrived in my neck of the woods, and with it comes the hustle and bustle of God’s fantastic flying creatures around the flowers in bloom. This time of the year, I try to take every opportunity to visit outdoor places of interest. Recently, my husband and I walked the grounds of Our Lady of Lourdes Shrine, taking in all that nature had to offer. Scattered across the walking paths were sticks and small branches which had fallen in storms earlier that week. However, the beauty of the outdoor chapel, statues, and illumined candles surrounding the altar remained. Off in the distance was the whistling call of a cardinal announcing its presence, bringing happiness to my heart.

As we approached a building that housed a gift shop, the little red cardinal made its existence known, flying from its edge to a nearby tree. It wasn’t until we were inside the shop that we became aware of the cardinal’s intent. We listened to the shopkeeper’s story explaining that the cardinal was either confused or stubborn.

A sister of the Most Holy Trinity told us the cardinal had been visiting for many months. Daily attempts were made at flying directly into the shop window. These occurred so often that decals were affixed to the window to deter the bird from attempting to enter. It is common for a bird to see its reflection in a window, provoking it to go after what it thinks it sees—ultimately resulting in either an injured bird or complete surrender to the situation.

In this case, it appears the Shrine has a stubborn cardinal on its hands, and it prompted some thoughts as my husband and I recalled the activity of the bird that afternoon. Could it be that the bird was refusing to leave? What was it looking for? Had it lost a mate? Did the bird know it wasn’t getting anywhere by continuing its current behavior?

I am not alone when I share that there have been countless times when God has called me toward something, and I have run the other way. Or instances when I continued to go “my way” only to hit the same roadblock repeatedly, never realizing that the road I was trying to travel was not God’s plan. Like the cardinal at the gift shop, we spend too much time looking for something that isn’t there instead of listening to God’s voice as our guide.

Our moment of surrendering to the situation comes when we realize that our plan may not necessarily be God’s will. Like the bird flying into a window repeatedly, we are injuring ourselves when we repeat a pattern that has us, in essence, stuck. The decals in our lives that help us to see come in many forms—spiritual guides, faithful friends, parents, siblings, a spouse, and our children. Let’s not discount the stranger or good Samaritan who will help us to visualize what is ahead through teachable moments.

We can only hope that the cardinal visiting the sisters at the Shrine stops long enough for God to provide enlightenment or perhaps send another bird to provoke a different activity. You and I both know that if it continues on the path it is now, the bird will eventually suffer hurt beyond repair. The same is true for you and me. If we continue on the wrong track and fight the direction of God, our circumstances may result in a chaotic life.

The cardinal has as many choices as you and I. We can continue flying into the window, never getting anywhere, or set our sights on a path for God to light and guide us. Discernment becomes clear through consistent prayer and prayerful conversations with a spiritual director or parish Priest. Take advantage of the freshness and new beginning spring offers, open the windows of your heart, and fly.

Hope and Resilience

April 1, 2023/0 Comments/in Catholic Writing and Publishing, Devotionals, Easter, Eastern Orthodox, Iconography, Inspirational, Lent, Pilgrimage, Sacred Art and Architecture/by Margaret Zacharias

Hope and Resilience

Only Divine Providence could have woven such a tale. I can just offer you a sketchy map, and a few further clues. But we’re all a part of it. You’ll find your way.

This story opens in the mid-1800’s, with an English nobleman who collected American tree specimens to forest his Irish estate across the Atlantic Ocean. It encounters White Russians fleeing persecution following the communist revolution in 1917. It continues into the 1920’s, with an ambitious Irish diplomatic attaché in Paris; and a devastating family tragedy in Ireland.

Our tale emerged again in a small Swiss town in 1957, when a Protestant housewife received an indelible message in prayer from an Eastern Orthodox Catholic Saint.

But perhaps the most interesting plot twist occurred in the late 1940’s or early 1950’s, when a group of Irish schoolboys discovered dusty 15th-century religious icons while searching for treasure in a 19th-century reproduction-Gothic castle.

For me, it began on a recent March morning when a massive herd of glossy cattle crossed the road in front of our tour bus for more than fifteen minutes on their way to pasture. These cows dwell at Glenstal Abbey near Murroe, County Limerick, in the ancient Munster region of Ireland. (1)

Assisted by their dedicated local lay-oblate community, the Benedictine monks at Glenstal administer a substantial farm; a nationally-accredited Roman Catholic boarding school; and a conference center that offers retreats, spiritual consultations, and pilgrimages to individuals and groups of different faiths from around the world. A major inspiration for many pilgrimages to Glenstal Abbey is its unique collection of rare Eastern Orthodox prayer icons. These icons are displayed in a custom-built underground chapel beneath the main church.

In the Eastern Orthodox faith tradition, iconography is regarded as a particular kind of worship and a specific religious vocation. Although drawing and painting are involved, icons are always referred to as “written,” not made. The most important stages in their writing are the trained religious artists’ disciplines, fasting and prayer. Orthodox believers do not “look at” their icons; they present themselves before them, so that the saints can communicate with human beings on earth through the windows of their eyes.

The White Russians eventually found their way to Paris, France. Many families at that time were trapped in an economic depression that gripped continental Europe as well as North America. Too often, they were forced to part with their most precious possessions in order to support their families. For the Russian émigrés, that meant selling their family icons.

It seems that a diplomatic attaché for the Irish government, stationed in Paris, was happy to assist with the disposition of religious art works. The monks at Glenstal Abbey believe that this is how their Russian Orthodox icons were transferred to Roman Catholic Ireland.

At some point the icons landed at the castle forested with North American trees, once owned by the Barrington family. When their daughter was killed by Irish freedom fighters in 1921, the family returned to England. A local priest, Monsignor James Ryan, purchased Glenstal Castle in 1926 and donated it to the Benedictine Order, to found an abbey and school in the Archdiocese of Cashel. Glenstal Priory was inaugurated in January of 1928; the abbey boys’ school was established four years later in 1932. (2)

But following the turmoil of World War II, by the early 1950’s the Orthodox icons’ presence at Glenstal Abbey had been almost forgotten. Inquisitive schoolboys, digging through nooks and crannies, apparently came upon them stored somewhere in the castle. The Russian Orthodox saints traveled across a Roman Catholic campus in children’s hands, to decorate dorm room walls or to lie hidden under beds as secret prayer talismans.

Back on the continent, in 1957 the small-town wife of a Reformed Church pastor began to see saints and angels, including Mother Mary, beckoning to her from Roman Catholic churches in central Switzerland. Eventually, Joa Bolendas entered these churches to pray.

According to one of Bolendas’ accounts, St. Nicholas appeared to her and said, “This is the testimony of an early Saint of the Russian Orthodox Church.” In their encounters, St. Nicholas showed her images of icons that he said were “missing.” He told her that these icons were important for the future of the world and must be found. St. Nicholas thought that the icons he sought were somewhere in Ireland.

Bolendas’ nephew by marriage, John Hill, a graduate of Glenstal Abbey School, was in residence at that time in the C. G. Jung Institute of Zurich. Acting as a family member and not in his professional capacity, John began to accompany his wife’s aunt to church. He observed her in ecstatic prayer (3).

Joa Bolendas was described by all who knew her as “a strong woman,” and “a thoroughly practical person.” John himself watched her come out of prayer visions and briskly proceed to a nearby shop. There she would haggle with the butcher for his best cut of meat at the lowest price, to cook for her family’s dinner. John Hill deemed her fully grounded in reality.

He had a vague recollection of “those icons we used to play with at Glenstal as boys.” The matter seemed worthy of investigation. John called his old friend Mark Patrick Hederman, a monk, writer, teacher and administrator for the same abbey school where they both grew up.

In 1976, John and his wife Anne-Marie, with a photographer selected by Joa Bolendas, traveled back to Glenstal Abbey to examine whatever icons they might be able to find there.

Photographs of the icons they located in a thorough search of abbey and school were shown to Joa after they returned to Switzerland. She confirmed them as the same images St. Nicholas had revealed to her in visions. The saint then requested through Joa that the Benedictine brothers at Glenstal “build a chapel at their abbey to preserve them.”

All of the saints and angels who spoke with Joa over many years conveyed the same essential message. Whether explicitly or implicitly, the thrust of these revelations was always the importance of unity among mankind. If the chapel was built at Glenstal, St. Nicholas told her, “Unity will follow for Germany and Ireland.”

When Brother Patrick first presented a multi-million-dollar bid he’d received from a local contractor, the proposal to build a free-standing icon chapel on the abbey grounds was firmly rejected by the Glenstal monastic community.

Over time, however, the Benedictine brothers eventually developed a consensus. If Brother Patrick could find a way to build this chapel in the unused dirt cellar under the abbey church, they might be willing to help support it.

A third Glenstal Abbey School classmate, Jeremy Williams, had grown up to become one of Ireland’s leading architects. Patrick called Jeremy to the abbey for a consult. The aesthetic they both envisioned was a smaller version of the chapel at St. Sophia Church in Istanbul.

Their design was ultimately built in Glenstal Abbey’s church cellar to house the Russian icons, as well as an equally-precious donated collection of Greek Orthodox icons.

Their cement contractor in Cologne, Germany, who ground real stone for use in the colored-concrete chapel floor, provided the abbey with hefty discounts. In return the monastic community granted permission for the contractor to use an image of the finished chapel in promotional materials.

Before construction even began, while the abbey team was still examining the underground structure, a man no one had ever seen before walked in.

He said, “I know what you’re doing here! I know how to do it! No one else must touch it!”

With the monks’ permission, he spent the night alone, “inside the black box,” for inspiration. That ‘stranger’ turned out to be a local man, the brilliant and idiosyncratic Irish artist James Scanlon, who created luminous stained-glass medallions to anchor and illuminate a portion of the chapel ceiling vault.

Even the cows offered up their own fair share of the chapel costs, in cream and butter. Dairy sales from the farm help to support all of the spiritual and educational programs offered at Glenstal Abbey.

The finished icon chapel opened on April 10, 1988, with ancient musical tones and choral chants. These were researched as well as performed by Irish composer Michael O’Sullivan, with Rev. Nóirín Ní Riain, Ph.D. as liturgical cantor. (4)

Just nineteen months later, on November 9, 1989, the Berlin wall that had divided Germany for more than five decades fell to the ground. On 10 April, 1998, the tenth anniversary of the chapel’s consecration, Good Friday Agreements brought peace to Northern Ireland, putting an end to physical interreligious violence there.

This evidence is anecdotal, of course. Private devotions are treated as optional, not obligatory, in our Roman Catholic church. Still, the discerning monks of Glenstal Abbey visit their icon chapel every day, at the same time, to pray for healing in our world. This devotion is performed in addition to their traditional Benedictine charism, ora et labora, a daily rhythm of work and prayer in the Liturgy of the Hours.

If nothing else, the length and breadth of this history illustrate that dark times of many different kinds have always besieged humanity. The haunting eyes of early saints in the Glenstal Abbey chapel continue to regard contemporary pilgrims with eternal compassion.

Glenstal Abbey will celebrate the icon chapel’s 35th anniversary on April 10, 2023.

Should you, yourself, feel called to reflect on how a group of 1950’s Irish schoolboys ‘just happened’ to be in the right places, at the right times, prepared with the exact adult skills to provide every resource required to incarnate this chapel … Please join in prayers for unity and peace on Easter Monday.

“Drive away the darkness that surrounds us,

Shed onto us the mantle of your light.

Help us to know your will,

And give us the courage to do it.” (5)

Amen.

Original Russian Icon “The Healing Christ” in the Glenstal Abbey Icon Chapel Photo by Margaret Zacharias, taken with permission from Don Mark Patrick Hederman

Featured Image: Collection of Original Eastern Orthodox Icons in the Glenstal Abbey Chapel Photo by Margaret Zacharias, taken with permission from Don Mark Patrick Hederman The “Angel of Silence” can be seen at lower right.

Notes:

https://glenstal.com/abbey/
A more detailed history of Glenstal Abbey, and exposition about the educational philosophy of the secondary-level boy’s school, may be found in former Headmaster Mark Patrick Hederman’s book:

The Boy in the Bubble: Education as Personal Relationship

https://www.amazon.com/Boy-Bubble-Education-Personal-Relationship/dp/1847304052/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1680133263&sr=8-1

The full story of Joa Bolendas’ visionary prayer experiences may be found in her books:

So That You May Be One

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Joa+Bolendas+That+You+Be+One&crid=1RFFTDTLMZBLJ&sprefix=joa+bolendas+that+you+be+one%2Caps%2C155&ref=nb_sb_noss

Alive in God’s World

https://www.amazon.com/Alive-Gods-World-Described-Bolendas/dp/097010975X/ref=sr_1_1?crid=Q8W6BZWU4KAG&keywords=Joa+Bolendas+Alive+In+God%27s+World&qid=1679641031&sprefix=joa+bolendas+alive+in+god%27s+world%2Caps%2C144&sr=8-1.

Recordings of the early Christian music that accompanied the consecration of Glenstal Abbey’s icon chapel may be found here:

Vox De Nube

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09S3F6YQ1/ref=sr_1_2?crid=3RR326YJQLC6A&keywords=vox+di+nube&qid=1679728636&sprefix=vox+de+nube%2Caps%2C142&sr=8-2

One prayer given in a dream to Don Mark Patrick Hederman, now Abbot emeritus of Glenstal Abbey.

This article was prepared with help and permission from Don Mark Patrick Hederman and John Hill.

Any errors of fact or interpretation are the sole responsibility of the author.

Journey ad Amorem

March 24, 2023/0 Comments/in Catholic Writing and Publishing, Inspirational, Love, Spiritual Life/by Rick Clements

Journey ad Amorem

We’re all here to learn how to love. Life is a school of love. The things that happen to you in life are meant to help you learn how to love. The people who cross your path in life are meant to help you learn how to love, and you’re meant to help them learn how to love, too.

We’re all on a journey back to God, a journey ad Deum. It’s just that some of us don’t realize that yet, or have forgotten it, or else don’t want to believe it. But we are. We all came from God, and we’re all intended to return to God. Only in God will we find the ultimate happiness, freedom, purpose, and peace that we so desperately desire.

The little three-word phrase “God is love” (1 John 4:16) is the most profound statement ever uttered by a human being. For some people, however, the phrase “God is love” has become so familiar as to have become almost trite. They may acknowledge that it is true in the abstract, but it is not a truth that they allow to impact their daily lives in any significant way: “‘God is love’ sounds nice, but it doesn’t pay the bills”—this seems to be the attitude of some people. Other people reject the claim that “God is love” entirely.

Many of us need to consider (or reconsider) the profound meaning and implications of the claim that “God is love.” This little phrase not only claims that God exists; it also makes a startling claim about what God is. The claim is not just that God has love, but rather that God is love. Love is what God is. God’s essence, the core of who and what God is, is love. Not thought, or power, or freedom, or knowledge, or any of the other things that we human beings might have expected or predicted to be the essence of God, but love.

But “God is love” is not just a statement about God. It’s also a statement about the nature of existence, the nature of life itself. God is not just one more being among many. God is not some “super-being” with superhuman powers. Some atheists seem to derive pleasure from attacking such images of God, but that’s not the God in whom we Christians believe. No, God is not just one more being among many; God is Being itself (Exodus 3:14; John 8:58). God is the Mind behind all that exists, the Mind that gave rise to all that exists and that sustains everything in existence from moment to moment, the Source and Ground of all that exists, the uncaused Cause of all that exists. So if God is Being itself, and the essence of God is love, then the essence of Being itself is love. Love is what Being is, so love is what being is meant to be. To love is to be, and to love more fully is to be more fully. The more fully we join in the dynamic of love, the more fully we share in Being, and the more fully alive we are.

Some of the ancients described human life as a process of exitus and reditus: a going out from God when we are born into this life so that we might then freely choose whether or not we want to return to God forever. Our life is intended to be a journey back to God, a journey back to Love. We were born for love. We were made from and for love. We were created to dwell forever in the divine Love, but whether we end up there or not depends on whether we accept God’s offer of a share in the divine life.

Life is a beautiful and profound and mysterious drama in which our ultimate destiny, our eternal destiny, hinges on our choice of whether to say Yes or No to Love and to love. The stakes couldn’t be higher. So why does God leave the choice up to us? Again, it’s because love, to be genuine, has to be both freely offered and freely accepted. God doesn’t work by force, but rather by persuasion. God freely offers us the gift of a share in the divine life and love, but it’s up to each of us to choose whether to accept the gift or not. We’re all enrolled in the school of love, but it’s up to each of us whether we make the most of the opportunity or choose to drop out.

* This article is an excerpt from Rick’s recently released book, The Book of Love: Brief Meditations. https://enroutebooksandmedia.com/thebookoflove/

Rick Clements, 2023

(Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash)

May I Have This Dance?

March 17, 2023/2 Comments/in Beauty, Catholic Writing and Publishing, Inspirational/by Kimberly Novak

May I Have This Dance?

I recently spent the day waiting for a family member undergoing a medical procedure. As we hunkered down in the lobby, a gentleman played the piano, filling the open atrium with melodies. We enjoyed reminiscing on some songs from the past, and I noticed how those conversations put our worried minds at ease. A hospital employee arrived at our table asking if we liked the piano music and if we would dance.

How lovely it was to see her go from table to table, bringing smiles to worried families looking for anything to occupy their minds while they waited. I never saw anyone accept the dance offer in the hours we spent in that space. However, moods were lifted, achieving the ultimate goal. I thought how wonderful it was for the hospital to provide this type of service and how nice of the employee to present it so joyfully. Little niceties like this are heaven-sent moments where God joins us in the dance.

Over the last several years, music therapy has become a staple in healthcare, and I am a big fan. Not long ago, I spent time with my uncle, who had suffered a stroke. Uncle Boo, I called him, had been a wedding singer for many years, and music meant the world to him. When the nurses on his floor learned of his passion, they quickly ordered music therapy at his bedside. I was blessed to have been visiting him on a day when the therapist arrived. The stroke left his voice weak, but that did not slow him down.

Singing his favorite songs with the therapist brought tears, laughter, and an unforgettable smile to his face. The connection the therapist made with my uncle was like watching two old friends dancing cheek-to-cheek. Setting aside my emotions, I managed to record a voice memo on my phone as my uncle softly sang the lyrics, “All my lovin’, I will send to you,” and “Don’t you look back.” I relish the gift God gave me that day—an opportunity to play the recordings back, close my eyes, and dance. Reflecting on that memory today, I realize how blessed I was to have chosen that particular moment to pop in for a visit, not to mention that this was God filling His dance card.

In both instances, music was a gift presented by God through a person who was trained and highly qualified, not to mention motivated to share their gift. That does not mean that only trained professionals can present gifts of this sort. For instance, before we were married, my husband asked me to dance in the middle of a candle store. It ultimately led to a dance with the same song on our wedding day—when God filled his and my dance cards.

It makes me wonder how many other events, not only in my life but for everyone, are times when God asks us to dance. More obvious moments might be when the trees sway in a soft breeze inviting us to swing side to side as we watch the leaves dance. Or, perhaps, the joy on a child’s face as they ride on the playground.

I can go on and on with different scenarios, and I’m sure there are many you can think of, also. God is with us in all things, big, small, medium, and large, especially in the twinkling of a dance. Embrace these joy-filled moments of glee and savor them with prayers of gratitude, a note in your journal, or sharing with a friend. My prayer for you, the reader, is that you tune into the little niceties as gifts from God. Consider them precious moments when God shows up with His dance card. Like a little girl with her daddy, learning to dance, except this time, God is leading the steps.

Mass on the Rock

March 8, 2023/4 Comments/in Eucharist, Faith, Inspirational, Pilgrimage, Spiritual Life/by Margaret Zacharias

Mass on the Rock

It was what the Irish call a ‘soft day.’ Drenching afternoon rain fell after a cold and misty morning. Some among us worried that it might not be worth the effort. It was difficult enough to walk when the ground was dry, never mind through a spooky meadow that rolled under your feet like a ship on the churning sea.

It looked to be quite a distance, too, at the end of what had already been an exhausting day. You’d understand if you yourself had a knee or a hip needing surgery. This group had eight or ten of them. Our hosts, who’d spent the whole wet day in the field preparing for our arrival, did understand. They kindly offered us the church in town to celebrate Mass for any of our pilgrims who felt they couldn’t make their way to the Rock.

Then somebody said, “The rain’s letting up!” Somebody said, “Let’s those of us who feel we can go, let’s give it a try?”

With Father’s encouragement, everyone managed to clamber off the bus and onto a gravel road. At the open fence gate, a young woman smiled and said, “You’re very welcome!” Just beyond her, the farmer took each hand into his own. He inspected our eyes, pilgrim by pilgrim, nodding his personal welcome as if it were a matter of life and death.

For over three hundred years, it was.

We set out across the fields, breathing in the thick green air. We shivered in our raincoats. Most of us had no idea where we were headed. If you knew what to look for, you might be able to recognize the place by an ancient grove of sacred Druid trees perched on the horizon. Eventually our guide pointed out an entrance, hidden among shrubs that grew beneath the trees. We pushed through a narrow opening to discover steep stone steps cut into a muddy hillside.

More than six feet below, the freshly-excavated chapel stretched out in an ell. Heavy cinder blocks were stacked along the sides; new boards were laid on top of the blocks for benches, and boards were laid below for walking across the mud. A pearly grey boulder held the corner. The air surged with aromas: freshly-sawn lumber, damp peat and fertile earth. We felt humbled to see so much labor expended to provide for us.

“Why, they wouldn’t believe we’re Father Flanagan’s people,” someone said, “If we hadn’t had the courage to come!’

The Rock turned out to be a smooth, asymmetrical chunk of granite, nearly three feet tall, and almost five feet in diameter. It sparkled as if it had been scrubbed with rainbows. Atop the boulder stood pictures of our Lord and our Lady on either side of a simple Crucifix.

Father laid his communion kit directly onto this stone altar. He passed the scripture book to the lector and shook off his coat. He vested for Mass right there on the soil among us. He tried to light candles, but they kept blowing out. Worn over only a short-sleeved shirt, his surplice flew in the chilly gale. But the flame of the Holy Spirit glowed in all hearts as he made the sign of the cross to open our liturgy.

While Father distributed Eucharist, three of us together began to sing at the same moment, the same inspired song: “This is holy ground. We’re standing on holy ground, for the Lord is present and where He is, is holy.” Another woman mimed the words for each verse while everybody sang: “He’s given us holy hands. He’s given us holy lips.” Father maneuvered from plank to plank as if he’d never celebrated Mass in any other way.

Stalks of ripened grain in the fields above our heads swayed in the breeze, blessing us like banners. Though we knew we would be invisible from the road, we could almost hear the tramp of soldiers’ feet on the wind. We reflected on Father’s homily, thinking about how many generations of Irish people had gathered for Mass just like this, under penalty of death. They hid below crops they were forbidden to eat, celebrating Eucharist without the luxuries of raincoats, candles or songs.

All that nourished them was the Lord. They did not consider His Feast a meager meal.

When we returned to ordinary time and contemporary place, that luscious green labyrinth still shimmied under our feet. But this time the walk did not seem long.

Three-year-old Michael led the charge to the bus. He scampered across the landscape with a wild flower in his hand. He went spinning around the meadow, cavorting in tall grass under the wide sky.

Every single one of us danced along behind him, all the way back to Ballymoe.

Royalty-Free Stock Image Shutterstock_1719546454 Licensed to Pearlpledge82 User ID 289304735 Standard License February 19, 2023

*A previous version of this true story was published in Sunday Bulletin, St. Theresa of the Child Jesus Catholic Church, Diocese of Des Moines, Iowa, 2007; and appears in another form on the author’s website, www.animaviva.com.

Candy as Compassion

March 3, 2023/1 Comment/in Faith, Hope, Inspirational, Love, Mercy/by Ben Bongers

Candy as Compassion

Next Sunday, the Third Sunday of Lent, we see how God showed compassion on His people in the desert, giving them water from the rock, and the Samaritan woman giving Jesus a drink. So how do we know compassion? What does it look like? Sound like? Do we know when we see or show it?

I visited a person, while making my Diaconate rounds, on hospice in their early 40’s. They would ask for the same item of every doctor, nurse, and certified nursing assistant (CNA)—a bag of the Chewable Sweet Tarts from the candy machine down the hall.

As the person faded in and out, they told me they had two beautiful children who were unable to make the trip to say “goodbye.” Their condition was taking hold. Soon they wouldn’t wake again. The person had led a rough life. They’d stolen, been hooked on drugs, cheated, lied, and had prominent tattoos of “taking lives.”

I didn’t judge and asked, “What would make you happy before you leave this world?”

They smiled and said, “Just one thing, a bag of those Chewable Sweet Tarts.”

I had to chuckle. “What’s so special about a bag of candy?”

The person smiled, a tear leaking from their eye. They said, “I used to take my kids around the neighborhood for Halloween. We had the best time! We’d talk as we walked around. I found out I had really smart, funny, and good kids.” The person sat with the memory, then said, “After we got home, we’d dump all the candy onto the kitchen table and take a piece, share it, and judge it with a rating. ‘This one’s an 8.6, or 9.2, or 4.1!’ We’d have the best time.”

The person looked over at me and said, “The Chewable Sweet Tarts… we never had those. Somehow having them will bring me back to the one good time—the one good thing I had in my life—my kids.”

After going to the restroom, I saw the candy machine and came back to the room, gently laying the bag of Chewable Sweet Tarts on the bed table. The person looked up at me. Big tears and no ability to speak. I came to the bedside, and they clung to me for a solid five minutes—bawling and asking over and over, “Why? Why? Why would you show me any compassion? Why would you do this for me?”

We shared the candy. As the person across from me chewed slowly, smiling the entire time, I finally answered their question. “Because you’re worthy of compassion. We all are.”

We never know what another person needs. The nurses, doctors, and hospital staff all had been in that room. They saw the patient—but missed the person.

Look around you. Who are the persons around you? Not customers, not clients, not patients—persons. Remember, compassion is a sure sign that the Holy Spirit is alive in us—and is helping us see that person crossing our paths every day.

For I know the Plans I Have for You

February 28, 2023/4 Comments/in Faith, Family Life, Inspirational, Love, Marriage/by Karina Fabian

For I know the Plans I Have for You (Jer. 29:11)

Greetings, fellow travelers. I am (probably) the newest contributor to the CWG blog. In an attempt to introduce myself, I decided to offer the following recollections that I wrote for a smaller audience. This is a deeply personal account, but it’s how I roll.

I was widowed two years ago, and it significantly altered my perception of marriage, God and our eternal trajectory. Retrospect is the critical viewpoint in this narrative, since my husband and I did not convert to Catholicism until we were in our mid-thirties. Hence, God’s plan for our lives was not immediately intuited, although we eventually recognized the critical nature of the Catholic faith in our marriage. It was this faith that would provide continuity and structure to the sacrament we shared. We were married for 42 years, and this is our story:

My husband, Steve, was a risk-taker.

I was not.

Our third date I found him cheerfully explaining the constellations of scars on his head and chin—which he identified as wounds from embedded gravel—the result of a tire blowout during a high-speed motorcycle ride on a gravel road. Apparently, he went airborne before the force of gravity did what gravity tends to do—and it sucked him into the hard, graveled surface below him.

I watched, horrified, as he retold the story, complete with sound effects, and enthusiastic arm-flapping.

“You’re lucky to be alive!” I gasped. He smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. His grin grew even wider.

“Weren’t you scared?” I exclaimed.

“Nah,” he said casually, “I was too busy trying to keep the bike from falling on top of me and killing me.”

I remember being incredulous, as I tried to comprehend his explanation. I did not understand this attitude toward life. I risked nothing. I gambled on nothing, and I kept everything in my world ordered and safe. We could not have been more different. Who is this guy? I thought.

Eventually, and against my better judgment, Steve managed to talk me onto the back of his dirt bike—after assuring me that he wouldn’t go too fast. I believed him (mostly) even when we were sailing over huge hills with considerable hang time, before landing on the other side of the hill. I remember clutching my arms around his waist and screaming into his back, while he yelled reassurances that everything was fine. (I think he really enjoyed that part.)

Steve frequently challenged the forces of nature with every ounce of his seemingly immortal body. If he wasn’t defying gravity, he was water skiing without skis, or driving snowmobiles across frozen ponds. It always seemed to me that he was like one of those giant grasshoppers that flies erratically into oncoming cars—barely missing the windshield with an artful dodge.

Alternatively, the laws of physics and the general nature of risk, did nothing to inspire intestinal fortitude within. My formative years had been painful, and I trusted no one. Night after night, I remember begging a distant God for deliverance—a deliverance that always seemed elusive—rendering my nominal faith into shadows.

Despite my spiritual quagmire, I gradually began to appreciate Steve’s attitude toward life. Scientific laws can be harnessed if you have the right tools, and the world is approachable if you are comfortable with who you are. Steve was all those things—and slowly, patiently (sometimes) he taught me to take risks: with others, with myself, and of course … his motorcycle.

Initially, I did not realize that God had finally offered me deliverance in the form of a young man with an irrepressible temperament—but it seems rather obvious now. It would have required someone with that kind of fortitude to wage battle with the seen and unseen forces around me.

It turns out that God had been listening all along.

It should come as no surprise that Steve went on to have a successful career in law enforcement before retiring due to injuries he sustained in the line of duty. Those injuries are what ultimately caused his death, but he would have settled for nothing less. That’s just how HE rolled.

January marked the second anniversary of Steve’s death, and if I could tell him anything right now, I think it would be this: Thank you for taking a chance on this wisp of a soul. You are proof that God answers prayer on the most elemental level. I am forever grateful to you—and most importantly—to God, who is ever-merciful, and actively involved in the most intimate details of our lives.

This knowledge fills me with child-like trust–secure in the knowledge that God always has a plan.

The Consecrated Pen

February 17, 2023/1 Comment/in Catholic Writing and Publishing, Inspirational/by Kimberly Novak

The Consecrated Pen

As a Christian writer, I am always looking for even a glimpse of motivation. Whether in the form of a blessing, hymn, or homily, I cling to joyful words in the hopes of brilliant inspiration as my fingers lay upon the keyboard. Sometimes, I am graced with inspiration in the strangest places, one of which was in a little store in Amish Country.

While on an overnight trip to visit the shops and farms of the Ohio Amish Valley, I stumbled upon a hidden gem. The Consecrated Pen: Inspiration for the Christian Writer by Susannah Rose Dorfsmith, sat in the most inconspicuous place, on a shelf beneath a row of candles. I would expect to find a book of this type, or any type for that matter, nestled between other books or magazines. Luckily for me, I was in a candle-sniffing mood that day.

It wasn’t the title that got my attention, but rather the simplicity of the visual, a writer’s grip, pen in hand, resting comfortably on a notepad. Amish towns offer a simplistic charm that entices me, and the cover of this book did the same. I knew I would purchase the book even before I picked it up, just because of the way it made me feel in that graced moment. However, to appease my inquiring mind, I quickly peered at the contents and instantly received confirmation that this was God-sent.

At the time of this trip, I was on the verge of sending off my first manuscript to various publishers, so it was no surprise that I opened the section, “Season of Suspense.” The first two lines read, “So your manuscript is finally on its way to a publisher. What once consumed your time and filled your hands to overflowing is completed.” This line spoke to my exact season.

Another incredible find in the book was a picture of butterflies on the adjacent page which validated my certainty that God sent me this book. I have a special love of butterflies, and my first book, Bella’s Beautiful Miracle: A Caterpillar’s Story, is the story of a caterpillar who learns of God’s transformative power. Along with fluttering butterflies on the page, my eyes beheld a simple yet powerful poem.

A HOLY PURPOSE
No longer, Lord, a thing of mine
Is this, “my work.”
I give it up to be
In its entirety
A thing forevermore all Thine.
Though small and weak and poor, it will
Belong to Thee.
Oh, send it forth, I pray,
And use it in Thy way –
A holy purpose to fulfill.

In that instant, the line that struck me most was the first one. “No longer, Lord, a thing of mine.” Something calming and inviting happened within me as I realized that I had given over my project to God simply by reciting that poem. As a Christian Writer, my vision from the beginning was that my writings are to be a resource others would use to strengthen their relationship with God and fall in love with their faith. The Consecrated Pen, and Dorfsmith’s inspirational moments, have done the very same in me.

Dorfsmith gives the reader brief but meaningful inspirational quotes, scripture references, poems, and reflections in this beautiful writer’s resource. The back cover blurb promises that the writer is sure to find themselves renewed with zeal and eagerness and ready to use their talent for the glory of God, and I can attest to that!

This book gives the appearance of being simple, yet it is packed with brilliance. It is best left up to the individual writer regarding how to use this valuable resource. As for me, I have it on my writing desk at all times. I have picked out a few of my favorite scripture passages and poems to pray over my work. I have even combined a few of them and adapted specific prayers. There are those I pray with when sending my work for review, and others simply for God’s Glory to be revealed within the words on the page.

Dorfsmith also gifts the author with poems and quotes from other writers. Making this resource a one-stop shop for writer’s prompts, musings, and heartfelt inspirations.

“…The more we sit at His feet and watch to see what He has to say to ourselves,
the more we shall have to tell others.”
Frances Ridley Havergal

The Carlisle Press published the Consecrated Pen in 2014, and I have found limited quantities available. However, I found it at Kingdomwriting.com for $3.99, and I suggest you get your copy today!

Faithful Expectations

January 20, 2023/0 Comments/in Faith, Hope, Inspirational/by Kimberly Novak

Faithful Expectations

As a new author, it is sometimes difficult to know what I should expect or what is expected of me. I recently faced this in a casual conversation when I was told I sounded calm, confident, and optimistic. My faith is the backbone of how I respond to situations in my life. Even so, I face times when I am overwhelmed with an experience or result.

I firmly believe that God places us exactly where He wants us to be. These moments might be fleeting, life-changing, or teachable. Like everyone else, life has thrown a myriad of events at me, some of which I knew exactly what to expect and others a mystery. I smile knowing that the recent conversation was not only teachable but also a way to complete my task. In struggling with a writing topic and hearing what I was saying in the throes of that conversation, God turned the light on!

Expectation packs a big punch as it often creates a significant emotional response. Some types of expectations are joyful, while others can generate an emotion of fear. Looking back on events in my life, I can see a circumstance that I believe God used to groom me for the role of an author who faces expectations with a heart of faith. It was during a time when I was a “stage mom,” which, to most, sounds exciting, and at times it was. However, there were honest moments when all I wanted to do was wait in fear rather than hope.

The journey through auditions, learning lines, and prep sessions were quite the experience. I knew my son and I would need a positive mindset to thrive. We treated each day and audition as one moment, releasing it from our headspace at completion. Some were harder than others, but we did an excellent job of living in a way that allowed us to expect happiness.

Another instance I recall is physical. I was “voluntold” through a persistent friend to participate in a healthy weight program. The journey consisted of several months of intense training and proper eating habits. I was reluctant about what the outcome would look like and had no clear expectations. In a nutshell, the journey strengthened me, not only physically but emotionally as well. The expectations I felt along the way were nowhere near the positive outcome, and for that, I can see the blessings.

Both of these examples impacted where I am today, serving as a preparatory phase in which I can draw strength and wisdom. Learning to be patient with God’s timing and enjoy where He is taking me is the fruit of where He placed me in the past. I consider both of these events equally life-changing and educational.

Fleeting moments of the audition process and the pains of exercise are reminders that moments in our life go by quickly. As painful as they may seem in the moment, there is light to look forward. The skills I use today as an author, secretary, and spiritual director are directly inherent in the teachable moments through God’s Grace. My life changes by faithfully understanding God knows my heart and will work all things for my good.

Preparation plays a vital role in a mindset of faithful expectation and should be focused and balanced. Consider preparing for a job interview or the possibility of authoring successfully. There are many ways to go about it, some will over-prepare to expect the worst, and others will do the bare minimum. Looking at an outcome with faithful expectations will generate positive and heartfelt responses. These emotional considerations will bring about mindful preparatory phases, culminating in joyful experiences. The overarching goal is an outcome that is God-centered, realistic, and built on the foundation of faith.

I can’t think of a better time than right now to fully embrace the practice of faithful expectation. At the beginning of a new year, a gift in itself is another opportunity placed into our hands to go big or go home! Jump in wherever God has placed you armed with a heart of faithfully expecting God is doing beautiful things for you and through you. I know the next time I am up against a deadline or struggle, God is right there with His finger on the switch, and the light will shine at just the right moment!