Liturgy of the Hours: I'm a believer

I do not pray the Liturgy of the Hours regularly yet, but I'm doing better than I ever did before.

Christian Prayer, the shorter one-volume version, is harder for me to use, for some reason.  The full four-volume set is easier.

Some time ago I purchased Universalis, the iPhone/iPad app for the Liturgy of the Hours.  It was a great way to get to know what it's like to use the LotH and determine whether or not the full set would be a good purchase for me.

Even though I only do one or two hours a day at most, the blessings are already there.

For many months I've been suffering from a kind of spiritual fog.  I was going to write darkness, but it wasn't that severe, thank God.  There have been some worries.  A family business in distress, and management changes at my job that left me feeling really down.  Oh, and the economy and whatnot. :P

But then I started with the LotH.

There is structure.  One knows what one's going to be doing in a given hour.  It is predictable; routine.

I watch my beloved husband with his twin grandchildren, and I have learned a great deal.  (I never had children of my own.)  My husband's daughter, the twins' mother, started them on day one with a solid, consistent routine.  It adapts as they grow older, but every day still has predictable times of sleep, food, and play.

Growing up, I did not have much routine in my life from my teens on.  Slowly my dear one has been establishing the same kind of routines in our life together.  Slowly I am relaxing into days without shocks or terror.  I can look forward with reasonable certainty to times in our day when we share food, rest or read, and sleep.  Every day it happens just the same.  Boring?  Nope.  Reassuring.

God is our Father.  The routine of the liturgy of the hours is reassuring in the same way as the routine of home.

There is variety.  Each day one perhaps has a memorial to observe, or a feast day.  Even if one is doing the Ordinary, each day has different psalms, readings, etc.

There is little novelty.  In LotH we are praying with the ancient psalms, repeating the prayers of ancestors in faith from millennia ago.  They experienced life as did.  My problems and worries do not recede, but I see them in context.  And, through it all, we are praying to God, invoking His presence, humbly begging for His love and grace.

Today I had to do a software rollout for a very large group of meticulous and hurried people, and I've been dreading it to the point of frenzy for weeks now.  At some point over the weekend, in Morning Prayer, a little light went on in my soul.  I saw the rollout in its true perspective and realized that, with the safeguards we have in place, there is an acceptable level of risk.  How did I not know that?

I'm a devotée of the Liturgy of the Hours.

Liturgy of the Hours

Finally - finally - ordered these books.  For so many years there just wasn't the money for that kind of thing.  Now that there is, I continued to dither about my identification.  Finally got the push I needed - separate story - and went ahead and ordered the set.

I got the ones in large type, and they're beautiful.  I had used Christian Prayer before, and have the Universalis app, so wasn't too lost in my first attempts. 

I like the structure of the Office, the immersion in Scripture, and the Office of Readings.  How fortunate we are to have such resources!

"White Collar" was really dumb tonight

The Spouse and I watch a few of the USA Network shows with great enjoyment, including White Collar.  However, tonight the premise was that a computer break-in had taken place at a bank.  The writers clearly were either very old, or young people who had no clue how to get any information.  The terminology was wrong, the idea impossible, and they even had one of the agents put a USB stick received from the bad guy into a networked FBI computer, with predictable results.  It was just stupid, all the way through.  They're usually not anywhere near that clueless... in fact, I wouldn't expect any show these days to not at least try to put together a plausible situation.  Makes one wonder if there was no one to vet the script, or if those writers - who all use computers, one can hope - are really that ignorant of how they work.

Service dogs in the courtroom

This story has been making the rounds lately.  (I'm linking to the Hot Air mention.)  The comments are interesting:  many in favor of the dog, few against.  One clueless individual suggested keeping the dog in another room during testimony.  Yeah, that'll help.

One of the objections is that the dog in question is a Golden Retriever, generally recognized as a non-threatening, cuddly breed.  I can see how people might think it prejudicial to have a dog associated with kindness and sweetness on the stand.  Someone suggested using a pit bull.  However, I would suggest a German Shepherd Dog, or a Belgian Sheepdog.

We are talking appearance and reputation here, not fact.  The fact is, there are Goldens that will scare the bejeezus out of intruders.  Another fact is that, to the family they serve, the big shepherd dogs should always be genial and cozy companions.  But to the outside world - in the context of court, where one is testifying - if you are looking for a less warm-and-fuzzy effect, a big, well-trained German Shepherd dog will fit the bill nicely.  Few in the jury box will perceive the dog to be "cuddly."  The witness needing support and comfort will have it (most German Shepherd Dogs are fond of leaning against their trusted human companions in a confidential, friendly way), along with the confidence that the accused would have to go literally through the dog to touch her.  For extra effect, put a bullet-proof vest on the dog.  There.  No more warm and fuzzies, except for the witness, who may be able to articulate what she could not otherwise.

One commenter in the link above did note that a dog is far better than a human supporter on the witness stand, because a dog cannot influence the witness to say one thing or another.

If it is a situation where you need the witness to feel safe enough to speak without human interference, if the dog will enable the testimony, then allow the dog.

Texas and big

Texas really is bigger than life in many ways.  Just this afternoon I sat working as lightning flashed and thunder rolled by and rattled the windows.  In California this would have been a reason to cut in on regular programming and deploy teams of reporters.  In Texas?  Not so much.  The weather radio treebles and squawks only when the winds are so high that there is danger of a tornado.  Otherwise it's just noisy rain.

However, our recent wildfires didn't impress the Administration (over 3400 square miles, or roughly seven times the size of Los Angeles, 50 times the size of DC, and three times the land area of Rhode Island, as Ed Morrissey pointed out this week on Hot Air).

As it happens, Texas has its own employment gravitational field, as its business-friendly policies bring more and more companies in.  You can't throw a rock without hitting a church.  It is quite common for the citizenry to be saved the cost of a trial through accurate and effective self-defense against assailants and robbers.  The city is quite diverse.  Delicious food.  Friendly people who seem to not think they are more important than you.

I like it here.

About a dog

There's been some notice taken of the dogs that work with SEALs and others on combat duty.  The dogs that can fight are usually Belgian Malinois or German Shepherds.

OK, here's the deal on the Belgian sheep dogs.  Three varieties:  Gronendael (black hair), Tervuren (straight brown/black hair), and Malinois (short tan hair).  Same dog underneath.  I adopted a Belgian Tervuren mix 10 years ago. 

I trained him with Jan Fennell's 'Amichien' technique. He was a working dog for me, a companion for long midnight walks in neighborhoods where the threat was mainly from coyotes or bobcats.

These dogs are not for everyone. They need not just a job, but a career.  They are problem-solvers. When properly trained they are fearsome, able to focus in even chaotic situations, and worth enough in utility alone to justify their expensive armor.

Mine became an intuitive, attentive guardian companion who earned many, many compliments through the years for his handsome appearance and reliably impeccable manners in all sorts of situations. He was trained to gestures as well as sounds and words. His pre-adoption life had left him fearful and ignorant of home life, but with consistent training he gained poise and courage. His accomplishments were no less valuable or impressive to my family and me than those of the trained war-dogs.

I speak of him in past tense, but he's still alive, just very old and tottery.  Through the grace of God, when I left California behind, the woman who bought my house fell in love with my gentle friend, after he went up to her and leaned confidentially against her and put up his head for a pat.  It was as though he knew she would be his new leader.  Because he is nearly blind and going deaf and unsteady on his feet at times, it was wonderful to know he would be in the same house where he'd always lived, no steps, instead of in a place with steep stairs and harsh weather.  If I didn't know the two of them were going along together - he still doing his job to the best of his ability, watching the house and her - I would grieve for him terribly.  But I've been back to visit a couple of times, and he's happy with her.  She says extravagant things to him and rubs his belly and he loves it inordinately.

He will break our hearts one day, unable to keep on going.  I hope for her sake and mine he just drops dead, or is found in the middle of a nap with no end.

I always felt like I was getting away with something, having this beautiful, intelligent being in my life when he could just as easily done all kinds of valuable work elsewhere.  How God has blessed me.

John Paul II

As I read about the beatification in Rome, I think:  this is a very powerful saint.  Not only did he do amazing things for God during his journey through this vale of tears, he is still working for us in heaven.

I want to dig out the enormous New American Bible my mom got for me the year I was received into the Church.  Its language is beautiful, it was beautifully printed, and it contained an excellent dictionary/ cyclopedia in the back.  For some reason the Church didn't carry through on that, and the U.S. wing of the church continues to munge the NAB into stilted, deconstructed incomprehensibility.

But John Paul II was one of the great proponents of the vision of the Vatican II council.  He was a great man, only because he lived for the Lord.  Benedict XVI is another one of those.  They stand for the truth, in the face of a world yowling for anything but.  There were moments of beauty in the Vatican II council spirit, the idea of renewal without loss.  There were those who leveraged it for their own purposes.  They, and their self-referent ideas, are dying out.  But Jesus Christ still lives.

Jesus Christ still lives.

Sunday morning reflections about music

As it happens, I am spending this beautiful morning in a location of studied luxury and comfort.  The room is really heavenly:  views out of three windows comprising mountains and city lights in panorama; exquisitely comfortable bed, unobtrusive yet effective temperature control, a bathroom which is a wonderful retreat in and of itself.  A savory breakfast brought up very early, consumed at leisure whilst perusing the newspapers.  And, through it all, the classical station played on the radio.

This classical station was playing when I checked in yesterday, and made me instantly feel at home.  It would make sense to have classical music in such a place of comfort.

This morning, the station is presenting a series of exquisitely beautiful sacred selections, including, of course, masses.

I note that I, a lapsed RC, am sipping tea and thanking God and meditating on His goodness (and would be doing those latter two, I trust, even if I were in a cardboard box under a freeway), and my thoughts of Him are enhanced and encouraged by the beautiful, beautiful music playing quietly on the radio.

Thousands of RCs more faithful than I - but nowhere near as many as there might be - will be exposed this morning to another kind of music.

I don't think it is unexpected for me to say that, if such music were presented right now on the station on the radio to which I'm listening, in this comfortable room on this lovely morning, I would leap up and turn it off in horror, as if it had suddenly emitted a burst of harsh static garble.

In surroundings of beauty and comfort and, yes, comfortable wealth, this beautiful music is offered on a Sunday morning.

There was a time when church was seen as a place of great beauty and decorum.  The world was, and is, harsh; serenity and peace are epitomized by the quiet reception of beauty in sound, visual arts, words, actions.

God is still in control.  Whether or not He's wanted, or trusted, doesn't matter.  It's still His creation.  He exists whether you believe in Him or not.  In my experience, it is easier to humbly acknowledge His power and thank Him from the bottom of your heart, than to try to make your own way without His help and loving support... and I have tried it both ways.

Bearing fruit

I had a lovely childhood.  No, really.  I was an only child of intelligent, cosmopolitan parents who shared a strong love of home and the simple but good things of life.

Things changed, as things do.  My father achieved a certain level of management which allowed him to feel it was time to move to a larger house.  We went from a comfortable, sweet two-bedroom (plus one for the staff) in the foothills to a four bedroom (plus five for the staff) in a very posh part of town.  That was depressing enough, but more than that was changing.  On the television, for example:  instead of entertainment based on talent, it became based on shock and lewd behavior.  Example:  Ed Sullivan and the Beatles (and others).  Laugh-In.  Etc.

There started to be a brittleness about the way women dressed and behaved, and a kind of poverty in architecture and furnishings as streamlining gave way to a kind of arch simplicity.  Women's brassiere cups were pointed, their hair was teased, and fashionable dresses were sheaths.  Just about everybody smoked, and those who could afford it drank regularly.  It was in that milieu that Hugh Hefner established the Playboy lifestyle.

One of the key drivers of the new louche way of living was the Pill.  Chemical contraception would free women (read:  men) from the fear of pregnancy.  If there was no danger of pregnancy, then why wait to be married before having sex?

It was supposed to be wonderful, a new and free way to live without the burden of the consequences of sex hanging over the proceedings.  Feminism told women to be assertive, independent, attentive to self instead of to others.  Somewhere along the line, the freedom from men's oppression was interpreted to mean that women should be able to be as raunchy and uncontrolled about their sex lives as the worst of men had always been.

So, let's review:  in the 60s, certain women - "feminists" - told themselves and whoever'd listen that men were keeping them as practically concubines, imprisoned in their houses with nothing to do but watch the children and clean, etc., so they "liberated" women to, eventually, become as freewheeling as the unmarried men.

Fast forward to now.  Remember Hugh Hefner?  There was a time in the late 70s when his "bunnies" were looked upon with contempt by feminists, before women decided that it was "liberating" to be sexually "free."

Here is what it's like to live the life of freedom in the Playboy mansion today.

The "freedom" that started all this was the prevention of pregnancy.  How many of those young women would prefer to have a loving husband and a family?  How many of them haven't even thought of it?  After all, the free women are the ones who own their sexuality, right?

I would suggest that true happiness lies in a different direction:  that of knowing what a treasure one's sexuality really is, and using it to forge, and maintain, a lifelong bond with a dear husband.  That means sharing one's sexuality appropriately, both with the husband and with the children, by modeling the feminine role in the way appropriate to each one's place in the family.  I suggest, only.  YMMV.

But I do know this:  for too long it has been thought "daring" and "brave" to jump into bed with someone you don't really know and with whom you have no intention of having a lifelong relationship.  It isn't daring.  Daring is getting to know a man really well before exchanging vows, and exchanging vows before going to bed with him.  That's really brave.  If you want to be downright reckless, be open to new life from the very first night.  The interesting thing is, those encounters between two people, who took the time and care to get to know and love one another well enough that they were ready to marry beforehand, can be inexpressibly sweet and fun and relaxed, in a way that a "free" relationship can never be.

Fr. Z meditates on the meaning of Epiphany

I often want to write effectively on how today's love of ugliness and noise is preventing us from seeing God, Truth, but I guess I'm too close to it.  My scribbles always devolve into incoherent growls.

Fr. Z has provided an excellent meditation on the topic.  ("We need beauty now as well.")  I strongly recommend you drop over there and read the whole thing.

The Catholic Church used to be (and often still is, fortunately) famous for the exquisite art in her churches. However, there is the home environment to consider, as well.

My mother had a strong sense of art and design, and she was partial to Mission Renaissance kinds of things.  When she and my father bought the house in which I was to grow up, she got a wholesale license, and went prowling around estate sales and warehouses, looking for the kinds of things that would express her vision of a well-appointed house behind the white plaster walls and under the red tile roof.

As a result, I grew up around big pieces of elaborately carved furniture:  Savonarola chairs, side tables adorned with designs and figures, and a striking piece constructed of two white Carrera marble pillars which were busts of jaguars, I guess - beautiful, and exactly alike - on which rested a massive plinth of marble, deep emerald green and heavily, well, marbled.  On one top shelf was a lovely head-and-shoulders bust of a young noblewoman.  I know of one other which was advertised by an auction; that one was clothed in a blue dress, but ours was red and gold.  I can't readily find an image like it, but this painting is similar.

Over the fireplace was hung a large oil painting of our Lord, sitting with a scarlet red cloak arranged around him, a rod held loosely in his hand, a red gash in his side (but not bleeding), and his brown hair parted in the middle and falling down to his shoulders in gentle waves.  The expression on his beautiful face was solemn, sad, and yet gentle.  Completely Italian.  It looked like a holy card, but it was probably three feet high and almost three feet across when you counted the extremely ornate gilt frame.  It wasn't rare, or particularly good, and the canvas was - is (my sister has it now) thin enough to see through in spots.

Of course as a child I was told that it was Jesus, but there wasn't a lot of explanation that went along with that.  It wasn't until I was a convert that I was able to look at it knowingly and appreciatively as an image showing a deep respect and affection for our Lord.  Never mind that it confused the incidents of Jesus' Passion - he was dressed in the cloak by Herod's soldiers after the scourging, and the gash in his side came from the soldier's lance after He was crucified.  That didn't matter.  It was our Lord, and the expression on His face seemed to be of Him meditating on the souls who needed His self-sacrifice, even if they didn't know it.

That image of Jesus watched over every Christmas celebration, cocktail party, and piano lesson that happened in that living room.  It is now stored in my sister's house.  I couldn't bring it with me to my new home, a two-bedroom apartment with limited wall space.  But it stays in my mind, of course.

At Christmas, the wood of the elaborately carved furniture glowed with polish.  The little creche with its figures and real straw was on the octagonal table on the carved base (which I did bring with me, and which is in the corner across from me as I type).  I was allowed to play carefully with the papier-mache, hand-painted figures, which included Joseph and Mary, three wise men which included the most exotic looking Ethiopian figure, a couple of sheep, a cow, and an angel hanging above.  Mary's cloak and the angel's dress were of the same pale teal-grey blue.  The faces of Joseph, Mary and the Child on his bed of straw were all beautifully painted, and conveyed the appropriate care and love (Mary and Joseph) and intelligent look of knowing, in spite of being just a bambino (Jesus).  I spent hours with those figurines at Christmastime.  I suppose I meditated for the first time, learning as I did about the Holy Family through carols and stories.  The only time I went to church was at Easter, when we went to Mass at a nearby Mission; it was Latin, incense, lots of people, and paintings that looked a lot like the one hanging on the wall at home.

The living room was devoid of any artificial noise or entertainment except for music, which was supplied from a high-fidelity set secreted in a closet behind the piano.  As an only child, when I was by myself, it was almost always in silence.  I wasn't aware of that.  My head was full of stories, thoughts, or music.  I never felt alone in the time I spent in that room.  Over the mantel was a picture of One whose love was obvious from the expression on His face, God's Son.  I didn't know much about theology.  I just knew I wasn't alone.

Without much overt teaching, my soul was prepared to be Roman Catholic.  In time, I realized the truth of the Church and learned about her history.  I was enlightened.  It was, in truth, epiphany.

I call hypocrisy!!!!!

ISP's should be regulated so that porn is on an "opt-in" basis, say ministers in the U.K.

This is so obviously wrong and bad it's worse than laughable.

Hello?  Are they going to do anything about -

• those raunchy TV shows
• raunchy stage shows
• schools teaching sex
• retailers selling inappropriate clothing for little girls

and the gazillion other things that lead kids to think that it's OK to participate in sexual acts outside of marriage?

No, they are not.

So:  keep your stinkin' paws off the Internet.

"Through" vs. "In" in Philippians

What follows will tire your eyes and probably not be of any meaning. Blame Pope Benedict XVI.

This isn't about the latest flap.  It's because he is a world-class theologian, excellent teacher, and a gentleman and a man of profound talent and humility.  And, - I say this with wry exasperation - he is methodically removing all the obstacles that kept me apart from the Church.

Anyway - you can skip the rest of this.

Today I looked at a bookmark I sometimes use.  It has flowers and a Bible verse, Philippians 4:3.

I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

I recently had the privilege of acquiring the excellent Baronius edition of the Douay-Rheims version of the Bible.  Curious to see how the verse reads in that version, I looked up the verse.

I can do all things in him who strengtheneth me.

I'm not an expert in the English language, but I do have a degree in English and French, so I come by my interest in words honestly.  I'm also old enough to have spent plenty of time diagramming sentences (thanks, Miss Rich!).  I have a strong sense of what words mean, but I admit up front that my understanding is idiosyncratic, in the sense that it's mine, and I'm working without a dictionary open in front of me.

The NIV's version uses the word "everything."  To me, that is a word which, these days, means an agglomeration, an olio of whatever... a lump.  The D-R translates it as "all things."  OK, essentially the same meaning, but more precise.  "Everything" in today's vernacular is often used for hyperbole, and people know it doesn't mean, well, every thing.  "Everything's a mess."  "Everything's great."  "All things" is much more precise.  Even in today's speech, "all things" cannot mean "some" or "a few" or "most."  All is all.  No exceptions.

The second thing I noticed in the difference is the use of the word "through" by the NIV - "through him..." as opposed to "in him..." in the D-R.  That kind of word choice gets my attention.

While I was wandering in the wilderness, so to speak, I read a great many Bible translations, commentaries, sermons and other writings of Protestant scholars and theologians.  I can tell you quickly and helpfully about the characteristics of the KJV, NKJV, NASB and, to some degree, the ESV, in various editions such as the LAB, the Thompson Chain Reference, etc.  I also did some serious rumination over the Catholic versions such as the Jerusalem Bible and the New Jerusalem Bible.  I often compare the translations and wonder how decisions were made, but that's a separate post.

So - why would the NIV have "through him" instead of "in him"?  I think, when you're talking about Jesus, words matter.

Before the ESV came on the market, the NIV was one of the most-used translations in evangelical circles.  I do not question the word choice... I'm sure that the translators can prove why they made that choice.  But, still:  through.

"Through" to me implies a beginning and an end.  You don't go through something eternally; "through" is a temporary state.  Am I right?

"But, but, but," I hear you say, "that's not what's meant.  It means that we get the strength through Jesus."  OK, I agree.

But wait - there's more.

"... who gives me strength."  The word "gives" troubles me.  When you give something, there was a time when the gift had not been given, right?  And a gift cannot be given in future.  If I give you a gift in a box, once I've accepted the gift, opened it, thanked you - the gift is complete and over.

"... who strengtheneth (strengthens) me."  Phrased this way, the meaning is of ongoing strengthening.  However, there is an implied condition.  The strengthening happens in him.  In him.

How do you get in someone?  Well, you don't, usually.  But there is one man who invites you into himself, and will respond to a like invitation.

He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, abideth in me, and I in him.

That's in the gospel of John, chapter 6, verse 57.  Most Evangelicals and most Roman Catholics differ on the meaning of this verse.  Evangelicals see it as merely symbolic, and echo the disciples' shocked remonstration in verse 61.  Roman Catholics take it at face value.  In the NIV, it reads:

Just as the living Father sent me and I live because of the Father, so the one who feeds on me will live because of me.

That's quite a difference.

If you're translating the Bible, and Philippians 4:3 comes along, how much does your understanding of John 6:57 guide your choice, if you have one?

I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

I can do all things in him who strengtheneth me.

I'm a Roman Catholic.  The latter is the way I understand it, and always have.  Jesus is in me, and I am in him, because he provided a way - a mysterious, deeply loving way - to come into my soul, by my invitation.  In that moment, I knew that I was abiding in him.  At this time, I do not participate in communion out of obedience to the Holy Father and the Magisterium; I do not have that right due to choices I made during the wilderness years.  I've never not loved God, however, and Jesus has led and protected me in sometimes quite overt ways through the years.  I trust Him to know me and know my needs.  I am engraved on the hands of God, and my soul has been redeemed through the blood of the Lamb.  Now, I wait expectantly for the next unfolding of God's idea for my life.  I got to this point by surrender to God, abject and utter relinquishment of my right to myself.  That surrender does not allow me to pick and choose, only accept with grateful love whatever He brings to me.

For what I have done in turning away from His Church during her illness (because I see it as that, just as I learned what my mother had was an illness), I cannot expect His mercy.  I took a vow in Confirmation.  I promised Him.  I do not excuse myself.  That said, I did not expect the persecution and horror to come from within the Church; I really didn't.  It blindsided and confused me, and, in the end, coupled with the issues in my life, I couldn't hang on.  One of the last times I went to Confession... maybe it was the last time, I don't really remember... I confessed that I had given in to anger at some of the decisions of the bishops.  I heard a distinct, exasperated "Tsk!" from behind the screen... just like that.  His counsel before absolution was along the line of "just let it go," meaning that the Church I loved was over and done with, and it was time for me to let go and move on with my life.

Intellectually, he was obviously right.  I think he was the one who surprised me by having me suggest the penance, and I don't remember what I said, but whatever he imposed I remember was trifling.

It never made any sense to me.  I was a Catholic who had come to the Church by way of the Manual of Prayers for the Catholic Laity my mother's boyfriend - the one she really loved - gave her in 1942 or so.  The changes imposed after the Vatican II council were bewildering.  It was well before the Internet, so there was no way to reach out and find others who were not cowed and resigned to the disassembly of the Catholic way of life.  There was one woman in our neighborhood who attended a traditional chapel, but she and those with her were talked about as if they were doing something immoral and unfaithful.

I couldn't believe that Jesus would take me into His Church, feed me with Himself, then let it all crumble.  But, by then, I'd had the love of my life leave me, weeping, for another young woman, and my father leave for another not-young woman, and neither of those women were anything like me, so I was used to being abandoned inexplicably.  Maybe that was the way of the world, after all, and maybe the Church that I loved was really gone.  (She survived for 1960-something years, but when I joined - poof! Heh.)  So maybe the Prots were right.  I set out to explore, always staying with Jesus wherever I could find Him.  And He stayed with me.

And now, after John Paul II, who raised my hopes somewhat, we have been given Benedict XVI.  If you had told me all those years ago that we would one day have a wise and dear Pope who would issue Summorum Pontificum, I would have laughed fondly as I would at a hopeful child telling stories to itself in the dark.  But then, if you had told me that I would one day be my dear one's wife, I would have laughed then, too. But here he is, sitting beside me.  Next week will be our first anniversary.  I still reach out and touch him, sometimes, just to reassure myself I'm not dreaming.

Sarai laughed, too.

God has a sense of humor.  And a plan.  He lets the devil roam and whisper and tell his lies and plant doubt in confused minds.  And yet I know - know - that angels walk the earth, and that when one of Jesus' redeemed calls out His name in faith that the devil retreats like a salted snail.

I regret that I did not have the courage to tough it out, that my faith failed its test.  But God has used the intervening years to humble and teach me.  I have a copy of the Baronius 1962 Missal.  There is a FSSP outpost 20 minutes away where Mass is offered in the Extraordinary Form daily.  In my diocese, the bishop is perfectly OK with that and even allows Catholics in any parish to register in the FSSP parish.   God does, truly, restore the years the locust has stolen.  If he can do this, he can do anything... even, if He wants, bring me back into Communion with Him.  In the meantime, He allows me to abide with Him, and He strengthens me.

The (latest) controversy: a thought

Pope Benedict has been quoted in saying, as I understand it, that one male prostitute's use of condoms, to prevent another's infection (a charitable gesture, in other words) can be an indicator of a moral impulse... a desire to protect another from a loathsome, fatal disease.  This is obviously and objectively true, even though it happens in the context of mortal sin.  It is a flicker of goodness, showing the persistence of spiritual life, even amid the smothering morass of sinful behavior and attitudes.

The Pope is, in a sense, giving a hypothetical sinner the benefit of the doubt, and showing that there is always hope, even for the worst of sinners.

The "liberals" and "media" have always wanted so badly to portray the Holy Father as a mean, narrow-minded old coot.

Pope Benedict happens to love souls, the presence of which in some humans are more easily presumed present via theological conviction than by simple observation.

Do the "liberals" and "media" really understand that Pope Benedict XVI and many, many Catholics pray for them, daily?  Pray knowingly and humbly and devoutly, for the God- and/or Catholic-haters' salvation, and their eventual joy and security in the Lord?

"Any publicity is better than no publicity."  Whether or not people believe, or remember, or know anything about the Pope and the One he lives to serve, they are being reminded, and will gossip, and will discuss, and will read.  I predict God will use this latest flap for His sublime purposes.  Let's watch, and pray, and expect His plan to be revealed.

The TSA flap

Althouse.

Iowahawk (1.)

Iowahawk (2.)

Byron York

My dear departed mother foresaw all of this years ago, back in the 70s, when we went through it with Carter... so at least it's not a surprise to me. {weak smile}

It will be interesting to see what the airlines and airports do after Thanksgiving, and a month or two of people deciding to drive.

I have a 1,500 mile trip coming up in a few weeks; I'm seriously considering taking the car.

O hai! back, k? thx

I've been thinking about posting, on and off, for months now. I guess today's the day!

My return to this blog is prompted by developments in my spiritual life.

Those who have previously favored this blog with a reading know my ambivalent feelings towards the Roman Catholic church.

Through the Holy Father, Benedict XVI, God has graciously allowed me to see a restoration of the Church to which I converted 40 years ago, right before "the changes" hit Southern California's Catholic churches.

I have stayed at arms' length for many, many years now. My faith has remained, of course (thank God!). I have delved deeply into the Scriptural studies of Christian denominations. I've learned a great deal, but, in every case, there is a hesitancy, if not outright refusal, to accept the implications of the Gospel of John and Jesus' plain words about His Body and Blood.

That has always bothered me. Other Christians' careful, sometimes extensive, explanations about why the literal words cannot possibly mean what they say is akin to - not the same as - the daily office reading in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer which excises certain verses in Romans 1.

Yesterday, I read a post on the Ignatius Insight blog which has done much to "reconvert" me. It's from an essay in the Homiletic & Pastoral Review, entitled Pope Benedict XVI, Theologian of the Bible. I found it to be a useful overview of how the repudiation of modernism by Pope Pius IX led to a kind of shuttering of the intellectual curiosity and inquiry which scholars should be expected to bring to their study of the Biblical texts, and the eventual reaction to that. In the Spirit of Vatican Two (/sarcasm) Catholic Bible scholars went the route of modern "engagement with the text," resulting in a deconstructionist and reductionist approach to Sacred Scripture. The Holy Father, ever the teacher, corrects this approach, encouraging keen scholarship while retaining the historic, traditional interpretation of the Bible, which is not just another "text" with which to "engage." For a Catholic, to "engage" with the Bible is to "engage" with God. Only by the most strenuous effort can one study the Bible "as literature," without encountering its Author. C.S. Lewis famously wrote, "Those who talk of reading the Bible 'as literature' sometimes mean, I think, reading it without attending to the main thing it is about; like reading Burke with no interest in politics, or reading the Aeneid with no interest in Rome..."

Anyway, I followed the link to the entire essay; I recommend you read it all.

As I read, I was struck once again by the conviction that the Roman Catholic Church, alone, has the reckless courage to read the whole Bible, including the Deuterocanonical books (sometimes called the Apocrypha), and take it seriously. This shows up in all sorts of ways that many find objectionable: marriage is forever; life is sacred and precious; and, of course, Jesus' body and blood are actually present in the elements, once consecrated according to the formula which He gave and clearly commanded, "Do this in memory of me."

I cannot do it on my own, but I want to become part of the Church again. Due to certain life arrangements made back in the day when I was persuaded by the local representatives of the Church that they really didn't want my type around any more, I cannot fully participate in the sacramental life. However, the events of my life over the last several years have convinced me that God can do whatever He jolly well pleases, and, if He wants me to come back home, He will arrange it. In the meantime, I can pray, and contemplate, and love, and, yes, read Scripture, and He is with me and all is well.

Will you pray for me as I take tentative steps back to my spiritual pasture?

A new life

The Easter season is a time of new beginnings. For me, it was the time of my reception into the Church in 1971. I still keep a wary distance, but it is thrilling to see God's work!

The appointment of Cardinal Mahony's co-adjutor is a ray of light amid the general dreariness of the world, economy, etc. God bless Archbishop Gomez as he prepares for what one hopes he'll see as a challenging opportunity to Do Good For Souls.

As for me ... I'm in a new place, a new life, amid a new family. God has unfolded circumstances in my life in ways only He could, and in ways He would only if I trusted Him completely.

After many years, I'm catching on, a bit, I think.

I look forward to blogging here, if not at length, then at least more often.

Journaling, and such

It's been months since I last posted on this blog, and years since I spent every available moment avidly reading others' posts.

My life continues to unfold in directions unsought and with blissful promise.

I'm still in the shabby house on the hill. There is a fresh gardenia from the garden in a vase, wafting fragrance through the house.

I've been home all day. I get tired... my stomach is unreliable. I ride the train to work now; usually I'm OK; sometimes, I'm not, and I can't shake the sick feeling all day. Sigh.

I cannot work full time AND keep house. I keep telling Dear One this. Over and over. I hope he knows. He is so patient.

He is working as hard as he can to make our home. I love him more each day.

But I digress...

I stopped by Ann Voskamp's blog today (Holy Experience ... linked on the right). She has been doing a series on journaling. Always, her writing brings tears to my eyes. Always, I wish she was my mother.

Journaling is something I didn't do much of for a long time, and now I do. I scribble away for hours during quiet weekends.

Thank God, I am feeling better after this long day of rest.

I needed the heart-rest, as well as the time away from work.

God love you who read this.

A.N. Wilson dismisses the chattering classes of Britain

Like many people who lost faith, I felt anger with myself for having been 'conned' by such a story. I began to rail against Christianity, and wrote a book, entitled Jesus, which endeavoured to establish that he had been no more than a messianic prophet who had well and truly failed, and died.

Why did I, along with so many others, become so dismissive of Christianity?

Like most educated people in Britain and Northern Europe (I was born in 1950), I have grown up in a culture that is overwhelmingly secular and anti-religious. The universities, broadcasters and media generally are not merely non-religious, they are positively anti.

To my shame, I believe it was this that made me lose faith and heart in my youth. It felt so uncool to be religious. With the mentality of a child in the playground, I felt at some visceral level that being religious was unsexy, like having spots or wearing specs.

This playground attitude accounts for much of the attitude towards Christianity that you pick up, say, from the alternative comedians, and the casual light blasphemy of jokes on TV or radio.

It also lends weight to the fervour of the anti-God fanatics, such as the writer Christopher Hitchens and the geneticist Richard Dawkins, who think all the evil in the world is actually caused by religion.

The vast majority of media pundits and intelligentsia in Britain are unbelievers, many of them quite fervent in their hatred of religion itself.

Read it all.

Dennis Prager: Judaism's Sexual Revolution

Why Judaism Rejected Homosexuality

Societies that did not place boundaries around sexuality were stymied in their development. The subsequent dominance of the Western world can largely be attributed to the sexual revolution initiated by Judaism and later carried forward by Christianity.

This revolution consisted of forcing the sexual genie into the marital bottle. It ensured that sex no longer dominated society, heightened male-female love and sexuality (and thereby almost alone created the possibility of love and eroticism within marriage), and began the arduous task of elevating the status of women.

It is probably impossible for us, who live thousands of years after Judaism began this process, to perceive the extent to which undisciplined sex can dominate man's life and the life of society. Throughout the ancient world, and up to the recent past in many parts of the world, sexuality infused virtually all of society.

Read it all.

What the Rabbi said

Fr. Z posted this article and encouraged bloggers to post it, as well. It is rather remarkable.