All That Is Hidden

Yesterday afternoon found me with twenty-or-so empty minutes, which chagrined me at first, since I'm more of a do-er rather than a waiter, but once I made up my mind that I would make the best of these twenty minutes by taking a walk - who knew, I thought, I might even find something to photograph (but doubting it a little since the sun was so bright, and I didn't think I'd find anything particularly new or interesting in that familiar neck of the woods) - I settled into the perfect September afternoon that it was.

The first treasure I happened upon was the group of bicyclists that had stopped to snack on the wild grapes that were growing alongside the bike path. As I stopped to chat, the tallest member of the group, the only one who could reach the high vines, generously handed me a small, perfectly shaped cluster of the dark purple fruit; another day and they'd be over-ripe, but today they were as sweet as sugar. Pleasantries were exchanged - they were from Chicago; city folk who were delighted to be on the island for the first time and partaking of nature's bounty, as well as being somewhat intrigued by having met an authentic native - after which I set out once again on my merry way.

Within another five minutes I noticed a narrow, almost-hidden path that led into the woods. I was curious because in all my years of bicycling this route - almost every day in the summer; or driving the nearby road - almost every day in the winter - I never saw this path. I thought at first that it might have been an impromptu "rest station," and that it would end abruptly in a smelly pile of human waste, but was instead intrigued to find a small bridge over a stream (where we used to catch frogs, as kids, I realized), that led to a path that meandered in twists and turns; up hill and down, through the sunny woods. It was a pathway that was neither heavily trampled; nor, apparently, was it a deep, dark secret, as the trail was well-defined, and some of the trees bore a white paint marker.

I couldn't help but be amazed by this find - not because it was one of the Seven Wonders of the World - but because it was something that had been there for quite some time, in a neighborhood I thought I knew fairly well. But until yesterday, I never saw it; it was hidden from my sight.

Which makes me wonder: how much more am I missing because of my break-neck pace through this life?







September light.

Conversation Stopper

Here's how to stop a conversation at a party:

While standing amidst a small circle of conversation (at a party comprised mostly of aging Vineyard hippies along with their children and an assortment of grand-babies and grandchildren) it was noted that orange seemed to be a dominant color in the guests' attire.

"Orange is the color of life according to Buddhist tradition," I offered.

He: "Really? Well, yes, I suppose so, what with the saffron robes and all." The gentleman went on to ask (while either ignoring, or somehow completely missing the large purple wampum cross prominently dangling against my white tee-shirt background), "Are you of the Buddhist tradition?"

Me: "No. I'm Catholic. And proudly so." At which point she walked away while he stammered out a few words, including something about "a new pope," before disappearing into the crowd.

Checking In

So sorry to be so far behind in my writing. All I want to say, one year and three months later is, I am so happy to be home, and so happy to be Catholic. I mean, really - every time I'm at Mass, which is every day, I think to myself, Why would anyone bother with anything besides this: the absolute straight story. I mean, we're talking pure drop, here: forgiveness, the Bible, the sacrifice at the altar, and the Real Presence in the Eucharist. The rest is commentary.

St. Jude

A couple of days ago my head was spinning with a seemingly overwhelming number of problems that I couldn't see an end to or solutions for. I was seriously down for the count. Beaten. Later that evening an ad appeared in the margin of my Facebook page, an ad for St. Jude. My mother loved St. Jude, swore by St. Jude, so, out of curiosity - or maybe desperation, after all, St. Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes - I clicked the link and ended up at an option to post a prayer to St. Jude. I typed out my prayer, donated $10, and went on my way.

Yesterday, the answer to my prayer came. Not as thunderbolts, not as the mighty arm of God parting the sea and knocking people into place, but as a still, strong voice; the answer to a conundrum that has plagued me and my family for some time now, an answer that will be implemented as the coming months unfold but in the meantime gives me peace and strength.

I honestly don't know how this stuff works - and I certainly could never prove, scientifically, that it does - but I do know that it works.

Thank you, St. Jude. I definitely got my 10-bucks worth, and what's more, you have a new devotee.



The little St. Jude medal my mother once wore that has been in my jewelry case for the past twenty-one years is now sharing space with my once-lost Miraculous Medal (related story, here).

Pope John Paul II

Today is the 8th anniversary of Pope John Paul II's death. On the day of his funeral, I was driving along Beach Road and saw this sight, and even had the presence of mind to grab a quick shot of it with the little S50 I was carrying in my bag in those days. By some miracle, I was able to find the file in the archives (by miracle, I mean, eight years ago I had no clue as to how to organize my photos, so I had to wade through quite a mish-mosh. And yes, I do hope to live long enough to organize and import all of my photos into Lightroom).

Easter Tuesday

A couple from the chapel from this morning. The chapel will be undergoing a few changes, I understand, and will not look like this for much longer.

Surprised at the Cross

I had quite an unexpected reaction yesterday at the Good Friday service. Most of my attention was focused on getting the music right (with some anxiety, due to my prep time for this service having been usurped by my having taken on - last minute - the Holy Thursday Mass; also discovering that the other singers had not received my e-mail with the music), and paying close attention to the order and choreography of the service, since I had not attended a Good Friday service in twelve years. The music ministers went up first to venerate the cross, and what surprised me were the tears that began welling up, from the deepest part of me (what? it's a wooden thing, it's a ritual, it's a symbol, I'm surrounded by hundreds of people: I absolutely never cry in public!). I watched the ones who went before me (carefully, because I couldn't remember the exact ritual) bend in and kiss the cross as the Deacon tenderly cleaned it after each kiss with a cloth. I was last in the line of musicians, and what I really wanted to do was not simply kiss the cross, but to throw myself at its feet in a heap, wrap my arms around it, and bawl like a baby. I didn't, of course. Not actually. But that's where I am today, truly - in a heap, at the foot of the cross, holding on for dear life, overflowing with tears of sorrow and gratitude.

March 25 - Lent, Day 41 - Jesus, Our Passover Lamb

Film scan from 2001. Flat Point Farm, West Tisbury, Massachusetts.

I participated in many Passover seders over the past twelve years, and at each one, when the leader elevated and broke the middle matzah (unleavened bread) and declared, "This is the bread of our affliction," I was always immediately transported back to the Sacrifice of the Mass where the priest elevates the Bread of Life (also unleavened) and declares, before breaking it, "Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world."

As I write today, the eve of Passover, I do think of my Jewish friends who will be entering one of their holiest weeks this evening at sundown. From either direction, I've always loved the fact that Easter and Passover are so closely tied together - seasonally, as well as ritually - creating kind of a double-holy week.

The question for today: How can I deepen my understanding and experience of the Eucharist?

One thing that helped me deepen my understanding of the Eucharist was reading Brant Pitre's Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist (foreward by Scott Hahn), in which he ties many of the ancient temple practices and Jewish scripture to the Last Supper and makes an excellent case for the Eucharist being exactly what Jesus says it is in John 6: his real flesh and his real blood.

However, one cannot understand the Eucharist from one book or from one Holy Communion; rather, it must be experienced over time and incorporated into the context of one's life on a regular basis, I believe.

When I partook of my first Eucharist in twelve years, back in June, I went, quite honestly, not knowing what I believed any more. I knew that I once quite fervently believed it was the Real Presence of our risen Lord, but after so many years of being away from the church and not praying to Jesus, I had no idea what to believe, and I didn't particularly care. All I knew was that I needed to be home.

Interestingly, the effect of that first communion was immediate and profound. There was no doubt that what I experienced was real. I have missed few Masses since that day, and I know that my life, my soul, my faith has profoundly changed for the better, all within the context of prayer, daily Mass, hearing God's word, partaking of the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

Dear Lord, I pray to continue to grow in my understanding of your Real Presence in my life.

Reunion

Cousin Power: Sara, Annette, and Donna. Donna and I had the same reaction when we saw each other: "Hey, you look like me." Annette and I don't look all that much alike, but our personalities are similar (think: strong, Sicilian, take-charge).



I have to laugh. In fact, I'm cracking up.

My dear mother - God bless her beautiful soul (and I hope she's laughing, too) - made two decisions in my early years that would profoundly influence my life. One, before I was even born, she removed me from my father and his family; two, she basically told me to "make up my own mind," as pertains to religion.

Last weekend I drove to Yonkers, New York and met up with a few of my long-lost Piazza cousins. It was a wonderful weekend, and I am still shaking my head in amazement that I have both: one, been reunited with my father's family (that turns out to be the size of a small city - bursting with a multitude of cousins, all with arms wide-open); and two, found my way to being a proudly devout Roman Catholic. Congratulations are in order, I believe, as I somehow managed to follow the trail of breadcrumbs that had been left for me in the forest, leading me home to God and to my long-missing family. It took sixty-two years, but I made it.



Church of the Annunciation in Crestwood, New York - Annette's church. I'm home.

March 23 - Lent, Day 39 - A Profound Conversion

It is now day 39 of Lent, and on one level, I have failed to do what I set out to do: to keep a daily Lenten journal. It is not for the lack of desire, certainly, but more due to the fact that there are only certain days of my week that lend themselves to writing. Last week I was in a good writing groove and was very excited to have caught up a bit in Dr. Hahn's daily lenten readings, and to be writing and posting, and then I was away for the weekend, and my duties and responsibilities - partly the daily stuff, partly catching up from having been away - have precluded my being able to focus on this project even though I have had many thoughts and ideas swirling around and fairly begging to be recorded. But I find, if I don't catch the wave of thought as it comes through, it's pretty much gone.

On another level, I have failed at nothing - unless I choose to self-flagellate for not keeping up with a self-imposed regimen, which I could easily do, but even though I haven't kept up with my intention to follow the daily readings and diligently report my thoughts and impressions (seriously, after being in school for eight of the past twelve years - earning a b/a and a certificate of cantorial arts - I think I've proved myself in this regard, thank you), this has been a great Lent. If one may use such a term to describe this, the most serious and penitential period of the liturgical calendar. And by great, I mean that I feel as though I have immersed myself in the season and have availed myself of all tools available - Confession (a great gift - I should go more often), attending Mass, almost daily (but I do that anyway); reading, writing (and yes, Dr. Hahn's writings and questions have caused me to do much thinking; even if I haven't had time to write all of my impressions, my awareness has been greatly increased by his book), abstaining from eating meat on Fridays (even forgetting a couple of times increased my self-awareness), preparing music for the Mass; overall, being more aware than usual of Christ's presence in my life. This is all good. I guess you get out of Lent what you put in, and I believe I have put in plenty. Even being aware of my so-called failures has enhanced these weeks of Lent.

So, now to Dr. Hahn's question for today (as pertains to the suffering and the exile of the Jews and how it brought them closer to God): What areas of suffering can transform me into a living sacrifice?


Someone recently posted a quote from then-Cardinal Bergoglio - now, Pope Francis: "Rend your hearts, so that through that crack we can really look at ourselves. Rend your hearts, open your hearts, because only in a broken and open heart can the merciful love of God enter, who loves and heals us." - Jorge Mario Cardinal Bergoglio, in his Lenten letter to his archdiocese. To which I commented: "I was born with a broken heart, which led me to search for healing, which led me to God. I thank God for my broken heart."

Rabbi Bill Hamilton, one of my first teachers in Brookline, once told me something along the lines of, The problem with Jewish faith today is, now that the we have achieved success, we don't really need God any more.

So, globally, yes - I thank God for my broken heart.

What about today? What are the areas of suffering in my life? Okay, giving up meat on Fridays has been transformational (as was keeping kosher - meatless Friday's first cousin). Being a mother and watching my children suffering is a big area of suffering, some days. Missing my husband comes to mind. On an intellectual level, I understand the role of suffering in the journey to holiness - but on another level, I pray daily to be spared any real suffering, such as the loss of a child or grandchild (God forbid!). Oh, and though it can't be equated to real suffering, having given up beer has been huge. Not such a big problem, but yes - especially in the evening - I'm aware that something is different, that I'm doing something that draws me closer to God (and anyone who says, "Giving up something for Lent won't make me a better person" ought to try it, and then report back).

Okay, got it. I am in excruciating agony over the state of my present family and the brokenness that exists among my three my children. I will offer this up and join it to Christ's suffering, and especially to his mother, Mary's, and trust in the redemptive power of the cross.

Dear Lord, please grant me the strength and courage to enter this final week before Easter - the holiest of our weeks - and partake fully of your Passion and Resurrection. Thank you for doing the heavy lifting here, for giving of yourself in a way that none of us could ever do, willingly, so that we don't have to; thank you for dying so that we might live. Help me to die to the things that keep me from being fully alive and living a holy life. PS - please heal my family.

March 14 - Lent, Day 30 - The New Moses

How hungry am I for Jesus? What steps do I need to take to increase my appetite for the true Bread from heaven?

I once figured out that during the years between 1997-2000, I received Holy Communion approximately 400 times (daily Mass and as many as 3 or 4 weekend Masses in the summer swells the number). During the twelve years I was practicing Judaism ("gone from the church," I want to say, but I now know that I hadn't, in fact, gone anywhere), I often thought (and dreamed, many times - I am sure that Jesus was present in these dreams) about all of the Bread I had consumed during those years, thinking of it as a kind of viaticum - a word that is more often used in the context of administering a Last Communion to the dying - a word that is literally translated as provisions for a journey, or, if you will, "food for the journey." I now realize that my provisions must have begun running out this past spring, the reason I needed to get back to church.



L'Shana Tova! September 22, 2006. Nine Loaves of challah I baked for Rosh Hashana: three plain, three whole wheat, three with golden raisins.

March 13 - Lent, Day 29 - Rules and Rebellion

Artwork in an Edgartown gallery window, June 2012.

"For the Lord will again take delight in prospering you, as he took delight in your fathers, if you obey the voice of the Lord your God, to keep his commandments and his statues which are written in this book of the law, if you turn to the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul." Deuteronomy 30:9-10

How do I view God's rules? With loving obedience or as roadblocks to freedom?

I love God's rules, and would be lost without them, as would the whole world, I believe. Am I always obedient? No. Does God even expect that we will always be obedient? No, but that's why God gave us the sacrament called Reconciliation. I believe that God's rules lead to freedom, which is a bit counter-intuitive, I suppose. Certainly, as children we thought that our parents' rules curtailed our freedom, but then as we grew up, (most of us, anyway) we realized that our parents' rules were for our own good and were given out of their love for us.

We live in a world that isn't much into following rules these days, it seems. Just drive down the highway at the speed limit and watch how many cars whiz past you, on all sides. Watch as people step out, willy-nilly, into traffic, bringing cars to a screeching halt so they can cross any old time in anyplace they desire, without even looking (my generation was taught to cross only at a cross-walk, or if no cross-walk, at a corner, and to look both ways and only cross if no cars were coming). Read any on-line forum to see people's rudeness towards each other and hatred and disrespect of authority. Walk down any street where there are people and listen to the filthy language that pours out of people's mouths. Turn on any of today's prime-time sit-coms and listen to sexual innuendo in almost every sentence. I see a world that has largely rejected authority figures and rules, especially the authority of the Church - where God's rules are taught - as well as organized religion, for the most part (replaced with silliness), which makes me want to hold on even more tightly to God's rules.

Dear God, help me to follow and to love your rules.

March 12 - Lent, Day 28 - The Great Physician

Look for this new profile picture on my facebook page beginning next March 5.

What might have an unhealthy hold on me? Is it food, drink, or too much time on the Internet? What can I "fast" from this Lent? (in reference to God's desire to free us - as he did when the Hebrew children were enslaved in Egypt - from bondage)

My answer to question two is: no, maybe, and yes.

Food has never been an issue. If anything, I'm usually too busy to eat. Having to stop the creative process in order to feed myself - honestly? - I find it to be a big annoyance (well, there is the slight matter of those kettle-cooked potato chips that I could probably eat less of and be a lot healthier).

As for drink - while I did spend my late teens and early 20s immersed somewhat in the typical alcohol and drug culture of my day (60s), it was pretty short lived, as I was married and starting my family by the time I was twenty-three, and very conscientious about eating well and abstaining from alcohol, drugs, and anything that might be harmful to my unborn children. I went many, many years without touching a drop of alcohol. A few years ago, however, I discovered the wonderful world of Irish traditional music, and while playing in Irish pubs all over Boston, I also re-discovered my love of beer. Yes, I totally and unabashedly love beer and enjoy one or two at the end of almost every day. Sometimes I wonder if I'm an alcoholic - I've got the genes for it, Lord knows - and if loving a beer or two at the end of the day makes me an alcoholic - well, call me an alcoholic, and a happy one at that. But I did give up beer for Lent - no problem; really, and as I've already said, "If God doesn't know I love him after I give up beer for six weeks, there'll be no convincing the Guy." It turns out that no beer at the end of the day isn't such a big deal (but I look forward to my first cold and frosty on March 31).

As for the Internet - mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Yes, I am guilty of sitting and staring at my computer screen for hours on end. Instead of making my own photos and writing my own songs, I am looking at the photos and listening to the songs of others; accumulating volumes of worthless and trivial information, participating in conversations that add not a whit of edifying value to my existence. I do believe that the above photo will be the profile picture you see on my facebook page next year, if not sooner.

Not that it makes it okay, but I know I'm not alone in this. Friends have also confessed to being addicted to facebook - and these are rational, mature, adults. I've read (on the Internet, of course) that studies show that the Internet is more addictive than cigarettes. I believe it (I also wonder, often, if my increasingly lessened ability to move from point A to point B during the course of the day may be caused by too much time on the computer, a medium that overstimulates and invites our attention to flit from here to there around the screen rather than in a straight line).

Dear God, help me to break free from the things that keep me from focusing on my own life and pursuing my own talents.

We Have a Pope

A photo I wish I'd taken.


We interrupt the writing of today's (okay, yesterday's) Lent diary to announce that approximately one hour ago, white smoke was seen pouring from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel. I was coming from having my teeth cleaned and had just checked the Pope App on my phone, but saw nothing and heard on the news as I drove home that the window of opportunity had passed and there would most likely need to be another enclave, then minutes later heard the announcement that there was white smoke. I tuned in to the live feed on my Pope App on my phone and kept it on all the way home, listening to the cheers and the bells ringing all through Piazza San Pietro, all while shopping at Stop and Shop and checking my mail at the post office. This is all very moving and I have found myself close to tears for most of the past hour.

We now know that new pope is Jorge Mario Bergoglio, a Franciscan from Argentina who will be known as Pope Francis I.

I have never been happier or prouder to be Roman Catholic. Viva Papa!

(And don't the numbers 3-13-13 have a nice ring to them?)

March 11 - Lent, Day 27 - A Privilege and a Responsibility

Stained glass panel from St. Augustine's, Vineyard Haven, a church of Good Shepherd Parish of Martha's Vineyard.

Do I see Mass as a weekly duty, or as a privilege I want to enjoy as often as possible?

I attend Mass almost every day during the week, and at least once - depending on whether I am leading the songs or not - during the weekend. I consider attending Mass both a duty and a privilege. There are plenty of mornings I don't want to leave my house but I make myself because I know how much attending Mass feeds me - the words and the Eucharist - and serves as armor against the insanity and chaos of the world. After not attending Mass for twelve years, it is a joy and an honor to do so once again.

Dear God, help me to never forget how much I love attending Mass and partaking in your sacraments.

March 10 - Lent, Day 26 - A New Identity

The Ner Tamid (eternal light) above the Aron haKodesh (The Holy Ark, where the Torah scrolls are kept, is the holiest place in a synagogue, analogous to the Tabernacle in a Catholic Church) at Kehillath Israel in Brookline, Massachusetts. The Hebrew is a list of the Ten Commandments, abbreviated.

How do I define myself? Does my life reflect what God says is important? (In relation to God's having commanded the People Israel to obey his commandments and to be a "kingdom of priests and a holy nation." Exodus 19:6)

If I know anything, I know about new identities.

I came from a Christian family - albeit with a mother who had disenfranchised herself from organized religion and chose to allow me to "make up my own mind" - and though I was not baptized until my late 20s, I lived most of my adult life as a devout Christian and attempted to raise my children as such. However, in 2000 - for reasons that I am only now beginning to understand - I left the church, converted to Judaism, and for twelve years I lived and breathed Judaism and identified myself as Jewish. In June of 2012 I returned home to the Catholic Church, to my Christian roots.

In a way, my life is an embodiment of the old and the new, the passage of time between the Hebrew scriptures and the New Testament. I know what it is like to have lived with the absence of Christ; I also know what it is like to have experienced the coming of Christ after a twelve-year Advent. As I transitioned from my Jewish life back to my Christian life, considering what to do with all the mezuzot on my door posts and whether to continue to keep kosher, I lived out some of the issues that the early church faced. Part of the reason I returned to Christianity was, in the end, even as I chanted the Hebrew prayers, kept strictly kosher - at home and outside - and observed a Saturday Sabbath, my identity was too deeply rooted in Christianity to ever really feel Jewish. I think I may have telegraphed this to potential employers - even though my voice was good enough, my Hebrew was certainly good enough - I wasn't that believable as a Jew. Even my son said to me one day, "Mom, you're not Jewish." In the end, I had to face the fact that no, I wasn't Jewish; I was deeply Christian (the toy lamb I slept with every night those ten years I lived in Brookline - an Easter present from my childhood - should have been a clue). I heard a story once about Abraham Joshua Heschel. He was speaking at a seminary, and during the question and answer period a young seminarian asked him,"Rabbi, you know everything there is to know about the Hebrew and the Christian scriptures. You know more about Jesus than some of us here do. Why aren't you a Christian?" To which Heschel replied, "Because I'm a Jew. I was born a Jew and I will die a Jew." So it is with me; I'm a Christian and that's all there is to it.

So, what exactly is my identity? Does my life reflect the kind of holiness that God is calling me into?

At the end of my Jewish journey, while I was essentially unaffiliated and feeling totally disconnected, I did consider that perhaps I had entered a phase of being "everything and nothing;" a mish-mosh of Christian and Jewish; able to morph myself into any situation - the ultimate expression of ecumenism and political correctness - but this was short lived, as I knew in my heart that what I needed was to call myself something and to stand for it proudly. I hated being nothing; the world is filled with empty, aimless people, and I was not going to be one of them.

The interesting thing is, I am now realizing that my Jewish background - knowing Hebrew, and having been trained in the cantorial arts - has deepened and enriched my Christianity, for which I am increasingly grateful. The other thing I have discovered - after attending a friend's mother's shiva minyan recently, where I was pleased to find that I have not forgotten my Hebrew and am still able to daven a maariv service - is that while, as a Jew, I was not free to worship in a church, as a Christian - even as a Catholic Christian - there is no conflict with praying in a synagogue (at least to my knowledge). After all, praying in a synagogue is to pray to the same God of Israel we pray to in church, and to whom Jesus refers in all of his teachings. So there's an odd "door-opens-in-only-one-direction" dynamic here (I have also been surprised to find that much of the Mass is very Jewish. It turns out, I didn't need to convert after all to explore the Jewish roots of the Church - it's always all been there.)

Okay, enough for today.

Dear Lord, you have kept me safe throughout my journey, you've led me to places I've never heard of, you parted the seas and led me to freedom, kept me safe in the desert, and brought me home - to you and to myself. Help me to be holy as you are holy.



Our Lady Star of the Sea, Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts.

March 9 - Lent, Day 25 - True Liberation

What does true liberation mean to me? Am I willing to allow God to exercise "tough love" in order to accomplish this in my life?

Not to sound glib, or trite - and this probably is not quite in the context of today's reflection, where Dr. Hahn writes about the Israelites' wanderings in the wilderness, and their murmurings and complaints, and how God our Father heard their cries and provided for their every need - but I would feel truly liberated if I could get into an airplane and fly to New Mexico to visit my daughter, or fly to Ireland and spend the summer playing in pubs and photographing Ireland's landscape and people.

So, what about tough love? I certainly don't have everything I want in life - I can think of a few big things I missed out on (Hey, how about throwing a daddy my way, Lord? What am I, chopped liver?) - but I can honestly (almost always) see how so much of not having everything I thought I wanted has helped to strengthen me and shape me into a better person. And thank God I didn't get some of the things (and people) I thought I wanted along the way.

Dear God, help me to be more patient, to not react too quickly if things aren't going the way I expect; help me to let go of the reins a little and realize that you are in control and only want what's best for me; help me to complain less, and to realize that every moment is perfect, even if it doesn't appear to be so at the time.

March 8 - Lent, Day 24 - An Unlikely Hero

That's me, painting the living room of the Main Street house, one of four rooms I had to complete within a six-week period in the spring of 2012 in preparation for moving my furniture and belongings from Brookline.

Has there been a time when I wished God would pick someone other than me to do some act of service? How does this relate to my journey through Lent? (In relation to God's having chosen Moses to go to Pharoah to ask him to free the Hebrews, and Moses responds, No way, Jose.)

My mother has been gone twenty-one years; my brother, thirteen years; my husband, eight years. Many times I have wondered why it is that I have been left to manage every detail of my family - past, present, and future - by myself. Everything, from parenting and (now) grandparenting to maintaining two houses, including a 200 year-old house (my childhood home), as well as my children's childhood home. And when I say maintain, I mean with my own hands: painting, repairing, furnishing, cleaning, yard work, rental turn-overs - the whole ball of wax; I do everything except climb on the roof, tear down chimneys, and repair furnaces. "Why, oh why," I have asked many times over the years, "has everyone gone and abandoned me and left me to take care of everything by myself? Why am I the only one who is not dead? Why am I the one who is left with the responsibility of figuring everything out on my own? Help!"

It's not that I don't want the job (okay, occasionally I feel overwhelmed and wish I could bail out, but not too often) - and luckily, I know how to do lots of things with my hands - I just can't figure out, from an existential point of view, why everything has been left for me to do; why am I even alive when everyone else in my family is dead?

As my children become more settled in their lives, I do foresee a time when more responsibilities will be delegated to them - it's hard to believe, but there may come a time when I'll unable to climb up on scaffolding to clean and repair gutters, ha ha - but for now, it's me, and there's stuff to get done, so I do it. And truth be told, I consider it a joy and an honor to be caring, lovingly, for my grandparents' old home, as well as for the house in which I raised my children, the house of many happy memories in which one of my children was even born.

God, please grant me the strength, courage, and wisdom, to do all that I have been asked to do.

March 7 - Lent, Day 23 - God's Plan for Moses

Self-portrait, November 2011.

Who in my life might be placed there to free me from myself? And what role do you have for me to play in the lives of others? (in reference to God's having used Moses to free Israel from slavery)

I believe that God places people in our lives for a purpose; I also believe that we find the people we need to teach us things about ourselves. Ultimately, I have come to believe that the people in our lives serve as mirrors - whatever we see in them is often true of ourselves; whatever we think they are thinking about us is usually a reflection of the way we feel about ourselves. I have come to realize that if I am focused on my own life, on my own creativity and God-given gifts and purpose, that others are less able to affect me or bring me down. As for who might be placed in my life to free me from myself - I have come to depend on very few people, realizing that I know best what I need in order to manage my life. But on a couple of different levels - from the practical: an accountant and a lawyer to help me sort out my estate planning - to the personal: colleagues with whom I disagree on some matters, and by whom I don't feel understood, which forces me to go to a higher level of patience - yes, there have been (and are) many people and situations in my life who have helped free me from myself - often somewhat reluctantly. I'm thinking about my most recent synagogue job that ended - via e-mail, the day before Passover last year. Aggravating and disappointing, to be sure - but on another level, I remember thinking (and even saying out loud), "Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, I'm free at last." And indeed - this was the catalyst that brought about my move back to the island and my return to the Church. And a relationship that was important to me - a very unhealthy relationship in which I acted out my neediest self - that when ended, freed me from ever needing to be in a relationship ever again, allowing me to be my most independent and creative self. I could go on...

As for my role in bringing freedom to others: specifically, at the moment, I'm in the process of ensuring that my family has the most number of options available to them in the future. As a mother, I have had to give my children a lot of freedom from me - at times more than I'm comfortable with and not knowing if I would ever see them again - also, as an involved and present grandmother, I have to weigh, on a daily basis, when to keep my mouth shut and when to interfere, as well as constantly deciding how much freedom to give three active toddlers. As the caretaker (for the past 23 years)of an adult woman with disabilities, I am responsible for giving her both freedom and support - a delicate balancing act on most days.

Dear God, please free me from everything that keeps me from being the fullest expression of all you made me to be, as well as whatever keeps me from you, including fear, criticism of self and others, negative thinking, envy, and anxiety.

March 6 - Lent, Day 22 - God Uses Adversity

I've always loved the story of Joseph; how, in a fit of jealousy, his brothers threw him into a hole and left him for dead, which ultimately led to his being taken to Egypt, sold into slavery, which ultimately - by way of a long and complicated journey - resulted in salvation for the entire Hebrew people. I just love this story, and I think of it often when times are tough. This story is a metaphor in so many ways (think: a bulb that emerges after spending the winter underground and blooms into a magnificent daffodil; or a baby that emerges from the dark womb), and most certainly is a foreshadowing of Christ's death, descent into hell, and rising again to save all of humankind. I have many examples in my life where God has used adversity to my advantage and ultimate victory. St. Paul famously said, "And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them." (Romans 8:28) And I think it was the Dalai Lama who said, "Sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of good luck." I have experienced - many times over - and absolutely believe it to be true that God uses adversity to our advantage.

Dr. Hahn's questions for today: What opposition am I facing? Am I trusting God's promises or living with unhappiness and worry?


My family has been in a state of brokenness and chaos for several years now - a maelstrom of legal and relationship issues - and I am now seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I have told my kids more than once: just watch - everything will turn out just right in the end, and you will be able to look back on the situation and say, "I'm so glad it didn't work out the way I wanted it to five years ago." Which doesn't mean I haven't had a few sleepless nights along the way - but yes, for the most part I do trust that God is in charge and that all will work out for the best; partly because of my age. At 62, I've got some experience under my belt to back up my beliefs.

Dear God, help me to trust you, even when I'm in the dark hole of despair.



Detail of the prayer shawl (tallit) I wove for myself for the occasion of my Bat Mitzvah ceremony in 2002, which reminds me of Joseph's multi-colored coat.

March 5 - Lent, Day 21 - Forgiveness Reunites

March 4 - Lent, Day 20 - No Obstacles for God

March 3 - Lent, Day 19 - God's Power, Not Ours

March 2 - Lent, Day 18 - God Will Provide

What extreme measures is God calling me to take to weed out any unfaithfulness in my own life?

I've been walking the line of faith for years. Every minute of my life is an act of faith. Raising my children on my own with no money was an act of faith. Leaving the Catholic Church and everything familiar to become a Jewish cantor was an act of faith. Returning to the Catholic Church was an act of faith, especially since there was no guarantee that I would ever sing a note of liturgical music again in my life, when it seemed that I had flushed eight years of very hard work down the toilet - that was perhaps one of the biggest tests I've ever endured in my religious journey. Investing blood, sweat, and tears into my grandparents' house, my childhood and present home, with the idea that I can create a viable space from which to make a living with music and photography for the rest of my life as well as a gathering center for friends and family, along with creating something to pass down to my children and their children - it's all an act of faith. And if God doesn't know I'm faithful after giving up beer for six weeks, well, I guess there'll be no convincing the Guy.

Dear God, help me to remember that you have always provided everything I need and to trust that you always will.

March 1 - Lent, Day 17 - Laugh at the Impossible

In reference to Abraham's and Sarah's reaction to the news that they, in their old age, would have a son (they both laughed), and the way that God can do the impossible, Dr. Hahn asks: What impossible situation am I facing right now? How can I face it with joy, and even laughter?

I have faced many seemingly impossible situations in my life, but few as difficult as has been the situation within my family over the past 5-8 years; an un-gluing of sorts, with my three grown children each going in his or her own direction; at various times not speaking to me, or to each other - fallout from their father's death eight years ago for the most part, I believe. However, in the past few months I have seen miraculous changes taking place - and I do mean miraculous, as only God - in response to my fervent prayers - could change a situation that I thought was truly hopeless and that had brought me more grief than I thought could ever be possible as a mother. There is still more change that needs to take place, but having seen the miracles unfold so far, and knowing that God is in charge and can do anything, I believe that my family will be renewed and restored to greatness. And yes, I am able to laugh at times: "Who's talking to Mom today, that's the question - it's like a kaleidoscope. You rotate it and all of the elements change position and give you a new picture. This is why you have to have at least three kids, so on any given day at least one of them is speaking to you."

Here's a song I wrote a few years ago about Sarah's laughter, called Dancing in the Light of Your Smile. This song came into being because I needed a song about Sarah (the other Sarah) to sing with children. This is a song about longings fulfilled, about birth and re-birth; a song of joy; the idea that Sarah’s laughter reverberates through the generations, that we continue the fulfillment — realized in the birth of Isaac — of Sarah’s longings, the “stars in her eyes,” which is also an allusion to Abraham’s conversation with God in which God promises that Abraham and Sarah’s descendants “will out-number the stars in the sky.”

The photograph was taken at a dance performance at The Yard dance studio in Chilmark, Massachusetts in 2001 while on assignment for the Martha's Vineyard Times.



Dear God, please give me the ability to step out of my situation - any situation - and laugh.

February 28 - Lent, Day 16 - Three Incredible Promises

Dr. Hahn's question for today: What promises in the Bible mean the most to me and why?

There are two favorite promises that I can think of at the moment: "Come to me all who labor and are heavy burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 28:11.

These words had a profound impact on me when I first began attending church as a young mother of two small children many years ago. I did indeed feel heavy burdened in those days. My reaction was along the lines of, "Wait, there's someone here who knows me and understands me and is offering help." And yes, I now know that the above words - Jesus' promise to be with me, to ease my heavy load - to have been absolutely true, my whole life.

The other promise that means a lot to me - quite possibly my favorite words in the whole Bible - is: "God... upholds the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and befriends the stranger..." Deuteronomy 10:18

I just love this. Having grown up without a father, this promise seems to be speaking directly to me. I have come to realize that indeed, God has been with me all along, that on so many levels, God was the only father I ever had. In fact, one of the Hebrew names I took for myself at my conversion was Aviyah, which means God is my father. In recent years I have also come to realize that my earthly father has also been closer than I realized, too.

In God's promise to care for the fatherless, the widow, and the stranger in a special way, I believe that God is also modeling for us the way that he wants us to care for the vulnerable in the world.

Dear God, please grant me the strength and the courage to care for others the way you care for me.

February 27 - Lent, Day 15 - The Obedience of Faith

"Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you." Genesis 12:1

Ah, yes. My old friend, Lech Lecha, the Torah portion I chanted at my Bat Mitzvah ceremony (this parasha was designated for me, incidentally, by virtue of the calendar rather than by my choosing, which I have always found quite remarkable), and a theme I am quite comfortable with, having lived it, written about it, and composed songs around it. Dr. Hahn begins this chapter by asking, what would it be like if God asked you to leave everything you knew, everything that was comfortable in your life, and travel to an unknown destination, far away?

In 2000, I did exactly that. I packed up my belongings and made a new home for myself in a new land - only 80 miles (and a body of water) geographically, but thousands of miles, culturally. That was the year that I began my conversion to the Jewish faith and moved to the heart of Jewish Boston in order to pursue becoming a cantor. I indeed felt called by God to make this journey (even though it didn't turn out exactly as I thought it would, ultimately, and I felt duped many times along the way; even up to fairly recently, before I had a glimpse of the beautiful way my life is now unfolding), a journey to a "land you do not know, a place I will show you;" a land where I was a stranger (the word for a convert, in fact, is ger - or gera in the feminine, which is translated as stranger), a new language and customs; a land fraught with high mountains (my studies), and scary, dark valleys (my loneliness).

This past summer, when I returned to my childhood home and to my beloved Catholic Church, I felt as if I had returned from a twelve year space mission to Mars. Or, from a dream; like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz where she wakes up, looks around at her family surrounding her, and realizes, "There's no place like home."

Lech Lecha - in Hebrew, literally: go to yourself (I wish Blogger would allow me to type in Hebrew. The way these two words are written in the Torah scroll, with no vowels, illustrates this point beautifully, simply: lamed chet - lamed chet). The way I interpret this is, sometimes you have to leave home to find your true home; to find yourself and ultimately, God.

The Genesis passage, above, continues: "I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you shall be a blessing." Genesis 12:2.

I believe that Abraham is the ultimate role model for our spiritual journey, that God calls each of us to leave our "father's house" - all that is safe and familiar; our roots - in order that we might find our true selves and our true home.

I've said this often along the way, "If you go around the block enough times, you end up right back at home."

I am very glad to have made the journey, and even more glad to be home.

February 26 - Lent, Day 14 - A Covenant Renewed

July 1, 2012

"This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds over the earth, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth." Genesis 9:13

Who doesn't love a rainbow? Ever since I learned, many years ago, the secret of when a rainbow is likely to appear (late afternoon after a rainstorm has passed by), and where to find it (against a dark, eastern sky), I have been an avid rainbow hunter. This past summer, the summer of my return, no fewer than three rainbows appeared immediately following 5pm Mass, splashed boldly across the sky above State Beach - my route home. I suppose it would have been extremely ego-centric of me to have thought that they had been placed there by God specifically for me; his way of saying, "Welcome home. I'm so glad you're back." But that's exactly what I thought.

Then there was the time I was sitting at a stop sign next to a large corn field that was being irrigated by a rotating sprinkler system. It was late afternoon and as I waited to enter the highway, watching the enormous spray going around, I noticed that every time the spray hit a certain place in the rotation, a huge rainbow appeared, which made me realize that we are actually always surrounded by rainbows - God's covenant - just add water, like a cake mix.

Dr. Hahn's question for today: Noah knew how to prepare, and he knew how to let go. How can this Lent become a time of preparation for me? What can I let go of?

Preparation, building (arks and other creative projects), packing, and organizing - these things are all fairly easy for me. Not so easy is the letting go of old emotional baggage - past wounds, both inflicted upon me by others, as well as my own mistakes and regrets - things I wish I'd done or said differently; stupid things I've said or done that I know have hurt others that haunt me sometimes at 3am.

Lord, help me to let go of past mistakes, to know that I am forgiven by your grace; and help me to forgive past injuries by others - may I forgive as you forgive me. Please also help me to eliminate negative thinking and doubts - those times when I am certain that everyone hates me - all of which are self-inflicted, and self-crippling.




July 1, 2012

February 25 - Lent, Day 13 - The Destructive Power of Envy

"The Lord said to Cain, 'Why are you angry, and why has your countenance fallen? If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it.'" - Genesis 4:6-7





Dr. Hahn's question for today: When have I experienced the power of envy? What were its consequences in my life, and how can I experience healing?


In this chapter, Dr. Hahn explains that there is a difference between jealousy and envy, writing, "Technically speaking, jealousy seeks the good that is perceived in another person, whereas envy seeks to destroy it."

I believe that a little jealousy can actually push us to success. I'll admit that I am a very competitive person and when I see what others in the field of music and photography are doing around me, it often pushes me to get a little better at what I do in these areas. My on-going joke is, I'm so competitive, it bugs me when cars pass me on the Interstate.

There's a rather famous story that circulates in Jewish circles during the days of repentance about a rabbi in a small town who decided to ban all yetzer hara (the evil inclination; the Jewish faith teaches that man is born with both evil and good inclinations and that we have the responsibility to choose to do good or evil). As the story goes, on that day, nothing was accomplished, by anyone. The lesson in the story is that the line between good and bad is not always clear and without a little competitiveness, all productivity in that little town came to a screeching halt.

So it is with jealousy and envy. While a little jealousy sometimes pushes me to be better at what I do, occasionally I am envious to the point of wishing someone would fail so I could be the best. One of my most vivid memories of envy having run amok in my life goes back about to the summer of 1998. That summer there was a tall, handsome man, an attractive blonde woman, and two handsome children sitting in the pew every day at morning Mass. I was a single mother of three young children at that time and it grieved me greatly to see this family: everything I had ever wanted but had failed to achieve was paraded before me, in high relief, every morning. At the end of the first week, they and I made friends - she, Jodi, was also a music minister at her home parish on Long Island - and during the course of our conversation I also learned that Jodi was not the wife or the mother. You see, Leo's wife had died the previous year, and Jodi was the nanny. Yes, young Margaret and Leo's mother had been pregnant with their baby brother (named Maximilian, after the saint who had sacrificed his life in Auschwitz in order that a fellow prisoner with a wife and child would be spared), had contracted an illness that could only have been cured by aborting the baby, which she chose not to do, so both were lost. So - as much as I wanted to be sitting in the pew with a tall handsome husband and two gorgeous kids - could I really have drunk from the cup that Leo's wife and family had drunk? No. That incident taught me everything I need to know about covetousness and envy.

Dear Lord, I pray to remember that I am the best expression of who you made me to be.

Dream, 2-26-13

Frost on my windshield, 2-26-13

My brother, John (gone since 2000), is with me. As usual, we are in our childhood home (where I now live). I'm happy to see him, and start filling him in on all the news, as if he's recently returned from a trip. My mother is now in the dream. I say, "And while you were gone, I dreamed of you so many times, and of mother, too, and now you're both really here."

Then, as always, I wake up and realize I'm dreaming about dreaming.

February 24 - Lent, Day 12 - Broken Hearts, Broken Homes

Dr. Hahn's question for today: What small way could I make someone in my family happier today?
(You mean, in addition to the blood, sweat and tears I have been giving, and continue to give, 24/7, for the past thirty-nine years?)

I was born with a broken heart, into a broken home, and have spent my life searching for (and mostly finding) healing as well as dedicating myself to the happiness of my family. One of my favorite parts of my photography business is photographing families; on some subliminal level, every family I photograph offers a touch of personal healing.

What small thing for today?
1. Noticing, while walking through the kitchen, that my two small grandchildren (who are in my home, visiting for two weeks) needed drawing paper, I stopped at the 5&10 store on my way home from Mass and bought them a nice new sketch pad, along with a new box of crayons.
2. After one grown son inadvertently got locked out of my house the other day, I had a new key made for him (my home will never be locked to any of my children), at same 5&10.
3. Sat with DIL and went over schedule for the week to plan child care for her two babies.
4. Lent son and DIL my car for the afternoon so they could have a family adventure.

February 23 - Lent, Day 11 - Slaves or Sons?

Desperately trying to catch up with this journal idea that has flown out of my hands and out of control, like a sheaf of paper in the wind. I am able, at least, to read each day's offering from Dr. Hahn; it's finding the time to write that is vexing me at the moment.

Though I'm a few days behind - with many thoughts swirling in my head, begging to be released - I will focus on today (with the little time I have remaining before babies barge through my door in forty-five minutes).

Today's question from Scott Hahn: What specific activities or habits would make Sunday a day of rest for me? What is one thing I could refrain from doing? What could I do differently?

Ah, yes - the Sabbath - a subject that is near and dear to my heart, and as a practicing Jew for twelve years, a day and a concept that was a very large presence in my life. (I'm beginning to notice, as I write, how influential having been Jewish is in my Catholic Christian life. Indeed, I have remarked more than once over the past few months on how beneficial I believe it would be for every Christian to be Jewish for a couple of years).

The Jewish Sabbath, depending on what circles one is traveling in (as is true in every aspect of Judaism; as the saying goes: ask three Jews, get four opinions), ranges from absolutely no observance whatsoever, all the way to not turning on or off lights (along with unscrewing the bulb in the refrigerator so that the light doesn't come on), no cooking (which requires a flame; lighting a flame is prohibited on the Sabbath) except to set a special metal plate on the stovetop (called a blech) over low heat before the Sabbath begins and leave it on the stove for all of the twenty-five hour Sabbath observance; no riding in cars; no shopping (unless for medicine); no discussion or thought of work, war, or disease; no musical instruments to be played.

And yes, in my twelve years of Judaism, I experimented with and participated in every possible expression of Sabbath observance, from the most strict to the most liberal. And while I no longer observe the Jewish Sabbath, I have been able to carry some of my Shabbat habits over into Catholicism. I will say, the Christian concept of a Sabbath observance is an absolute walk in the park compared to Judaism. I will also say, today's world - of over-busyness; fewer boundaries between the work week and Sunday, or office space and home space; stores open on Sundays - makes observing any kind of Sabbath more challenging than in days gone by.

As for "What specific activities or habits would make Sunday a day of rest for me," and what I could refrain from doing or do differently: for starters, because I'm in the music ministry, often playing at Sunday morning Mass, it is already sort of a work day. Not completely, but yes, I do have responsibilities outside of myself.

What I try to do is limit any kind of business dealings, which isn't entirely possible, but it is something I strive for. Being in business for myself - fielding calls for my rental property or my photography business occasionally intrudes on my Sabbath. I recently changed my rental turnover day from Sunday to Saturday, both so I can pursue my music ministry as well as abstain from hard labor. I often try to treat myself to something totally indulgent, like working on a favorite photo or house project; something just for me on Sunday. I do find myself longing, sometimes for a real Shabbat - a day of emptiness - but that is an endeavor that, for me, anyway, is more difficult thaמ working eight hours of hard labor. The interesting thing about doing nothing, though, is even though it feels lazy and decadent, I wake up the next day refreshed and renewed and able to accomplish much more than I would be able to without taking a time out.

I must redouble my efforts to make Sunday restful and holy: take a walk, visit a friend, lie on the couch and watch a movie or read a book?

Lord, help me break my addiction to busyness.

February 22 - Lent, Day 10 - Paradise Lost

February 21 - Lent, Day 9 - Jesus, the New Adam

February 20 - Lent, Day 8 - Remember to Rest

Totally ensconced and immersed for past three days with three babies, age three and under (not complaining); barely time to brush my teeth, never mind write in journals. Soon.

February 19 - Lent, Day 7 - Made in the Image of God

Dr. Hahn's questions for today: Are there areas in my life that need to be conformed to Christ's image? What step can I take during this Lent to create this change?

February 18 - Lent, Day 6 - The Sacredness of Human Life

Dr. Hahn's questions for today: Who in my life needs to hear how important and sacred life is? How could I make them feel true worth?

One of my grown kids, in response to an accident that injured his hand - though most of his recovery has been miraculous, and certainly the accident could have been truly catastrophic - is very much down in the dumps and seems to have lost his perspective on life. One aspect of his recovery will be challenging, and this has gotten him down. I try to encourage him, but sometimes listening to and meeting a person where he is at is the most helpful, while maintaining my own optimism and faith (and trying to conceal my heart that breaks for him).

Lord, please give me strength to support the people I love; to not be brought down by the darkness that sometimes surrounds me; to stay connected to your reality. You are my light and my salvation.

February 17 - Lent, Day 5 - From Chaos to Cosmos

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth" (Genesis 1:1). God also instituted a place in which to commune with him directly.
Our Lady Star of the Sea, Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts.


Dr. Hahn's questions for today: What ways have I allowed myself to be influenced by the world's thinking? Where am I tempted to think I am self-sufficient, having no need of God?

When I listen to or watch or read the daily news, exposing myself to its constant barrage of doom and gloom - I forget that God is in charge. I forget that I subscribe to another reality, a reality that transcends the daily, worldly chatter that would have me believe that war, brokenness, tragedy, and death are the final words.

When I am tempted to skip Mass, thinking, "It's a cold, snowy day; I'm so cozy here; there's always tomorrow," thinking that somehow my memory of my last Mass, my thoughts of God (and somewhat unfocused prayers) are enough, I am putting God on the back burner. Not completely, but listen, either the sacraments are real and make a difference, or they do not. If not, why bother at all, ever? If so, why put them off? Yes, God is everywhere. But one thing I learned at the end of my Jewish journey, when I had no community, no pulpit, no pew - is that having a real connection to God: taking my faith beyond my imaginings and vague recollections and self-interpretations - subjecting myself to a mish-mosh of popular culture/facebook cutesy sayings and questionable theology - makes all the difference in the world. There's a reason that the Church has written into its instructions Holy Days of Obligation (so too in the Jewish faith, God instructs the Jews to observe the Sabbath and to assemble at certain times of the year); clearly, if left to our own devices, we are left to wander in the desert, meandering hither and yon, victims of the world's opinions and trends and fancies and some vague recollection of the faith we learned as children, but not connecting with anything with any real power or any real substance to sink our teeth into.

Dear God: thank you for leading me home. Please help me to remember to never leave you and your Sacramental Church ever again.

February 16 - Lent, Day 4 - Contracts and Covenants

Today's question: Do I treasure my brothers and sisters in the faith? What could I do today to express my love for a fellow believer?

Yes, I think I do. My faith is the culmination of years of searching for my father, healing, and wholeness; for my father's family (that turned out to be enormous - like a small tribe). I am profoundly aware, when I am at church, that I am with my family, that these are "my people."

I express my love for fellow believers when I donate my time and talent in the music ministry; or when I take a young friend who's thinking of becoming Catholic to Mass with me; or, when I'm out and about in public, if I recognize someone from church, or recognize (by way of jewelry or or words spoken) that a stranger is a fellow Catholic - I feel a special kinship and kindness towards that person. I also have a sense that I am in this faith family for life, "for better or worse" (especially as someone who tried life outside the family for a period of time).

(Short entry today so I can catch a ferry to go and pick up my daughter-in-law and two of my grandbabies.)

February 15 - Lent, Day 3 - Temporal Loss-Eternal Gain

Dr. Hahn asks today, Is there clutter in my life that I've been clinging to? What could I do to simplify my life and sharpen my eternal focus?

The photo above is of my dining room in its present state, and depicts the process of reorganizing after my move from Brookline this past spring; a process of consolidating two storage closets (three if you count the fact that some of this stuff will go into storage in my Plantingfield Way house).

I hate clutter. I literally cannot start my work day until my space is clean and organized (OCD? ADHD? or simply delay tactics?). After many years living in a home cluttered with kids, pets, baseball bats, shoes everywhere, laundry I couldn't keep up with, I luxuriate in living alone in a peaceful, organized, pet-hair-free home, and live close to the adage, "A place for everything and everything in its place."

While the above photo is a depiction of my physical clutter (that has to be dealt with today, in preparation for my grandchildrens' imminent week-long visit; this room, God willing, will be in perfect order by the end of the morning), I think that what Dr. Hahn is referring to is the mental clutter - the busyness - that prevents us from entering the stillness of God's presence.

Here is just a partial list of the clutter of my life:

Two houses to maintain (mostly alone - repairs, renovations, upkeep).
Cameras that require maintenance.
Phones, and devices that require monitoring (I have three devices with which to check my e-mail or Facebook page), all with batteries that need to be charged.
Many instruments that need to be played and practiced and maintained.
Many more songs to write and to learn.
Many interests: sewing, weaving, knitting, building, creating, gardening, surfing, walking.
Photos to take, edit, organize, and print.
Book ideas.
The news media that fills my mind with mostly useless garbage and fosters fear rather than faith.
A Facebook stream that fills my mind with mostly useless and trivial garbage; rarely edifying. Add: too many people's psyches to monitor.
Being accountable to and enjoying the company of friends and family.

Along the lines of the discipline I developed living as a Jew, observing the Sabbath every week - clearing the slate of all work, worry, and worldly thoughts for twenty-five hours (this is every bit as difficult as it sounds) - taught me how to create Sabbath moments, or hours; a way to compartmentalize my life, to be able to say, "During this time period, I am only doing ___________, and nothing else." Simplifying my life and sharpening my eternal focus will certainly call on my skill in creating Sabbath moments.

Lord, I pray to remember to create Sabbath moments, to empty my mind of everything except You.

February 14 - Lent, Day 2 - Divine Discipline

Dr. Hahn's question for today: What additional sacrifice can I make today to affirm my desire to be disciplined this Lent?


Being Jewish for twelve years taught me nothing, if not discipline: the discipline to separate meat from milk, meat utensils from dairy utensils, and purchasing (and eating) only kosher food and household items (including plastic wrap and dish soap); the discipline to keep an even higher level of kashrut during the eight days of Passover, including scouring my home, every square inch in preparation and eating no wheat or leaven; the discipline of lighting the Sabbath candles every Friday night and abstaining from doing almost anything for 25 hours; the discipline of fasting on Yom Kippur, and much more.

Lately I've been wondering about how much discipline I have. Being on a somewhat free-lance schedule, working mostly from home, is not conducive to a living a disciplined life, I find. How many days do I have every intention of accomplishing X, Y, and Z, and by 2pm realize I haven't even started on X? How many nights do I not even bother to eat dinner until 9:30 pm? Or sometimes, simply call a couple of beers and a bag of chips dinner? How many times during the course of the day do I need to check my (evil, time-wasting-worse-than-cigarette-addiction) Facebook page for some vital message?

I will say, though, I have been very disciplined in getting myself to daily Mass, missing few mornings since June. Even mornings when I really don't want to go out (most), I make myself, and am always glad when I have gotten myself up and out the door; glad to be hearing holy and edifying words and receiving Communion, glad to be outside of my own space, glad to be seeing friends. Having someplace to go every morning is not a bad thing - almost like having a real job, I guess (but better, because then I get to come home and get involved with my own projects).

So, coming into Lent for the first time in twelve years, I now bring with me my Jewish background of discipline and structure and order, and I must say - I welcome it. Someone posted onto Facebook yesterday, "I've decided that for Lent this year I'm going to do something positive for the world instead of giving something up. I don't think that giving up chocolates or red meat will make me a better person." A statement that was applauded by her peers (30-somethings), and to my mind is indicative of where we are in our culture; a culture that says, "I'm going to do things my way. 2,000 years of tradition is outdated and stupid; I've got a better idea." I think that doing something positive for the world is a great idea, but is only half of the equation. Giving something up - trite as it may seem - is a physical, muscle-memory-building act that builds character as well as unites us to the Sacrifice on the cross, which is what this season is all about.

I have given up beer - wish me luck, as there are few things I love at the end of the day than a beer or two - giving up beer for the eight days of Passover was a walk in the park compared to these six weeks. I am also throwing in speaking disparagingly of people and swearing, for extra measure.

The good news is, I don't have to do it alone - all of this will be possible with God's help (I even found the discipline to write in this journal for the second day in a row even though I have 100 things pressing in on me).

Dear God, I pray for the strength to be disciplined for these next 39 days - and beyond.

February 13 - Lent, Day 1 - God's Unfailing Love

Ash Wednesday. Inspired by Scott Hahn's Lenten Reflections; A Father Who Keeps His Promise, a daily reader for the six weeks of Lent with a question at the end of each short chapter, I will attempt to record my own Lenten journey for the next forty days, here. The first question is, do I have the discipline to do this? Discipline, in itself, being a key to the Lenten journey in general, I suppose. So yeah, along with the thing I've given up, this journal is part of my offering for Lent.

These thoughts, along with the music I'm preparing for the 12 noon Liturgy of the Word, and again at 6pm - even though there are many other things I could and should be doing today - are my Ash Wednesday meditation and preparation for Lent. May these offerings be acceptable in your sight, Oh Lord.

Dr. Hahn's question for today: How has my earthly father shaped my understanding of God as Father? Do I believe that my heavenly Father loves me with an unfailing love?

Wow, great question. My earthly father - or lack of - has shaped my entire life, including and especially my understanding of God as Father. Indeed, one of the Hebrew names I chose for myself is Aviya, which means "God is my Father." (Avi: my father; Ya: a name for God) This name sums up my entire life; is both the question and the answer to my life. Coming into this world with no father, essentially being born with a broken heart, caused me to search for healing and meaning, which led me to find my Father in Heaven. I now know two things: one: God has always been with me (as it says many times in scripture, God has a special place in his heart for - and admonishes us, also, to care for - the widow, the orphan, and the fatherless), and for most of my adult life was the only father I knew; two: so also has my earthly father always been with me and indeed is very much a part of who I am. The latter knowledge having been understood only in recent years, aided by a special letter I found in which he expresses his love for me; visiting his grave (where he communicated directly to me); and the most miraculous occurrence of all: having been found, this past October - on my birthday - by his gigantic Italian family, a most wonderful, healing experience that continues daily as more and more of us cousins find each other (my father had 62 first cousins).

So yes, having no earthly father led me to my Heavenly Father, for which, after all is said and done (and many parts of this journey were not particularly fun), I am very grateful. Aviya: God is my Father; and yes, both of my fathers love me very much.

PS: As an aside, a few months ago I went up to Norwell to play at an Irish session with friends at The Tinker's Son. Peter and Pamela Smith graciously opened their home to me. I had a wonderful night's sleep in their guest bedroom, but when I got home that night I realized that the Miraculous Medal I carry in my jeans pocket was missing. The last place I saw it was that morning at the Smith's. I described it to them and asked if they'd found it. No luck. Still, I was positive it was in that house. The next time I used my mainland car I searched diligently - under and inside every possible surface - for the medal, thinking perhaps it had fallen out of my pocket while driving. The next time I stayed at the Smith's, I searched every square inch of the guest bedroom - to no avail. Okay, no big deal. It's a piece of metal - but blessed by the priest, with supposed miraculous properties; a medal that had some sentimental value because not only did my (supposedly non-religious) daughter, Maria, wear it twice while flying between the US and Europe, it's one of the few objects I have that links me to my devoutly Catholic years 12-15 years ago. I'm not even sure where it came from, to be honest. I think it was a gift. Anyway - last night I received a message from the Smiths: "We found your medallion..." Yes, I knew it was in that house. And now, the eve of Ash Wednesday it turns up. This is a sign, I believe, for good (yes, I was eventually going to purchase another one, but I will be very happy to have this one back); a miracle.