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 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.

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 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 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 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.