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.