Fundamentalists and other things that go bump in the night...

If you can't stand the heat...get out of the kitchen.

Too late. I'm in it for the long haul. I trust God. All others will have to prove themselves to me. God is setting me up for another Dark Night. I thought I'd get a bit more time. I thought maybe He'd be nice and wait until after Christmas. But he knows best.
No this is not a punishment. It is not God testing me. It is God's gift to help me see who I really am, what I need to be, and where I need to go next. It is a gift of discernment. It is a gift of illumination. And right now, it hurts...
But all great healing begins with the acknowledgment of pain. OK God, I am hurting. Do your work. I'll breath deeply.

Life and Death

Yesterday, during hospital visits, I got a taste of the hardest questions we place before God. At least, I think they are the hardest questions?
Why are we here, if all life ever shows us is suffering and death? Why are we so alone? Why God, if you love us so much, do you let bad things happen?

One young man tried to kill himself by swallowing 11 tacks. My first comment was, "Oh, so you like prime numbers, too!" I don't know why he opened up to me. I have written often that people tend to tell me the truth. Their truth. I wonder if it is because I expect it. I wonder if it is because I will never judge it. Maybe it's because there is very little out there that can shock me anymore. But there is still a lot out there that makes me want to throw up. Yesterday, I wept on the floor, under the cross, with my Bible as my pillow. Then I placed my wet Bible on the altar. My offering to God yesterday...and everyday...are my tears.

He told me a lot of things. I asked a lot of questions. If I had been a paid employee, I would not have asked the questions. As it was, it seemed like I was only the shadow and God was the person talking...or asking. And maybe that is why the young man answered me, with his truth. I don't know if I helped. There was a nurse in the room with him also. I was glad of her presence, but I treated her as if she wasn't there. My eyes never left the young man's eyes. She was the witness. I made the sounds, but I pray that God was doing the talking...and the boy, the young man, maybe he finally felt he was being heard. I hope so.

What do you do when the pain inside your heart is so intense that you want to throw away God's greatest gift? What can hurt so bad that injuring yourself makes you feel better? What truth has to be told so that the devil inside you, which wants to destroy you, finally leaps into the pig that runs over the cliff? Saying out truth aloud, I think, is the hardest thing we can ever do. Our mind (our ego) makes us think we are alone in our thoughts, but we are not alone. There is no secret thought we may have that God does not know.

And no matter how ugly it might be, or seem to be, God loves us anyway. Nothing can separate us from God's love. Nothing. Even though the devil (who sometimes takes the form of a well-meaning friend) tries to convince us differently. We can rely on the truth that God never abandons us. Evil happens, yes. But God never leaves.

So I suppose that is why I had such a terrible desolation the other night. Even there, in my emptiness, I clung to that which gives me strength. His cross.

Then I moved to another great sadness: a person survived an auto accident, but some people died. The car hydroplaned into another car. Someone asked me this morning if that person had been drinking. I put that here because that is our human nature, to try to explain away evil in terms we can handle. We look for an excuse, a reason, why evil happened. Sometimes, evil just happens. More importantly, it is really not necessary to know why (Me the champion 'asker' of whys is writing that!). I would never have asked anything. My job was to listen to whatever this person wanted to say. And then pray. And oh Jesus, how I needed His help with that prayer! This was a prayer that had to be wide enough for all the hurt inside that room and outside of that room. This sin, this evil...would last a lifetime. Peace will take awhile. Reconciliation...perhaps. God alone can make this better. God alone can heal the hearts of all the people involved. And God allowed me to be a witness to the beginning of the possibility for healing.

Now, tell what you think. I studied Ecclesiastes with my Disciple group last Monday night and this week we start the Book of Job. I've actually bee published on Job. God weaves all things together for His purpose. I'm just along for the ride.

Love, Cindy

Moments without God...

Last night, I woke up feeling more empty than I have ever felt in my life.

At Mass that morning, Fr. Henry reminded us to pray. More than that, he reminded us to pray in the sanctuary. Come to this holy place and stay with God awhile. I thought about it. I had been negligent this week in my prayer life. Oh, yes, on Wednesday I was as high as a kite, especially seeing Fr. Duffy on the video talking about Vatican II. It made me remember all of our long conversations while I was going through seminary. He kept my spirits up. He held me up when I was ready to crash. Once, I think we talked for three or four hours, and it felt like only minutes. He always made me feel safe. And as I observed him with others, every person he ever spoke with always felt like they were the only person in the room. To me, he is a true pastor. Remembering all his kindness to me, how he believed in me, well...that was a very good thing. Far from the perfect priest, he was more like Jesus, who understood the heart of the Law. But I digress.

Prior to that, I spent time in stillness with God. Such a heavenly experience, to be still with God. And yet, since I do not know heaven, it might seem a foolish thing to say. But it was a place of peace and perfectness. Words are beginning to disappear from my prayers. Thoughts still come, but they are only thoughts of God. Daily challenges, I suppose, are there, but they do not dominate the experience.

Even after visitations, I am not urged to reflect on them as I once have. They have already become a part of me and when I walk into the sanctuary, I bring them to the table as well. Part of my offering. I don't have to explain it anymore.

So yesterday in spiritual direction, I went off into an odd place. (This happens more often than I would like, but I do not feel compelled to restrain it anymore) I made the suggestion of an image of Jesus resting his head on the pillow next to mine. Opening my eyes, and just seeing him there, protecting me from all the things that go bump in the night. This image was not well-received by the person I was sharing it with. The idea of God being forever present with us was acceptable, but the idea of the Incarnation of God, say, watching us brush our teeth or cook, or even sleep, felt too strange. Still, it was in my head...and like a good French-Irish Catholic...I spewed it out before I thought about it twice.

So early this morning, I wake at 1:30 a.m. and I open my eyes...and He's not there. Jesus is not lying on the pillow next to me and the emptiness hurts my heart, my head, my soul...my soul is so hungry and doesn't know what to do.

I didn't talk to you yesterday, Jesus. I didn't give even one hour of total attention to you and now you are not here. I can't bear having you so far away. Should I get in my car and drive to the church? Do I need that holy place right now? I know all I have to do is ask, and you will come to me, but my place is such a mess...so many distractions here. If I go over there, I'll have to sleep there. What if someone saw me? What would people say?

I need to be strong. I need to trust that you will be here with me, right in this very minute. I crawl out of bed and take a crucifix off the wall. The one that was placed on my mother's coffin...or my dad's coffin...they both look the same. I hold tightly to it, like a child with her favorite stuffed animal. Come to me now, Jesus. I think of the statue of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton in the daily chapel. She holds a crucifix. I never got that. I get it now.
Calm my restless heart. I am sorry I wasn't there earlier. I miss you so much. Be with me now, please. Don't make me face this night alone.

The morning comes and I know what I will do with my day. In a few minutes Mass, then possible the hospital ministry breakfast at church, then I will pray. Then I will go to the hospital and pray with those who will receive me. I will smile at the nurses and tell them they do goo work. Then I will go back to the chapel, maybe confession if the timing is right, and I will pray again. That's the plan anyway. God may have another plan in mind.

I suspect that few people will get this, but that is OK. Maybe someone might want to pray a little extra today. That, I think, would make God smile. What an odd and wonderful journey this is!

Love,
Cindy

The Stuff that Dreams are Made of

The day before yesterday, I deleted several entries from FB. Worse yet (for me), I did not save what I wrote. I have a large tub in my closet filled to the top with journals from past years. I have thrown a few away, but not many. Some of the pain I had to work through back in my 30s was just too raw. Probably would have been good fodder for Jerry Springer, but sensationalism was never my goal. Making sense of life has always been my goal.

The other day, God seemed to put on my heart the need to say some things that were less than pleasant to a specific individual. Urgings like this can never be good. They never turn out well. But, I also know, from past experience, if I speak out and am body slammed into the floor, it really doesn't matter. I don't really need to know if what was spoken (I don't like to say 'I said' because if I was saying it, well...I wouldn't have said it at all!) worked or was helpful. Pride is what makes us want to know if we succeed or fail. The request from God is to be obedient. Rewards and punishments, well...are part of that gravy thing. (Have I written about the gravy thing yet?)

My thought is, that if we do it to get some reward, even then our obedience to God becomes motivated by the wrong thing. This may really annoy some people. But the question has to be asked: Why do you (I) love God? It is for reward? Is it to feel good? Is it to feel better about ourselves? Is it because we fear God's wrath or going to hell? Why do we love?

If we can say yes to those reasons, then for me, I still believe I am using God as a means to an end. I just can't bear to do that. My love for God is a choice, yes. But my love for God is unconditional. It is a love for what has already been given, not for what I might get later down the road. It is now a love that is not dependent whether or not my life turns out well. My love is not given to God because I want some special seat in heaven. Even the existence of heaven almost seems insignificant when I think about my love for God. Even if all there is is what I have right now, then even that would be enough reason to love God. I have found such peace in keeping that idea in my heart. What I have is enough gift. Anything else is gravy.

So last night, I took my Sacramentary, which I found at Half-Price Books for about five dollars, and stood before my crucifix that is nailed at the end of the hallway to my bedroom.
(I hung it there about 13 years ago and laughed, because I thought then, any man who wants to sleep with me is going to have to walk to that crucifix first before he enters my bedroom. OK, I have a bizarre sense of humor!)
I opened the book and read Eucharistic Prayer I aloud. But I read it in first person (since I was the only one there). And then I added all my personal details, about what I had done, about what I wanted to do for God, about all the people I loved and how I wanted to be a blessing to them. I remembered all the people who have loved me who died and thanked God for them. It was a wonderful prayer time!

Then later, I slept. But I have to write here that I cannot tell the entire story correctly in this moment. There were many blessings of the day. A person that I did speak a "truth" with actually understood and loved me for trying. That moved my heart to a new level of love, too. Then I delivered Holy Communion to two delightful older women. Each one tells me new stories. One told me her truth, and her eyes welled up with tears in the belief that she was no longer useful to anyone. I told her she was useful to me. She let me visit her. We shared stories together. She shared her life with me for a few moments. That is very useful.

Then there was the Cennacle luncheon, in a pinkish house with statues of Mary everywhere you turned. And the women prayed, aloud and together, for priests. And then a priest came and prayed with us. The hostess gasped as she saw the priest walk up her sidewalk. Her joy, in that moment was complete. He shared food with us.
Everyone had good stories and love was abounding.

So I prayed in my hallway, before the Crucifix that I have known all my life, was always by the front door of the house where I grew up. This Crucifix was there my entire life. And I prayed the perfect prayer (the Eucharistic Prayer) before it. And I went to sleep.

I wish I could remember more of the dream. I believe I was standing with my mother in a busy city. I remember city buses and cars on the street. I remember oak trees that grew is grassy areas, not too old, but I remember the green leaves. I'm pretty sure they were live oak trees.

Much happened in the dream before what I can recall now, but I remember turning to my mother and saying, "I have to leave you now." And I flew. It took a little work to not hit the oak trees as I left the ground. I remember having to change direction a bit to dodge the branches. And then I was flying off into the night sky, filled with stars that sparkled like diamonds. The black was a perfect black as much as the stars truly carried every color of creation. I went so high, so fast, it even surprised me, to be flying above the earth and crossing over waters, I think.

I looked just below me and saw an airplane. I heard its sounds, which were not too loud for some reason, and I decided to float down and touch it, to see if it was really real. It was, and I held on for a bit and rode with it as perhaps someone rides a dolphin or a whale. The wind picked up against my face. It was nice.

Then suddenly I thought, how foolish to be holding onto a plane (jet, actually) I could get sucked into the engine like birds sometimes do. I looked behind me and the fuselage was covered. I knew I was safe. But I decided to let go and travel alone again.

I looked below and saw the lights of a small city. Like stars on the ground and there in front of me was a beautiful glistening lake. I thought I wanted to go there, but something in my heart was telling me, "Time to go home." I flew away from the lake and toward the city I had left. For a fleeting moment, I thought, usually I could have never flown this high, usually the wires always stopped me. But today, there were no wires...and I soared.

Then I woke up. My heart felt more alive that I have known it to be, perhaps since before I ever married. It felt like the muscle itself had grown firm and vibrant as if it were a child's heart. It pumped strongly and seemed to send the blood properly through my body again. This is hard to describe, but I woke completely convinced that God had given me a new heart.

It was a miracle.

"Create in me a new heart, O God
And renew in me a right spirit."
Psalm 51:10-11

There is more to say, but this will have to do. I'm still sorting it all out.

May you be blessed with the dreams of your desires.
Love,
Cindy

Dark Night

My spiritual director says I will probably never get over wanting to be a priest. She also says she firmly believes I am called to be one. That pain will be like Paul's thorn perhaps. I will never have what I want. Never be what I want. And I don't know how to stop wanting...no wait, that is a line from The Thorn Birds...and that priest was talking about his inability to release his ambitious desires. Oh wait, maybe that is about me after all.

Yet, I truly can see the problems of having a woman as priest. First of all, is the problem of how we have treated the word "Priestess." You hear that and you think cheesy Italian movies about Jason and the Argonauts or something. You don't really think about God. In fact, you think about sex. Women are still treated as objects in many areas. It seems to me that religion is one of them. Put a woman at the altar...and what do the people look at? The Holy Eucharist or her? And that is the real problem.
Now I am certain that many women are looking at the male priests, especially those of the "Fr. What-a-waste" variety. But their inner thoughts are innocuous. Most of the time. But for women in the role of priest, it might be different. Men are hard wired to the visual. The church may have an "boxed" answer for why women can't be priests (we've always done it that way...Tradition with a capital T, and the people say,'yes!') but I can find greater peace in the answer that society just won't accept a woman at face value. She's always got something else on her mind. Ulterior motives. We seem to expect them from women and are oh-so-shocked when they come from men. These are the things that have to be overcome and I don't expect that to happen anytime soon. And I freely admit to being caught in the trap of assumptions as well. If I wasn't caught, I'd be back to fighting the system.

So I accept the system as it is. I ask then, why, Lord, are such hungers placed on my heart? The Old School priest might tell me it was the work of the devil himself, women are just not supposed to be priests...or ambitious. New school priests are sympathetic but not helpful. For this problem has no solution. At least I cannot see one.

So 'nearly a nun' for me also means 'never a priest.' I live vicariously around those men get the privilege to enter than path and not be trampled on by the first line of human expectation. I do all I can for them, and with humility, learning and praying to not be envious of their Holy Orders. But my brain is just not wired for much of anything else.

And yet, if I truly explore my own hunger, I realize what I am called to do has very little to do with being a priest...or a nun really. What it is for me is a call to holiness (and oh how I do not want to use that word!). For me, holiness is being set apart. I do the work placed before me with joy. I am constantly troubled though, by the fact that for what I am doing there are no rules. Well, I don't know the rules until I break one. Then I go, OK Lord. I'll let that desire go. Move me somewhere else. Quickly.

On more than one occasion, I have requested a priest without following protocol. When I do that, I know in my heart...at least in that moment...that I am doing the right thing, a holy thing and no I am not going to wait until someone thinks about it and decides that maybe it is OK. When I feel God pressing on me to act, I act. I don't question it. And if I get bruised in the process, so what? If I am acting out of some word from God, I will be protected. If my action is revealed as selfishness or ego, I know I will be corrected. I should fear neither.

The other day I was frustrated. I told someone that a priest was needed. I was then cross-examined and then informed on proper protocol. I lost my temper a little bit. "Joe needs a priest." "Did he ask for one?" Sigh,"No he didn't. I made a judgment call. He needs a priest." "Well we don't want Father to get there and be asked to leave. That would waste his time." I hang my head. "But that's his job!" I say emphatically, thinking I should shut up now, but my clever little brain is spinning. There are at least two kinds of healing. One you ask for. The other is an opportunity to say yes. Part of our faith journey has to do with saying yes or no to God. If the priest knocks, and Joe says 'Go away!" then Joe has to hold in heart that he told the priest to go away. That is as much of God's grace working on him as it is for Joe to say, "welcome and sit down."

So the list begins of my "confession." How could I possibly being a nun with such a mouth? How could I possibly be priest, when even a glance gets thirty different interpretations? Probably best that I remain who I am. I lover of God,who walks and falls down a lot, but everyday gets closer to knowing completely the greatest love of my life.

All glory and honor be to God who made us all. With love from Cindy