Furthermore…

I’m an old bachelor of 72.  I figured that since I’m unexpectedly going to be teaching the Catholic faith to 5th graders after Mass on Sundays, it might be good to watch the kid’s TV on EWTN every weekday at 4 PM and get a feeling for ‘the minds of kids’.  Previously in that segment of time I either listened to the radio or just concentrated on computer activities or reading.

It’s funny, because some of the TV seems, as expected, appropriate for kids below the 5th grade while other material strikes me as pretty grown up.  Only a portion is just right for the 5th grade.  I’m charmed by one juvenile program set in a school classroom which has a young teaching nun talking to a bright, eager little puppet-student named Lucy.  Another program seems intriguingly close to regular TV programming, The Knights of St. Michael, which features a contingent of young men and ladies enlisted in a league to further the good and expose the evil in the world.  They mount some faux TV segments which mimic such regular TV fare as news shows and celebrity interviews. 

I kind of suspect that the public school 5th graders I teach don’t watch any of the afternoon EWTN TV I’ve been sampling.  I’m planning to ask if any of them are also charmed by little student Lucy, but I imagine they are too grown up to find her interesting.  They might identify to a degree with the Knights of St. Michael gang, but I imagine their heads are elsewhere.

What have I learned?  I can see that subject matter is best presented in digestible bits in an upbeat and clear manner without a lot of subtlety.  I see that the TV kids pick up what they are taught very efficiently, which I also have noticed during my experience with the kids in my class.

Yesterday evening I went, as usual, to our charismatic prayer group.  We always open with a Rosary, saying the Luminous Mysteries (even though it is Monday, when the Joyful Mysteries are in order).  As we prayed the Rosary I was startled to note that a gentleman who always attends with his wife, we’ll call him” Mr. Sunday,” but seldom speaks up or says a word, took a turn at leading one of the decades in a strong clear voice.

At the opening of the meeting the lady who is our leader gave a little talk about how our group is expecting to have a miracle every week.  Sometime in the past, before I joined the group, she said a devoted person had told her this.  I can’t remember the circumstances she recounted that led to this prophesy, but at the time it made a kind of sense based on faith.

Hey, I thought, to me it is a miracle that “Mr. Sunday” was so moved by the spirit as to lead the Rosary for us in such a fine fashion, right there at the same table with me.  Up to now I haven’t witnessed any miracles that I can think of,  besides this one which so impressed me, unremarked by the rest of the group, which I’m considering the real thing, maybe the only one I’ll ever witness!

Anthony my teaching partner (”Mr. Anthony”) and I (”Mr. Bill”) had a great time today teaching the Rosary to our class of 5th graders from public schools.  Only a few of them were familiar with it.  He and his wife are involved in making rosaries, and he generously  brought in one for every student, some red, some yellow.  I told the kids that one of those colors is special, and that I’d tell them which color it is and the reason why toward the end of the class.  They seemed to think the special color was red.

Anthony brought in a magnificent Italian wall-sized rosary, which drew ooh’s and aah’s, as they had never seen such a thing.  I brought in a CD of a broadcast quality recitation of the Rosary I had obtained from nearby WBVM-fm (www.spiritfm905.com).

Today being Sunday, I set up the CD to play the Glorious Mysteries for the class.  Coincidentally, at the Mass just proceeding the class there had been a ceremony of dedication of the new Confirmation class for 2010, and part of the ceremony had been renewal of the truths of the Creed, so I explained to the kids how this was significant,  because they for their part would be hearing at the start of the Rosary the Apostles Creed, which contains a lot of the truths we are trying to teach them.  The WBVM Spirit FM production is done as a Scriptural Rosary, with a verse of scripture voiced before each Hail Mary.  I am sure this was new to them, even those who already had some experience with the Rosary.

We prayed and listened to only one decade, and then shut of the player so that we could teach and elaborate on what had just transpired.  I was surprised that even in awhole hour we were not able to bring out everyting we should have liked.

At the last minute I told them how when Our Lady appeared at Lourdes she had a yellow Rosary in her hands.  I expected that on this basis the kids who had selected the red ones would want to turn them back for yellow ones, but nothing like this developed.  I suppose they were just glad that the class had ended and they could go home.

At our men’s prayer breakfast this morning we talked about the coming Sunday’s Readings.  We found some of Jesus’ words in the gospel enigmatic.

Gospel
Mk 13:24-32

Jesus said to his disciples:
"In those days after that tribulation
the sun will be darkened,
and the moon will not give its light,
and the stars will be falling from the sky,
and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. 

"And then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in the clouds'
with great power and glory,
and then he will send out the angels
and gather his elect from the four winds,
from the end of the earth to the end of the sky.

"Learn a lesson from the fig tree.
When its branch becomes tender and sprouts leaves,
you know that summer is near.
In the same way, when you see these things happening,
know that he is near, at the gates.
Amen, I say to you,
this generation will not pass away
until all these things have taken place.
Heaven and earth will pass away,
but my words will not pass away.

"But of that day or hour, no one knows,
neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father."

On one level, it is about astronomy and horticulture - sun, moon, stars, fig trees, leaves, sprouts.  But surely they are only examples
Jesus uses to set us to thinking about the 'last days.' Yet even if we shift our focus to the end time, there is little that is clear,
more questions than answers.  What are "the powers in the heavens"?  Gravity and inertia?  Angels and devils?  Isn't Heaven eternal - how
can it pass away?
Since "of that day and hour, no one knows" we needn't feel obtuse for not grasping much of the meaning however.

Yesterday a deacon who has been assisting at our parish said his first Mass, after having been ordained the day before. It was especially noteworthy for us because this man had come to the United States from Poland only a few years previously to pursue his vocation.  Many priests, both American and Polish, con celebrated the Mass with him.  His Mom and some other relatives came here from Poland to be present at these important milestones in his life.  The Mass was will attended, and an attractive fourteen page program was distributed to serve as a  worship aid and to be saved as a souvenir.  Afterwards, a luncheon was provided in the church hall, and our new priest gave a special new priest’s blessing to all who stepped forward.

What to look for in a good preacher?  Perhaps a sincere ability to communicate in a way that reaches the hearts of  people is the single most critical element.  Of course, a  strong clear voice and a topic of real interest are certainly necessary requirements,  not always met,  sad to say.  And clarity of thought, down to earth good sense, stirring conviction, fascinating stories, or love of the faith, just to mention a few good ingredients, play into the judgment.

Our parish Faith Enrichment program brings a small group of folks together once a week to delve into the messages  contained in the previous Sunday Readings. We read some commentaries about the readings in the Catholic press, and share what the readings have meant to us, what we derived from them, and what aspects of them might not have come across with total clarity.  I’ve come to realize that merely hearing the readings once at Mass does not usually fully bring out for me all that is contained in or is suggested by them. Re-reading them within our group and sharing our reactions to them actually puts them into the context of our everyday lives, as the people at the meetings in an  outspoken manner relate to such concerns as marriage, parenting, today’s financial struggles and the like.  It is always delightful to catch a glimpse of the many and varied ways the different people see a single issue.

[I am reproducing this which was posted by

Alicia on the Multiply Catholic Friends group site.]

“Is there poetry in the sacrament of confession?

I remember the famous three words of the world’s celebrated mountaineer, Mallory who was at one time many years back asked why he was climbing Mount Everest. He simply retorted: “Because it’s there.”

So then, yes there is poetry in an act of contrition at least, one prosaic but profoundly childlike because it is there.

Now imagine if you will, sitting in the front pew of this chapel remembering what it was like in the days of yore when the nuns with the eyes on the back of their veils that see through the penitent’s soul sifting through the petrified young mind for oversight in the list of sins commited leave you wanting to bolt out of heaven’s door…and then, here you are all grown, recalling with fervor the prayer once commited to memory that now go by way of aging…

It does not matter really if the poetry of it does not rhyme because now you know wisdom comes absolutely with the fear of the Lord. The same fear  that instills reverence for the perfect order of creation…And so I penned this poem that reasons with my humanity and that seeks the peace of that one magnificient Word…

I scoop out the gray mass of words

from the cerebral cortex

where the memory of it

flows red with my blood

and begin to shape the unspoken

into rosaries of transformations

with the cross of brown and wine

that tastes sweet with the bread of life

The crystallized tears pour like hailstorms

in verses with the same words that first

came out of my hand

the same hand that had the lifeless words

filing into single entities

with my knees bending to the gaping floor

and my other hand genuflecting.

The words marched to waiting candles

over melted candles in iron sculpture

I slipped a folded bill in the slot meant for donations

where the words waited to light my fingers

I donated some of them too

knowing there’s an ear someone left inside

an ear that can write better than I can or better than I need to.

I took the rest of the formless and unspoken words

leaving the lighted candles to pray for themselves

and sat down in the oak comfort of the past beyond this door

taking care the words do not know

that I am slowly turning them over to the priest

who waits in the confessional box.”

aliceinthepoetsheartland

Today at our 5th Grade Catachesis Class my teaching partner began to tellthe children that this Christmas season we might, as a class project,  put on a little skit.  I chimed in with  the news that we will probably need someone to dress up as a sheep.  All the boys, who up to this point were totally disinterested, eagerly raised their hands to volunteer!

Our church has Confessions Saturday mornings after Mass. Usually I sit in my pew and read a little bit and pray before I get up and go to get into the Confession line, so there will be a few people ahead of me in line.  Actually, I often notice that a few people start queuing up by heading to the Confession line directly from receiving Holy Communion instead of returning to their places in the pews. But this morning, by some fluke, after sitting for some moments after Mass ended, I went over by the confessional and surprisingly, there was no line. A physician friend of mine was standing nearby, talking on his cellphone. I took my place where the line always forms.  My doctor friend came over and got behind me, so I said “You go first. You were here already.”  But no, he chose to remain behind me.

After a few minutes the priest came along and entered the confessional, turned on the light and settled down.  My friend nudged me to go ahead and get started.  I went over, stepped in, and asked Father if he was ready. He said he was, so I sat right down to begin, but no, out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed that I had left the confessional door open,  being thrown off routine by being first in line and stopping to ask if all was in readiness.  Father kindly told me to close the door.

Then I couldn’t remember all the things I had decided to confess, and began to hem and haw, saying that there was something else but I couldn’t remember it.  Amused, he absolved me anyway.

My age must be catching up with me. It reminds me of the joke that goes “Do you ever think of the  ‘Here After’?”  “Yes, I often enter a room for some reason, but then have to stop and ask myself  “What am I here after?!”