Furthermore…

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?!”

I heard a presentation* on Catholic radio by a priest who had been pretty much a ‘wild child’ most of his younger years and then came to a powerful conversion experience. I tuned into the program a little late, but what I heard was, to me,  rollicking funny. In particular Father told of a number of encounters with little gatherings of  ‘Filipino women’ who always seemed to be praying the Rosary in the church where he was finding salvation.  They would brusquely tell him such things as that he would make a good priest – at a point in his life when he didn’t yet know exactly what being a priest might mean. Or they would tell him things about how to practice his Catholicism well, things that meant almost nothing to him.

I had such a good time laughing as I listened to his story that I immediately ordered a copy from the radio network, thinking I would share it with some of the many good-natured ‘Filipino women’ I know at my parish.

But on listening to the entire program after I received my copy in the mail I decided that the early part which I had missed was such strong stuff that I’d never pass it along to my pious Filipina friends.   I suspect that they would be so taken aback by the lurid details of the wild life he led before his conversion that they’d totally miss the humor in it and, beyond that, they’d see me as a purveyor of dirty junk besmirching, to a degree, their own and their country’s exceptional Catholic piety. They’ll have to find it somehow themselves.

*Putting on the Mind of Christ #243, air date November 26, 2006. Fr. Donald Calloway: Conversion Story.  Ave Maria Radio. 79min, 50sec. CD-713.

I heard that our parish will be developing the theme of  personal evangelization to be a major theme for us in the near future.  I not much at buttonholin people,  so I’m trying to think of some ways to be evangelical without too overtly seeming to be so.  My mind turns back to the time that someone at work let on that I was ‘weak and ineffectual’ .   Thanks.   I already knew that!

Signs and bumper stickers posted on my car seem relatively low key.  I don’t think I’m ready for wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with some  message yet.  But I like the idea of starting my sentences off with “On my way home from church yesterday …” or “Tomorrow on my way to church…”  possibly making an opening for some kind of further discussion of church-y things.

Then, there are a lot of stories in the news nowadays with a religious aspect.  Bringing one of them up in conversation might lead to some deeper plowing.  I suppose I had better compose an ‘elevator talk’ as do salemen, who sometimes only have a brief opportunity to speak their piece,  as might happen if they get a chance to ride a few floors in the same elevator with someone they consider a prospect.  As John Wayne might say, “Talk fast, and talk straight, Pilgrim!”

How come you’re always in this elevator when I get on it?

Two nuns were told to go across town by automobile. The senior sister, a nun of many years, was in charge, while the other sister was the youngest in the convent.

“Traffic is heavy this time of day,” said the old nun, looking a bit worried. “I’ll drive and you pray that the Lord sees us there safely.”

The young nun, a bit apprehensive about the sharpness of eyesight and quickness of reaction of her senior sister, but not wanting to call them into question, said, “Oh no, Sister. You pray so much better than I do! I’ll drive, and you pray!”

Here in Florida we have little lizards everywhere (and in some localities BIG lizards). Where my sister lives there are big iguanas proliferating, metaphorically getting in her hair.The little ones are often referred to as chameleons, geckos and probably other names, but I think the correct name, at least for the ones I see, is ‘anole.’ They are fascinating to watch, and they seem to be everywhere, even somehow worming their way into my house, which is, let’s say, their last mistake.
I have a statue of Mary in front of my house, and the little beasties seem compelled to climb up it and survey their kingdom from atop her head, which I suppose makes some kind of anole sense, but goes against my druthers. Sometimes they straddle her face, effectively rendering the statue markedly un-inspirational.
Yesterday, it crossed my mind that there must be some odoriferous or contra-lizard substance which I could smear about their favorite perch, so that, among all the possible spots on which they might display their heroic posture, after one or two visits they would choose anywhere else than what they almost certainly don’t appreciate as a representation of the Queen of Heaven.

When I was in grammar school one of the nuns who was teaching us singing said that in some groups and choirs it is sometimes the custom to appoint one person to loudly and clearly enunciate the ‘t’ sound at the ends of words, because otherwise (I think this was the reason) the t’s aren’t heard clearly.
I think I’d rather do the regular kind of singing than be the one selected for enunciating the t’s. It would be, in one way, like being a cymbal player, who only gets to do his thing every once in a great while, but the t’s person would have to be alerT At every momenT trying to spoT t’s, because there are a loT of words thaT have thaT letter aT their end are there noT?

Sunday’s Gospel tells how Jesus “sent two of His disciples and said to them, ‘Go into the city and a man will meet you, carrying a jar of water’.” (Mark 14:13)

When I was a kid I used to picture this man in the city tirelessly walking around the block carrying a water jar that seemed to be getting heavier and heavier as he said to himself “When are those guys from the Lord going to get here?”

I got to musing that the letters spelling Catholic, c-a-t-h-o-l-i-c, could each stand for an important practice or belief of the Faith. So:
C – Confession
A – anti-abortion position
T – Transubstantiation
H – Holy Father
O – Original Sin
L – leadership
I – Incarnation
C- Communion

Then I imagined going over to the cafeteria where so many Catholics hang out, and telling one of them about my schema, and getting his reaction.

“Confession? I don’t go. I tell my sins to Jesus.” That made him an Atholic.
“Anti-abortion? Not me. A woman should have that choice.” Hmm, I guess he’s a Tholic.
“Transubstantiation? I don’t think so. It’s just a pious symbol.” Has to be a Holic.
“Holy Father. I’m not sure he’s holy, and I know he’s not my father.” Behold: an Olic.
“Original sin? C’mon. Babies are pure and good.” My friend, the Lic.
“Leadership? Don’t need any. I consider it intrusive.” His religion: Roman Ic.
“Incarnation? I had a professor who explained that away in 10 minutes” He a C.
“Communion?” Oh yeah, me and Taylor, my live-in chic, take Communion a lot.” All gone!

The exact date when Christ was born seems to be unknown, lost in the mists of history. I have read scholarly fluff about how pagan customs and observances related to the dead of winter and the shortest day of the year were assimilated by Christianity to capitalize on and amalgamate an already existing holiday mood and atmosphere.

It seems to detract a bit from the sense of soundness and assurance that ought to be associated with so important a day of tribute to Our Savior, His birth, so I propose that arrangements be made to recognize the Christmas event every day of the year, so that we can be sure that on at least one of the days we are on the mark.

There would be no necessity to multiply and duplicate the other baggage that attaches to Christmas, however, such as cards, shopping, decorations, festoons and family gatherings. For all that, once seems to do nicely.