Furthermore…

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 got an email yesterday from an old friend telling me she had just published a book about her career as a radio disc jockey in Chicago.*  I’m a different person now than the shy guy who ran a small fan club for her years ago, writing an occasional  newsletter,  going to her personal appearances, and trying to catch every show and every entertaining word she broadcast.  I’m sure she’s a different person now too, for I know she has since become an accomplished portrait painter and also has some real estate interests.

I got to thinking how, just as she has compiled an account of her career some years after it unfolded,  so too Jesus’ “career” was only recorded decades after the years of His ministry.  To have the events and their significance written down in autobiography or Scripture,  some years after they transpired lends a kind of  larger than life ‘That Was Then, This Is Now’ perspective to them.  My friend’s book, published in 2009, has a feature not available to the Evangelists — she has crammed it with pictures.  I’m not sure pictures from Jesus’ time would enhance the New Testament.

*Top Rock Girly Jock by Connie Szerszen

Every day each serious Catholic does something to be proud of, and something that went badly (in the light of Christ). At least! Maybe, actually, six or eight or eighty things of both kind. But probably a single one stands out at the end of the day, for instance at the time of examination of conscience. (Not examining the conscience at the end of the day is a good example of something going badly.)  Many  of us bloggers post things which give a glimpse into our everyday lives, others don’t feel comfortable doing anything like that. The latter could do as the callers to talk shows do, present an account as though it involves ‘a friend’.

Yesterday I was told by my teaching partner in the 5th grade catechist program to report at 2 pm for fingerprinting (an established routine here to weed out bad apples from contact with children and other vulnerable people). When I got to the office, no one was there, so I went to another office, vaguely remembering that the other office had been mentioned at one time as the place where the fingerprinting was done. When I inquired there the lady told me I had to have a bunch of preliminary things done before I could come for fingerprinting. I was somewhat frustrated, and a little bit angry at getting something of a run-around. Why was I told to report when nothing was in readiness?

I wasn’t proud or myself, but I think I did pretty well, remaining civil to that lady and not being angry at her, even though I probably was rather curt and distant. Anyway, I went back to the first office and finally was able to do what was intended.

It’s the old problem of having  irritation at the disparity between expectations and reality. For the person with a well developed virtue of humility, such irritation wouldn’t arise, and it would be a snap to take unexpected things in stride.

On my way home from church I came to a corner with a flimsy sign asking GOT LOVE? in big letters. Then underneath it gave a singles website.  Seemed like a strange vision, coming from church. I thought: Well, I’ve got God’s love, more or less. But that’s not in their ballpark. Then I thought Well, I’ve got something akin to love for a certain lady I admire from a distance.  Again, not their idea of love.

An old Army buddy did a lot of dating out of single clubs, so I have a little bit of an idea of how that stuff goes.  ‘Love’ doesn’t seem like the right word. Maybe ’struggle’ is closer.   Or ‘hope’.   But I suppose a certain amount of it turns out as love.

I was at Mass some years ago in a downtown Chicago church when at one point a man stood up and started to address the congregation about his needy family and their dire straits. Quickly three of four big fellows arrived and escorted him briskly from his pew to the back of the church. What transpired back there or from then on I can’t say. Could it be that he was unfamiliar with the sacredness of the Mass and saw it merely as a gathering of folks, such as he might address in a school hall? I’m inclined to think that there certain channels that he could have followed in order to get help from the church, although not likely too immediately. Maybe he was informed of the ‘proper’ way to ask for help – I hope so.

I got a new car a month ago. My old car didn’t have a (working) radio, and I’m a radio person, especially talk shows. There’s an outlet for Ave Maria Radio here in West Coast Florida, but most of my home radios don’t pick it up predicatably, if at all. So I was pleased to dial it up on my car radio and get some good listening. After a couple of week, though, the signal didn’t come in as well, and had to battle a rock station, creating some rediculous juxtapositions of talk show words and music lyrics.
My fall back position was Sirius Satellite Radio, which came with my Ford Focus but I didn’t intend to activate because I didn’t know how and I had (at first) all I wanted without it. So I fooled around a little and got it going and tuned it somewhat uncertainly to the Catholic channel, so I’m good for almost 6 months until the free subscription runs out.
Oh, I like music too, but getting what I want on the radio is a most uncertain affair. It’s great when one of my favorite plays, but it’s dullsville when most everything else is Somebody Else’s Favorite.

Last night I was at a charismatic prayer group I have gratefully attended a few times. Toward the end one of the members had a heavy burden, and we all gathered around to pray for it being removed from the person. I wanted to suggest we say a Hail Mary, which I remembered reading is particularly effective against such problems as the one we were praying against. But the others started praying as in tongues, so I joined in after a fashion, saying the Hail Mary but in a kind of garbled, unrecognizable way, so that it blended in with the other wordless voices satisfactorily. My “prayer” over, the others were still continuing. So I repeated mine, and again, and again. I’m not aware of having the tongues gift, or inclination: the nearest I come is an emotional ‘ooooh’ and ‘ohhhhh” once in a while as the others do it, and maybe a somewhat reserved ‘Yes Lord’ once in a while. It’s not much, but it’s all that I’ve got.

This morning after Mass I stepped into the line of people waiting to go to confession. The man ahead of me I recognized as a talkative acquaintance, so I was a bit afraid he would start a conversation, but minutes passed in silence, as I ruminated about what to say inside the confessional.

About the time my friend was the next up, however, he said a few things about the interior of the church. Then he started whispering things to me about Obama, his policies, and abortion. The next thing I knew the little lady on my other side began berating the whisperer for being critical of Obama. She was dark complexioned and had something of a Caribbean accent. Her assumption seemed to be that the man’s criticism was based on Obama’s racial identity. They didn’t exactly dialog, but things kept being said, mostly by the lady,as she averred that she was sick of all the judging of Obama after only three months, that everyone is equal in God’s eyes, that Jesus died on the cross for all people, and other similar statements.

I’d glance at her from time to time, uncomfortable at having partisan interchanges in the confession line, but trying to show some attention and sympathy, agreeing with what I could agree with, but she only looked straight ahead as she continued commenting, the other person now in the confessional. It was a little difficult to understand, but it seemed she was stating that perhaps he, perhaps both of us would report her. I realized that with the two of us white guys going into see the white priest ahead of her, she well might wonder if we would “report” her. I know I didn’t.

Yesterday we had a parish form to fill out to provide feedback on how we perceive our Faith Enrichment Group – what are the positives, what are the negatives, that sort of thing. One of the members took on the task of the last minute filling out of the questionnaire, thinking that after the meeting as we sat around socializing we could all contribute our various ideas and responses.
But as it happened most of the group seemed to be largely unaware or unconcerned about recording any answers, caught up as they were in animated conversations about other matters. So the questionnaire only contains what the one member filling out the form and the person sitting next to her were able to cobble together drawing upon their own ideas and a few little bits of what could be gotten from the others by trying to occasionally interrupt their other conversations.
I can’t help but think that all over the world similar fiasco’s take place, perhaps in the form of overburdened secretaries performing last minute substitutions for what their boss should have done, or projects being delayed because needed contributions have not been submitted, or have been submitted in incomplete or unacceptable form.

I was at a Couples for Christ prayer meeting today. It went very well. We sang a number of songs, accompanied by two guitars. I knew and enjoyed singing about half of them. I tried to chime in on the rest, a bit here and a bit there. A local priest was expected to drop in, but didn’t make it, at least by the time I left. For our discussion we considered the Readings for the upcoming Sunday, the 7th Sunday of Easter. Our host had had them printed up for us and passed out copies. Included was a commentary by John Henry Cardinal Newman, full of insight. Summer approaching, the leaders and the more active members broached plans for vacation absences and traveling to Illinois for a major conference. After closing with prayer, we enjoyed a buffet lunch put together by the host and some of the attendees, and some good conversation.