the sounds of silence

On a recent work trip to southern California, I was blessed with the opportunity to attend a women’s Silent Retreat at the Sacred Heart Retreat House in Alhambra, a beautiful neighborhood in the western San Gabriel Valley of Los Angeles.

Not only was the time in silence a powerful gift to my weary spirit, but it also allowed me the opportunity to join in prayer with the generous community of women who run Sacred Heart Retreat House—the Carmelite Sisters of the Most Sacred Heart of Los Angeles.

If you are not familiar with them, I encourage you to check out the website and their ministries: http://www.carmelitesistersocd.com/

Words are not enough to describe the Eucharistic presence of joining in silent worship with women who have vowed to live a life of prayer and service.

And no adjectives adequately describe the depth and breadth of what our generous God will do to love me… when I finally become still and silent in His presence.

I know I will be writing more about this experience. 

For now, a few images to give you a taste…

even the doors honored the silence!

“It is hardly surprising that different religious traditions consider solitude and silence as privileged states which help people to rediscover themselves and that Truth which gives meaning to all things…

In speaking of God's grandeur, our language will always prove inadequate and must make space for silent contemplation. Out of such contemplation springs forth, with all its inner power, the urgent sense of mission, the compelling obligation “to communicate that which we have seen and heard” so that all may be in communion with God. Silent contemplation immerses us in the source of that Love who directs us towards our neighbors so that we may feel their suffering and offer them the light of Christ, his message of life and his saving gift of the fullness of love.”

~Pope Benedict XVI,

for World Communication Day

2012

Come Holy Spirit!

When the time for Pentecost was fulfilled,

they were all in one place together.

And suddenly there came from the sky

a noise like a strong driving wind,

and it filled the entire house in which they were.

Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire,

which parted and came to rest on each one of them.

And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit

and began to speak in different tongues,

as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim.

~first chapter of Acts 

I continue to be fascinated by the fields of yellow. Like the yellow arrows pointing the way on the Camino de Santiago, the yellow fields lead us from one region of France to the next. 

I won't be able to keep up regular postings this coming week since we're staying in a remote farm house in the Normandy region where the nearest town is actually a village without a church. This is not McDonald territory! As before, we'll be taking day trips to sights in the region, starting with Mont St. Michel tomorrow. 

I have yet to write or post pictures of Chartres Cathedral. As our guide yesterday noted, Chartres is a book. I promise, I will be quoting from this incredible book as soon as I am able. It requires its own individual entry--or five!

Count on my continued prayers for you, in a particular way for any and all special intentions. Today's candle -- at the image of Our Lady of Lourdes at Notre Dame de Vire parish (Vire being the name of the "big town" near the village near our farmhouse). 

 

honoring our Mother

Iglesia Santa María Reina, Ponce

When I was a young child growing up on the southern shores of Puerto Rico, I attended a Catholic school named Academia Santa María in the developing industrial town of Ponce. Although I lived in Ponce for only a couple of years, I have fond memories of that time, especially as the period when I was first introduced to devotional prayers in an academic setting. It was at Santa María that I first said a rosary with my classmates.

I remember vividly how hard it was for me as a kindergartner to sit through Mass every week and how I became a member of the school club called las Bernarditas, named after St. Bernadette of Lourdes. Since my full name (or as I call it, my real name) is María de Lourdes—in English, Mary of Lourdes—I was especially taken by the fact that so many “big” girls wanted to be in this club. I was impressed that these older girls found it important to ask Mary for her protection and intercession on behalf of each of us as “women.” I still have, in a keepsake box, the small ribbon and medal of St. Bernadette that I received upon entering the club.

As I’ve grown older, Mary has remained an intimate part of my life. I can’t pinpoint exactly when or how my devotion to Mary started. I just remember her always been there. It simply seemed natural to talk to Mary as my mother when it appeared that no one else could possibly understand how I felt.

I love images of Mary pregnant with Jesus!

She was the topic of some of my first “poems” as a child, the kind of poems written by flashlight in a notebook kept hidden underneath the bed.  Years later, when I became a mother myself, I instinctively turned to Mary with my fears, hopes, and dreamsfor my own children.

When someone draws attention to the excessive commercialization of Mother’s Day in the U.S., I like to point out that in the Catholic tradition, this feast to honor our earthly mother appropriately takes place in the month of May, which for centuries has been dedicated as the month to honor and remember our heavenly mother, Mary. 

Whether you’re a mother or not, may Mother Mary surround you with her loving arms today and remind you in a very personal way that you are God’s beloved child!

keep your eye on the ball

I have described myself before as a slow processor, and I've also learned that there are many of us out there! 

Over at ShirtofFlame.com, for example, author Heather King describes herself as, 

"one of those people for whom every week of experience takes two to process (which partly explains why I need to spend a lot of time alone)." 

Since this is my first Holy Week as a blogger, I don’t know what is the proper or regular protocol as far as balancing these things. But I've discerned that in order for me to enter Holy Week fully and with my whole heart, it's going to be important that (at least this year), I make a point of fasting from blogging, Facebook, Twitter, and most anything related to electronics. 

As a basketball fan, I'm already fairly distracted by march madness. 

Holy Week, especially the Easter Triduum, is a treasured time for our family, and this year we will have all of our grown children and their families (yes, including Elenita and the Twinkies!) celebrating with us. How blessed am I?! It will be our family version of march madness.

But before I sign off for Holy Week, I want to point out a couple of things. 

First of all, as I’ve already written here before, my current book project is a biography of Servant of God Fr. Stanley Francis Rother, an Oklahoma priest who was killed while ministering at an Oklahoma mission in Santiago de Atitlán, Guatemala.

And Wednesday of Holy Week – March 27 – is Father Rother's birthday.  So I’d like to tell you a little bit about his final Holy Week and how important it was for him. 

Each year, Fr. Rother sent a Christmas letter for publication in the two Oklahoma diocesan newspapers. In his final Christmas letter of 1980 he pointed out, 

“This is one of the reasons I have for staying in the face of physical harm. The shepherd cannot run at the first sign of danger. Pray for us that we may be a sign of the love of Christ for our people, that our presence among them will fortify them to endure these sufferings in preparation for the coming of the Kingdom.” 

A month later, and six months before his death, Fr. Rother and another local priest left Guatemala under threat of death after witnessing the abduction of a parish catechist. 

But Fr. Rother returned to his beloved community in Santiago Atitlán in time to celebrate Holy Week with them, ignoring the pleas of those who urged him to consider his own safety. Not only did he know in his heart that the shepherd cannot run, he also lived with his entire being what it meant to be "a sign of the love of Christ" for his people.

That July, in a statement read in all the nation’s parishes, the Guatemalan bishops denounced “a carefully studied plan” by the government “to intimidate the Church and silence its prophetic voice.”

At 1:30 am on July 28, 1981, three Spanish-speaking Ladino men (non indigenous) snuck into the rectory of Santiago Apostol (St. James) church in Santiago Atitlán, beating Father Rother and shooting him twice in the head.

Please pray for me as I continue to work on this beautiful life story. 

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On a completely different subject, I was asked yesterday to be one of the contributors for a Lenten "discussion" in the New York Times section called "Room for Debate."  The topic is: "Is there a point in giving up something for Lent?"

I will try to remember to post a link to the final product here, but since I'll be offline and it will be published on Good Friday, I'd like to ask #1, for your prayers as I ponder  and discern what to say--and #2, if you happen to think of it, please drop by the NYTimes and leave a friendly comment? 

Doing what is do-able

Every morning when I first wake up, there is a moment, an instant, really, when life is completely still, calm, peaceful. I don’t yet remember yesterday’s worries or today’s plans—but more importantly, I haven’t yet felt and evaluated the day, its work—or how my body feels. It only lasts a milli-second, a nano-second, a breath or two—but I turn to that moment often in prayer as a helpful reminder.

That moment of peace reminds me of what it feels like to bring no baggage with me into the day. No anticipating the work. No plans to rearrange.  No anxiety over how hard it will be, or how or what I will need to do to take care of it. No expectation and no regret. No super Girl Scout “be prepared” attitude. I just stand expectant, open to that moment and only to that moment.

This is what I hear Jesus saying to the Twelve when he directed them to “take nothing for the journey.” 

When you live with a chronic condition, especially one that involves pain, it is too easy to live as if I already know how terrible life is going to be. Like a gypsy reading the future, I look at the palm of my hand or the cards on the table and find strange comfort in anticipating the pain, preparing for the problems, holding the fear at bay with an attitude of readiness. This also provides me an illusion of control!

But Jesus urges me to let go and take none of that with me. He invites me to just walk into my day and into my life counting solely on the power of the authority of He who is my Lord.  I don’t even need to know how or if I’ll be able to do it well tomorrow. I only have to choose today to take nothing in my journey, and to trust Him with every detail of my life.  

No, it is not easy. But it is do-able.

Choose today, only today

Bedtime dragons

NOTE: I played hookie Thursday to spend the day with my daughter Michelle, who had a day off from work--and whose birthday is this weekend!

In her honor, today's blog is a re-do about her, (and edited version of) one of my old columns published years ago in Catholic Parent Magazine.

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I glanced down the hallway, thankful to see that her light was still on. I told Michelle that she could read until I came in to say goodnight, but sometimes I take so long with the other kids that this self-contented youngest child ends up turning off the light and is sound asleep by the time I arrive.

     

“You ready for me?” I said walking in to her bedroom.

     

She nodded sleepy eyes that told me that my curly haired blond beauty had been napping with a book in her hand.

     

Sitting up in bed, she reached out both hands to mine and closed her eyes. “You start and I’ll finish,” she said, assuming our usual pattern for saying prayers.

     

But before I could utter one word, Michelle suddenly opened her eyes and looked at my face.

     

“Mama, why do we pray?” She paused to look at my surprised face. “I mean, if God knows our heart and God knows what we’re thinking, why do we tell Him things?”

     

I was so exhausted. The last thing I wanted to do was to take time for a theological discussion. But I could tell Michelle had been thinking about this long enough that it was really bothering her. In the back of my mind I was telling myself that I will never understand why these questions always seem to come at bedtime.

Yet the part of bedtime that I have learned to treasure in spite of my state of personal exhaustion, is the intimate and quiet sharing that I am graced to enjoy with each individual child––perhaps for the first and only time that entire day. It is in those quiet moments of talking and praying together that I’ve often seen something that would only come out at night, like a nocturnal animal that I look forward to spotting in the forest of their soul.

From the time she was born, I have often said that God knew how much and what I could handle when He gave me Michelle. A naturally spiritual child, Michelle was born with a cheerful spirit and a contented temper. And she was also the easiest child to lay down at bedtime!  Even as a baby and toddler, I would say a prayer with her, lay her down and Michelle would magically go to sleep.

     

So when Michelle talks at bedtime, I try very hard to listen.  

“Well,” I took a deep breath, wondering how to address her question. “I look at praying as similar to the way that you and I function.”

     

I got her attention. “As your mom, I think I know what you like. Your favorite color. Your favorite song at night. I also know when you’ve had a hard day at school the moment I see your face. And by the way you walk into a room, I can even tell how tired you are. But it’s still important that you and I talk... and that you tell me how you feel and what you’re thinking.  It’s what people do when they love each other. And that’s what prayer is... it’s a time we share ourselves, our thoughts, our feelings, with God, who loves us more than anyone ever will. Prayer is not just talking. It’s about making time to be together, like you and I are doing right now.”

     

Michelle thought about it for a moment and decided this was enough. She closed her eyes once again and said, “Okay, Mama... go ahead.”

     

I don’t remember what I said, but after a while I squeezed Michelle’s hand, my signal that it was her turn to take over. Michelle continued our prayer with a litany of “thank you’s” and “please bless...” ending with words that she repeated every night: “Let all the bad people turn good. Let this family be safe. Let me have no bad dreams and no bad thoughts. Let me have a good night rest and a good day tomorrow.”

            
But that night she paused, eyes still closed, and finally concluded, “and God, thank you for wanting to listen to me.”