Catholic Hermit: Advent, a New Year

Blessed New Year to all!  Today is the first day of Advent, the first day of the new liturgical year.  I love to consider that in all matters liturgical and spiritual, we celebrate the beginning of the new year in Christ, on this first Sunday of Advent.

I so need a fresh start, a surge of reassurance from the Lord, the loving embrace of Christ and all in His Body, as we await the celebration of His first coming.  And this is the topic of a commentary of some Advent sermons by St. Bernard of Clairvaux, written some 800 years ago.  St. Bernard describes the first coming of Christ, His birth and years on earth, and His death on the cross, resurrection, and ascension.  

Christ's first coming was to save us from our sins, to teach us the path of righteousness, to love, to repent and forgiveness of sins.  His final coming will be to take us with Him.  Then St. Bernard mentions an additional coming, a coming between the first and last; this coming is one in which He is not seen, as He was first seen and lived on earth and as He will be seen when He returns for us.

As St. Bernard explains further, of Christ's coming a third time, between His life on earth and His final return for us:

"But the one that comes between them is secret; it is that in which the elect alone see the Savior within themselves and their souls find salvation.

"In his first coming, Christ came in our flesh and in our weakness; in his coming in the midst of time, he comes in Spirit and power; in his final coming, he will come in his glory and majesty.  But it is by the strength of the virtues that we attain to glory, as it is written:  'That I may see your power and your glory' (Ps 63[62]:3).  And so the second coming is like a road leading from the first to the last.  In the first, Christ has been our redemption; in the last, he will appear as our life; in his coming between, he is our rest and our consolation."

That Jesus is our rest and consolation, right now, means ever so much to me!  The struggle with greater suffering, consistently, than ever, continues to be an immense challenge.  The worst time is upon waking, as I did yet again early morning, after five hours of sleep.  The body is stripped of pain aid; it takes an hour or more for oral medication to help reduce what seems too much for me to bear.

It is in that hour or more, that my intellect and will must wage battle against despairing thoughts from the memory, images/imagination, emotions, and physical senses.  I get up to retrieve a cup of hot beverage--usually coffee--as hot liquid helps the medication get into the system; yet it still takes ever a long time when pain is involved.  I read the Mass Scriptures for today, and I will myself to pray for various others while waiting.

This morning, again, I thought of the documentary I watched of the hermit monks and priests on Mt. Athos.  They are there now, these hermits and religious monks.  One of them commented in the documentary--living along in his hermit hut and carving wood religious objects--that a hermit must keep custody over thoughts in order to endure and avoid depression.

Living in silence of solitude is not easy no matter how old the hermit or how long one has lived the hermit vocation. Situations arise that make the spiritual life more challenging for anyone; and suffering pain and illness certainly make solitary life difficult.  There is not the extent of manual labor that can help distract or provide relief.  Pain fatigues; pain makes functioning difficult; pain vies for space in the mind, and reading becomes a chore in comprehension.

Yet always the Lord reaches in at the moment we seem to need Him most.  I had an unexpected text message in the early morning from one of the adult children, answering a comment, not even a question, I'd spontaneously texted yesterday.  Then came another text from another of the adult children, giving me a couple better ideas for gifts for grandchild.  All seemed so silly, now simplified; I realized not having the nausea added to the pain, thus far today, makes such matters light and even laughable.

Then with the medication finally taking effect, sleep mercifully gave another four hours of rest and a dream also reminding me of some other concern and putting that concern in gentle, even light-hearted loving, dispensation.

Snow sifts from the white-gray sky; the tiny pond's surface frozen and blanketed.  Reading the commentary, a conjoining of thoughts from two of his Advent sermons, soothes while awaiting, again, some pain relief from second dose of medication of this First Sunday of Advent.  I especially love the reality of Christ's third coming--or in between coming--in which we find Him always with us, unseen but present:  His Real Presence in our hearts as we also abide in His Heart.

Today, December 1, is also the commemoration of Bl. Charles de Foucald of Jesus, hermit and martyr.  He was shot on this day in his hermitage in the Sahara by Muslim insurgents who thought he was somehow trafficking guns for the French soldiers fighting in the Saharan desert, 1916, during World War I.  On this day, 103 years ago, Bl. Charles of Jesus had been forewarned of his death by the Holy Spirit of His Real Presence, in the silence of solitude.  

Christ was always present in Bl. Charles, and Charles knew the Lord in hidden reality, abiding within day and night.  I know this reality, as well, even if the level of pain and suffering can cause distraction of a depleting form; despair can threaten faith as well as strength of will and intellect with which we are to keep custody over dark thoughts.

The Second Reading of Mass, this First Sunday of Advent, in this first day of a new Church year, attests to the armor of God and of the light of Christ's coming, of His Real Presence with us, in us.  "Throw off the works of darkness, put on the armor of light" (Rm 13: 13).  "Put on the Lord Jesus Christ" (Rm 13: 14a).  

And in the Gospel of St, Matthew, 27:44, Christ's Living Word (always present for us in our earthly lives) exhorts us. " So too, you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come." 

I shall get up and dress, then light a candle of whatever color of candles unpacked, if purple or lavender so much the more delightful.  I will see how the lumbar pain manages, if the arachnoiditis not provoking nausea, and then use up some pumpkin puree in whatever baked effort.  Then, at some point today, will also strive to make the cauliflower chickpea soup, of which an adult child member so thoughtfully sent the recipe; I have all the ingredients on hand.  

This consecrated Catholic hermit must keep going, simply keep going.  Praise God for all the many blessings, the warm hermitage Solus Deus, the solemnly serene, snow-silent view out the back, provisions to create simple yet healthy food for the next few days, perhaps a bundling up and going out for a walk if sidewalks not slick.  Otherwise, up and down the stairs for exercise, and using the stretch bands for upper back muscles.

I cannot give up until the Lord makes it clear in His Real Presence in life situation, to relinquish physical efforts necessary to simply keep going physically and spiritually.  With Christ in us, we are assured that nothing must hinder our spiritual efforts.  Simply keep going.  God is always with us, and we can always be in Him in the silence and unseen faith of His Real Presence, until He comes and is visible to us, taking us with Him at the end of our earthly sojourn.

God bless His Real Presence in us!

Catholic Hermit: Simon of Cyrene?

I've awaken in the super duper pain, but the first thoughts on my mind are what a current "pickle" I am in, physically.  I had no idea just how serious would be this surgery nor the limitations and painful recovery. 

I had no idea of why or how the situation with the family member would be; and truly the person is extremely busy, more so than I think I'd ever been way back before my life altered, way back in my early thirties.

 I still am disappointed that the parish nurse did not have a volunteer call, but rather she had a woman who they don't want to hire part time at the parish but put her onto me, when I had said I just for now need someone to pick up medicine for me but might need occasional errand run until I can drive.  I might get the gumption to call the number of the man who the parish secretary gave me, but somehow I think the Lord is putting me onto a different path.

The thoughts came also, of saintly souls such as Bl. Anne Catherine Emmerich and Bl. Charles de Foucauld.   The former was a mystic who had been an Augustinian nun until her order disbanded under persecution.  She became bed-ridden, and there was but one priest who'd come visit her, bring her Communion once a week.  Her family sent one of her siblings to tend her in a rented room.  The sibling mistreated her emotionally and mentally, mostly--certainly not doing a loving job of helping her.  Bl. Emmerich suffered it. But it was different times, and her incapacitation from surgery or needing medications or food.

I think of Bl. Charles de Foucauld because he was out in the Sahara, having gone there thinking he would start a religious community in which others would follow him.  So he built a rudimentary building of cells, quasi monastery most simple.  He wanted to be Christ among the Muslims in the village by which he settled on his own.  

Over time he befriended them simply by his presence and loving kindness.  He learned to communicate, hired a young man to assist him in tasks and chores.  I assume if Bl. Charles became ill, the young man would help him if needed.  He was executed by Muslim insurgents who had been convinced he was helping the French and Allies in the war that had extended into northern Africa.

As for my own situation, the thought was on the mind that the Lord does not want me to turn to a parish at this point.  So many hermits did not.  They simply hung out with the Lord, waited upon the Lord, were willing to suffer and pray and praise God.  All matters worked out according to how the Lord willed and provided.  Wait upon the Lord.

The other thought came that what I "need" if anything, is a Christian friend here.  I should not limit myself to a parish or Catholic.  Just a Christian friend, not an extern per se.  A Christian friend for whom I will be able to be a Christian in return with whatever assistance through prayer, through counsel, through a reasonable gifting of money or objects they might want or need.  When better, I could  take them food if they are ill, or give them gas card or other gift card such as I gifted the very elderly man down the street who helped me with fixing some sprinklers.

I think the associate priest was correct--the one who told me not to tell anyone I was a hermit because "Catholics will not understand that."  I drolly told a spiritual friend who happened to call last evening, that if I wore a habit the parishioners would tend to be all over themselves wanting to run an errand for me.  

There is a woman who started a community. She did not like the three communities/religious orders elsewhere which she had tried out for a few months to a year before leaving.  She went to a diocese where a bishop gave her permission to start her own community.  Over time another woman joined her.  They secured a house and volunteers came out in abundance to transform it, fix it up including landscaping.  The woman wears a more old-fashioned Benedictine habit.  We humans are influenced by a uniform plus a bishop's approval does not hurt.  The women have been giving retreats; I have no idea if they have any training or education from which to base their retreats, but they do love the Lord and have strong desire to serve Him and teach others.

I'm rather circumspect on such matters; I tend to observe and dissect motives and situations.  I do that to myself, as well.  At times I've been told to "stop beating [myself] up."  Yet also, I'm more a purist and idealist.  As a hermit I want to remain in that "stricter separation from the world" and "hidden from the eyes of men" of which is set forth in The Catechism regarding hermits, the eremitic life, as stated of those who are in the Consecrated Life of the Church.  The Lord years ago made clear that my "habit" is what I happen to be wearing in the present moment.  Four months wearing the habit of a community of hermits taught me the negatives of wearing a habit.

I stuck out like a sore thumb, strangers and Catholics alike assumed some holiness or authority, wanted to gift me, poured out their lives to me in ways that I realized had I been not the prayerful and honest person I am, they could easily be taken advantage of.  I learned that I could not at all trust the woman who started the community for she had become proud with the headiness of having started a community.  I ceased my association, and it was not long before her Vicar General pulled the plug on it, as well.

As for how my attempt to find an extern or a "volunteer" as the parish nurse put it regarding the woman who really wants a part time job working for the parish, I realize I more simply need if not a Christian friend,  I need now and then, a Simon of Cyrene.  I need someone willing to step in and help carry my current cross to Walmart.

I'll not approach the parish for such as that.  This is not the first time I've been disappointed in how difficult it can be to interact if not physically able or if by vocation not going to be involved in the various programs, activities, or even be at Mass.  A hermit is such a person.  From my various reading of the lives of hermits, including more recent ones, they would all fall in the category of privately professed; they are hermits prior to the 1983 CL603 of public profession and tie with a particular diocese. 

Of the publicly professed hermits, thus far from what I read of them, usually articles in their Diocese newspapers with photos, they all wear habits of some sort or other, and they go to daily Mass and are known by others as hermits with the publicized blessing of a bishop.  That carries weight.  Yet it also removes them from the hiddenness of which I find intriguing and of an ideal.  The spiritual friend and I discussed this last night, and while fine for those who choose that path, the Lord has instructed firmly in a vision and locution a decade ago, against that for me.  For me, I emphasize.  It did answer a lot of questions I'd had.

Yet the path He has me on requires a tremendous amount of blind faith in His providence.  Plus, the onus of my hermit daily life is upon me for the most part, as it was on Bl. Charles de Foucauld, Saint Rosalia, St. Mary of Egypt, St. Anthony of the Desert, St. Godric of Finchale....  I consider all the hermits of which there are many known and unknown, who were not associated with a religious order and within their religious order were allowed by superiors to be hermits somewhere on the property of the monastery.  I consider those myriad hermits over the centuries who were not, as in recent years, publicly professed and associated with a particular diocese and bishop.

These are the hermits I must turn to as mentors, if you will, in the living out of their lives in obscurity, yet in holy and inspirational perseverance to live the Gospel Rule of Life and to seek Christ with the fire that He wishes were already burning in our bodies, minds, hearts, and souls, on this earth, in our temporal lives.

The hermits I turn to in prayer for guidance and inspiration were not prone to turning to parishes, were not known in parishes for the most part if at all.  So when I this morning reflected upon any insight or message from the Holy Spirit regarding my current exercise in pondering 920 and 921 in The Catechism regarding what is a hermit to do and be, the words "devote their life to the praise of God and the salvation of the world" mean just that.  DEVOTE my life to the PRAISE God and the SALVATION of the world.  

What does it mean to devote m life to the praise of God?  All this has taken me so far from the small matter of getting my meds picked up from Walmart and so far from the function of parishes.  I am not to devote my life to other matters, good as they are.  My praise of God and the salvation of the world will cover all that and more.  I don't need to be derailed or conflicted by other matters.  As is said in Scripture many times and in many ways, God will provide for me.

For me as well as for all the like-type privately professed hermits of all the ages, if and when physically feasible, go to a parish--to church-- to the praise of God in celebrating Mass with the Body of Christ and share in the sacraments. At all other times I am in the Church, with my fellow members of Christ's Body with Him as Head.  With praying the Lord's Prayer, as soon as "Our Father" passes the lips of my mind, the "Our" links me with all Christians everywhere on the globe as well as those in purgatory and in heaven.

In reality, Jesus is my Simon of Cyrene.  He carries me as I am a cross at this point.  We'll see in what ways He continues to carry me through this suffering, this life, and in the details of this morning in which the pain meds are helping enough that I must get the body up, brace on, and walker to bathroom then kitchen for something to eat.  Within the fullness of faith, I know that Christ is sufficient for me.  He knows the needs, and they are far simpler than what can stack up in my mind of what I might think are needs.  Yes, Jesus is enough for me.

God bless His Real Presence in us!

Catholic Hermit: Solitude Visual, Physical, Interior

[I'm technologically challenged, and somehow am having difficulty embedding the photo of Charles Burchfield's (1893-1967) painting: Solitude.  I will put in a proceeding or preceding post for you to see.  Perhaps at some point I will figure out how to embed in this blog, but thus far the writing gets blocked by the image.  Time to finish up some painting of walls in a closet here in Te Deum Hermitage!  Time to cease fiddling with the art of computer technology.  Praising God I was at least able to rescue the words written, even if not essential to anyone's existence, that is for sure!]

This nothing consecrated Catholic hermit has been drawn to the art of the late Charles Burchfield.  I knew nothing of his work until this past year, from postings by the Burchfield Penney Art Center which include photos of his art as well as excerpts from his journal.

I find it particularly interesting in reading the excerpts and noting the dates given, that the artist would often create a work of art, such as the above painting, and yet later--years later--would put it back on his easel and work on it more: reviewing, altering, lending experience and perspective as his life and vocation progressed.

This painting, "Soliltude", particularly draws me.  I notice the appearance of a cave opening beyond the pool or calmed stream of water.

Since my own recent need to assess and review aspects of my hermit vocation, events which let my mind, heart, and soul know that all was not as it ought be, required alterations, corrections.  

Of course, when we make an alteration in some aspect of our lives and beings, we are not assured that we will hit upon the correction we hope for or desire--or more importantly what God desires and wills for us.  We only know and sense that something is not quite right, or that we recognize something seems incomplete, or that there is some new learning or experience which we must try to incorporate into our "art" of living.

The past few days, having set (or perhaps re-set) boundaries as far as how much communication and the types and content of communication, adaptation is taking place.  (I'm sure the others of whom I had to request a respite from so much communication, also are adapting.)  Adaptation is good, all around!  

We grow through adaptation; we evolve.  We seek and heed and allow God to further form us in His will and also more in His image.

As to solitude, there is more to it than meets the outer eye.   Solitude can be visual, sensory and interior.  We may most often consider solitude as being alone.  The thought or action of being alone can be daunting if not frightening and uncomfortable--even unbearable to some.  I suppose the reaction to sensory solitude is a clue as to our vocations and God's will.

There are a few married hermits in the history of the Church, but if so, they tended not live together.  St. Nicholas of Flu comes to mind.  It thus stands to reason that those called to the married vocation will not be comfortable with much sensory solitude, nor should they; their life's work and purpose involves a spouse and most often, a family, a career outside the home for one or both after children are older, or if need be, while children are young.

For a hermit, sensory, physical solitude is requisite.  The process of adapting to increasing degrees of sensory solitude may take time; but the desire is there, the ability to live in sensory solitude is a grace God gives to those He calls to be hermits.

Solitude is also visual.  We can see with the outer eye many examples that reflect or inherently proffer the essence and reality of solitude.  A cave, a hut in a woods or field or desert, a lean-to or tent, a burrow, a hole in a tree, a closet, cellar, a nook or cranny such as under a stairway in a building--can trigger in our thoughts a reminder or aspect of solitude.

Even colors can evoke and suggest solitude.  Gray tones, bark of trees, stones, deeply dark waters, charcoal of fires--perhaps these hues and shades stir essences of solitude.  

Or, we may see someone who appears to be alone--if we remain with an initial case of solitude as that of "being alone".  We may see someone who reminds us of someone homeless, or who bears the stereotypical visual, exterior affect of the hermits or recluses of history: unkempt hair, long fingernails, wizened and hiding from the hustle of an active life.

Visually, the more I view Charles Burchfield's artistic rendering of "solitude", the more I see solitude in the scene.  The forms of nature, the colors, even the medium of charcoal on paper--all within this work of art delineate and lead further the image of solitude.  And the image is not simply exteriorly visual, sensorily so.  The depiction draws us into a deeper grasp of solitude as an interior experience, a grace.

Rain evokes solitude, at least to me.  Fog and overcast, frost, and heat waves rising from earth, snow, ice, and cloudless skies--visuals, to me, that remind me of the intimacy with God that solitude gifts.

A single word, or a phrase or sentence--can lead to reflection upon the beauty and freedom in solitude.

There can be visual and other-sensory forms of solitude; but all reminders, nudges or outright shoves of solitude, can and hopefully should, lead us toward interior solitude.

And the amount and degree, level, of interior solitude varies depending upon the person and God's will for that person--the person's vocation in this life.  And the phases and degrees of exterior and interior solitude will fluctuate--even and perhaps nuanced especially so in the life experience of a hermit.

Thus, lately I have understood far better why it is that a hermit would not be that involved in the details and dilemmas of those in married vocation or active single life.  In this way, the hermit vocation finds similarity to a priestly vocation; or as a Catholic hermit is in the consecrated life of the Church, there is more a draw to interior life such as many in religious orders. 

However even with priests and ordered religious, a hermit is called to more visual, sensory, and interior solitude than priests and ordered religious.  Even those in contemplative orders, are not called to the amount of sensory solitude to which a hermit might be called by God.

That is why a rare few in the religious orders may become a hermit, live as a hermit, within the religious order's agreement but outside the communal monastery habitat.

St. Charbel Maklouf, comes to mind; or Bl. Charles de Foucald, a hermit priest who lived outside the Muslim community in the Sahara.  Or in essence and substance, actually, lived Bl. Anne Catherine Emmerich--so confined to her bed in a rented room and tended by her sister, visited by a priest now and then and later on, by a man God sent to write her visions.

(While she did not profess vows in the eremitic vocation, as she was an Augustinian nun whose order had disbanded and dissolved), she is an example of some of the forms and phases of solitude that a vocational hermit would, should experience.) 

For a hermit, when there is much noise in the thoughts and the emotions erupt in frustrated cacophony, it is time to bring up to the easel, the "art work" of the hermit's exterior and interior rendering of "solitude".  Adjustments, alterations, adaptations are in order.  Serenity that accompanies solitude, or perhaps more so enhances and fulfills solitude, must be restored, increased, embellished.

The result will be exhilarating in a daring and challenging way.   The element of the unknown and blind-faith of going forth further into the fog, the mist, the unknowns of solitude's interior reaches is worth the awkward moments when one tries to grasp--let alone explain to others--the need for change, for separation from that which is not the hermit's path outward into the temporal world of which so many belong and exist as their rightful place and ways of life. 

This is not to say that those not called by God to be hermits should not desire, pray for, and make time for solitude which includes sensory solitude exterior as well as learning to still the mind, heart and soul for some times of interior solitude.  It is just that due to their obligations in active life (and this for priests and ordered religious in active ministry or living in cloister but yet surrounded and interacting at various times of day with others), the solitude will be far less, and hopefully, for the times in which solitude can be theirs, to cherish that solitude.

The eruption of frustration, desperation, and chaos of which I found myself feeling "over-peopled"-- even when there was but one couple who physically came on Sunday morning bringing Holy Communion"--has beautifully calmed.  Jesus is in my boat, slumbering but awakened to my frantic cries that I was being buffeted and on verge of going overboard from too much intrusion, too much communication, too much dependency by those in the outer world, upset with their temporal trials and various issues.

Jesus has stilled the storm all about me and within me.  I had to cut the tethers and set out into the deep, not knowing quite where for the overcast surrounds, not knowing how deep for solitude is unfathomable.

Yet there is such peace and beauty in the exterior and interior of solitude once again.  The painting of woodwork and walls reflects a functional piece of art that takes one into its evocations of the essences of solitude itself.

God bless His Real Presence in us!

A Bl. Charles de Foucald Hermit Christmas, of Sorts

It has been a very long Christmas Day here in Te Deum Hermitage.  Even using the term "hermitage" seems silly and contrived.  The labels and word-associations with yet more labels and associations seems contrived sometimes, and totally not necessary.

Just be a human who is seeking after the Newborn King with all my body, mind, heart and soul--living alone and in solitude and silence, in prayer, penance, and praise of God and for all our souls to come to God Is Love for eternity.

I've had pain today of varying types.  The liver area is particularly nasty with aching pains and pressure, which may be nerve pain radiating from low back to that area. I suppose it does not matter what but more what is.

And that goes, also, for my religious life--that aspect that has been affiliated with a particular category with labels distinguishing it from other affiliations out there--so many we'd be surprised with the number, and each pretty much thinking they have the whole truth or at least the important truth.

I was considering how Jesus was as a man, having grown up in the Jewish faith.  His parents were devout and steadfast, practicing Jews.  Yet, as Jesus grew older, He spoke up and out against some of the hypocrisies and called out the high priests, scribes, and Pharisees often enough, to make sound and solid points or to even answer their tricky questions.

My, how they and others in the temple were uncomfortable.  In fact, they grew to despise Jesus.  We know how it went.  They would argue with him, try to trick him into saying something so blasphemous in their twisted take on matters, that then they could arrest him or stone him.  

Eventually they succeeded in stalking, paying an informant from within Jesus' cadre, having him arrested, and setting him up to be crucified.

The mystical aspects surround his conception and birth caused King Herod to wish Jesus dead as an infant.  The persecution Jesus endured seems  to have occurred mostly as an adult (although he may have had a lot of bullying from other kids in Nazareth as a child, for he was different--yet perhaps if not, due to his mother and father protecting him and giving him cover).

I wonder how he coped!  Well, he prayed a lot, alone, off by himself.  And he spoke up, and the Father gave him graces, for Jesus had grown in wisdom and stature and holiness.  He was born to die that man might live--have eternal life in salvation from our awful sins.

Today I've had plenty of sinful thoughts.  I've had anger in addition to the physical pain.  I've been upset again--triggered by the ill-treatment of Catholic parishioners over time, and of Catholic priests.  It is nothing like some have had, such as the sex-abuse victims or children of Catholic parents who got extreme in misguided laying on of guilt aspects of various sins and not enough of love and mercy in forgiveness.

The other night I was reading some commentary of older people who had damage from wrong-kinds of teaching by misguided, zealous Catholic parents, teaching order nuns, and some doozies of priests.  Many of them had undergone therapy to help heal from the emotional and mental wounds; some did not but commented that the scars never went away.  Some left the Catholic Church for other churches; some just left organized religion, totally.  Some were bitter while others not so much.

My own thoughts of anger were triggered by too many memories.  Also, last night when I realized no couple was at all going to be calling to bring communion, I wondered why the parish administrator even called a couple weeks ago. I had gotten over the last influx of post traumatic stress disorder symptoms, pretty well, and talking with her about the couple willing to bring communion ripped open the mess all over again.

A friend called yesterday, and I suggested we have a wager regarding if the couple would ever actually contact me and show up with Communion.  The only problem we had is that each of us wanted to bet they would not.  So we laughed and dropped the wager idea.

Last night when the anger rose, and it is not so much anger, I suppose, as hurt and pain of a type of rejection by those who one would hope could of all people, be very Christian--I decided to beat back the anger by calling the parish administrator and leaving a Merry Christmas message, and assure her of my prayers for her and her family.  I also left an apology for having been frustrated when we last spoke, as it is frustrating for me that people are wary, that there is gossip and judging--and then I pop off in reaction--which I should not do!  

So I was sorry, and I said that the couple had never made contact but was all right, that I would keep all of them in my thoughts and prayers, and that I would hold fond thoughts of her family and of the summer that I'd hired her son to help out some mornings.  I did also mention that even if we did not see one another again, that I really appreciated having known them.  And that is the truth!  I do.

In fact, if not for the wariness that they have, and the judging and gossip, all over a little mystical state at Mass, and maybe an aspect of being a bit different as my friends tell me that I have an uncanny prescience and of reading intent that people are sure they're masking--this parish administrator and her family would be the kind of people who'd be like some families in the past--want me to come for dinner, to have their kids come to help and discuss their lives and Jesus and how the two fit well together.

But those days are over, and I must realize that the spiritual life and our souls are in progression.  Nothing remains the same. If it does, perhaps we ought be concerned!  Yet, I feel as if I am shut down in a way, from one major aspect of life, and that perhaps I ruined some aspects of my loved ones by the rough ride it's been as a Catholic.  Well, there are the many marvels, of course.  The spiritual experiences and the Mass--oh, my, the MASS!  I love the Mass!  That is part of the issue, I suppose, is that the power of the Mass is integrally connected with the ecstasy during Mass.

Regardless, I know not where Jesus is leading me; and I don't like the anger and hate that build up at times, from the extreme frustration and the pain of wondering how it might have been especially for my children, now adults, none of whom are connected nor will be, with the Catholic Church.  Even my most staunch and devout Catholic friends say they certainly can understand how my children would not have fond thoughts of Catholics and the Catholic Church.  They know how it has been--the trials, and even now, the ridiculous rejection, wariness, fear, even, of my otherwise loving, generous, kindly yet seriously Christian self.

The friend who called yesterday said that I am so spiritual that it is unusual for Catholics, and that I am a serious Catholic, which also seem different to many.  And, I am outspoken, she said, which is true enough sometimes or has been, and perhaps more recently when pushed to the PTSD trigger point, yes.  I did mention the parish priest's put-down and ridicule of Protestants when I mentioned perhaps since it seemed such a problem for people at the parish over a little mystical state during Mass, that at least I could sing some hymns and worship God at a Protestant church--seemed better than nothing, as the mystical state does not happen in a Protestant service.

So, I did pop off  to the parish administrator that God blesses the Protestants, too, and St. Paul reminds that Jesus came for the Gentiles as well as the Jews, and to save all mankind.  Plus, that even this priest might wish he could be Dr. Billy Graham who has brought hundreds of thousands of souls to Christ world-wide--to which she sniveled.  Well, I popped off more that I suppose not, for Billy Graham and his son Rev. Franklin Graham who has a worldwide Christian organization that helps millions of people, would be the types to return a phone call from someone in need....

Ouch!  Yes, that is another reason for my apology call on Christmas Eve, to leave that message that I was sorry for popping off, and also the suggestion that even though we'd probably not speak or see each other again, that I will keep them in my thoughts and prayers and hold fond remembrances.  Which I will.  I don't want to remember my reaction to what were some rather outrageous comments and excuses.

That is why my friend wanted to bet the same way as I did--that the couple who said they'd bring communion will not.  After what the parish administrator said to them by means of "telling them a bit about my situation," a wise person would then call others to inquire about this person thus described, and then would decide to stay clear.  Yes, my friend howled when I said how I was described, how my place was described--but at least it was said that I seem to have a knack for growing things.

Alas, there is nothing to be done but to keep praying for Jesus to heal my mind and emotions and soul, and to remove all frustrations and anger and even hateful thoughts that can come especially with the nagging liver area pain.  I have no clue where Jesus is leading or why all this has transpired, for yes, it is quite painful to recall better times, earlier on in the Catholic journey.

And perhaps this is a point Jesus wants me to grasp:  Christian journey. 

Another friend called awhile ago since I started writing this.  She went over with me lots of the situations I've had, and she also knows some of the awful aspects, the harsh, the wrong, and understands how I could have anger and frustration--and even confusion.  Why is the Lord allowing this?  What does He want of me?  Where is He leading?  How could this be?  She did remind me that I must not blame myself for how divisive and hurtful it has been for my family.  She said it is not Catholicism, but it is the temporal church, the system, the culture, the human condition of some ways of responding to others, such as mystics, that is a problem and not good.

Well, enough.  It is Christmas, and I've had a Bl. Charles de Foucald Christmas.  Here in the desert, in solitude and silence, in prayer and penance and suffering.  No Mass or others for Charles de Foucald at least for two years or so until he got dispensation from Rome to celebrate Mass by himself.  No Christmas tree, no confession, no one to talk with other than a Muslim lad and a couple villagers who had started to communicate in rudimentary ways.   I have email and a cell phone, although two of the three adult children made no contact.

That, too, reminded me of how I blame myself for the rugged trials that affected them as they affected me, over the years--obviously when they lived at home and witnessed some of the ill treatment or bizarre situations that tend to complicate the life of a mystic soul.  I truly do not want the frustration and anger and hurt and even the build up to resentment that could flare into hatred.  I do not want it, and I pray for Jesus to heal me of the memories--and please, no more contacts from this parish if they are going to lead to more of the same.

So perhaps if I could get counseling, see Dr. H. somehow which would involve travel and cost.  Or if there were an adept counselor not so far who had a gift with the spiritual and supernatural.  Otherwise, and maybe even if so, I figure they would advise that I am in the wrong group and need to worship elsewhere, or so it seems that would be the reasonable, logical reaction of an outside analyst.  And that, also, seems as if it would kill me as much as the whole ball of wax of persecutions and trials, these 21 and more years.

My friend started to fall asleep on the phone, listening for a long time, asking questions, consoling--all this after I had listened to her marvelously normal Christmas including two Masses and the beautiful, typical celebrations in even normal living conditions--her whole family are great and loving Catholic Christians, rearing their children in Scripture, prayer, virtues and love.

God bless us, every one!  (My dear grandson played the role of Tiny Tim recently in a theater production, and what an assuring line Dickens penned!)