Catholic Hermit Has Surprise Call!

The spiritual father (or spiritual director; I interchange the terms, but mine is a "father" as in holy priest, someday a saint) called unexpectedly!  These calls are quite rare as he does not have ready access to a telephone.  He is unable to write much, either.

The call came through mid-brushstroke.  Am putting the final finish coat of Simply White on the window apron-sill with reveal and wrap boards.  (I have yet to measure and cut the window casing boards.  Dave at the lumberyard is teaching me the proper terms which is helpful when communicating or receiving carpentry instructions!)

The spiritual father said my last letter seemed as if I was very low because the test results came back that I do not have cancer.  I was able to tell him that yes, I was depressed over the news.  He understood, especially the more I explained the lovely hopes and thoughts as well as reminded him of the essences of the death experience nearly 29 years ago this month.

One delightful aspect of dying, as I was able to share with him, was that I would be on the other side before him, and I could wait there and joyously welcome him.  But the main excitement had to do with our work for souls.  Since he is a priest forever in the Order of Melchizedek, he could be my priest for eternity, and I could assist him with our work for SOULS!

He exclaimed what a wonderful thought, and that he was sure we would have great times in heaven, and that he, too, desired to be on the other side and was eager for death, as well, even if he did not know what it would be like to die.

We talked on about how it is that the Lord has us yet here, although I could be electrocuted doing some wiring, but not likely.  I do turn off the panel box when wiring outlets or light fixtures, the few done thus far as there really is not one single room in this hermitage that is finished.  The bathroom is perhaps the closest to that, or was, until the third cabinet order was incorrect, and now we will await a fourth try.

I did ask my spiritual father what type of writing should I do?  Did he have anything in mind since he'd written awhile back to "finish the [expletive] house and get to my writing?  He did not.  He just repeated, keep writing!  So for now I will continue on with the blog writing as I'm not convinced my circumstances temporally lend themselves to perhaps more cohesive and thoughtful writing, such as a book.

Yet I will pray about it, and the Lord will show me the way.

We spoke of the verse I noticed from today's Isaiah reading, the one on faith.  If we have faith, we will remain firm.  So it is in faith that my spiritual father and I accepted that we are yet on this earth, each of us in our suffering, and each of us living in more austere hermit-like environments than we could have anticipated, ever.

I am confined to my cell in this hermitage in the desert exile, and he to two small cells in a rather shabby facility of which privacy is not prevalent.  But he manages, and I manage, in faith that is firm and in suffering out our lives in prayer and penance for souls.  

Yes, I am certain it will be more fun when we are freed from our earthly prisons, our suffering bodies.  He is limited in mobility, and I am limited in pain.  Yet, see how marvelous a simple phone call and the communication and joy of two souls understanding one another, although at first he was a bit concerned for most people would find a non-malignant test result to be good news.  Quickly he grasped the point, for he, too, looks forward with desire and longing to see God's Face.

Nausea visits this nothing consecrated Catholic hermit's body this afternoon.  A hermit is to be hospitable, so I offered my gut some coconut water and a pain med as well as a mattress on the floor.  Welcome, friend Pain.  Before long, I will rise and lug in the air compressor from front porch, the trim nail gun, and attempt to nail the trim to the ceiling along the edges between drywall and tongue-and-groove board ceiling.  Then, God willing and body able, I must paint the ceiling a final time.

It will all be prayer.  All of it; and I will include friend Pain in the efforts, since it does not seem to ever want to leave, not even to take a nap or go away on a walk, giving me some rest from hosting.  I will think as God thinks, in Love and Mercy.

Catholic Hermit: On Not Belonging to the World

The Word of the Living Word of God: this from John 17.  Makes sense, deeply, to this soul, this morning and for a few prior....

"I gave them your word, and the world hated them,
because they do not belong to the world
any more than I belong to the world.
I do not ask that you take them out of the world
but that you keep them from the evil one.
They do not belong to the world
any more than I belong to the world."


So it is that this hermit, this soul, ponders on not belonging to the world, yet of not yet being taken out of this world.

What does it mean?  The wondering and pondering brings forth the knowing of His Real Presence, and in knowing Him, one senses the meaning of His Words.  We are here in the temporal, yet we are not at all belonging to it.  We do not belong here--not in the temporal of all that does not lift us upward, spiraling through, with, and in the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 

Yet we are here and by that of the temporal that can assist in our transitioning, in our spiraling upward in His Real Presence, to know Him, to love Him--we can utilize the temporal of the world. But never of evil--never of that which hinders and is an obstacle.  What is evil?  It is some degree of lacking in good.  So we learn by His grace and love, in the spiraling upward out of this temporal into His commandment of eternity, how to step upon the temporal treads and rise--climb the stairway to heaven.

In that way we transcend, and we overcome, bit by bit, any lack in good and are kept thus--removed by degrees commensurate with the lack of good replaced with good--from evil.  All movement from lack to increase of good, is the movement to the reality of not belonging to the world.  Then, we belong to heaven.  We are taken out of this world and into His Love.

This hermit has been suffering much additional pain in a new area of the temporal body.  How it adapts and views this suffering, whether as a tread and riser on a stairway to heaven or as a limitation and hindrance of the temporal world, makes all the difference between knowing Him and spiraling in His love, or belonging to the world and held by "evil", or a lack of good in perspective and reality of what is actually, of this world an unreality.

The one reality is not belonging to this world but of belonging in His Real Presence.  That belonging--His Real Presence and Perfect Love--is the real world, the one true reality.

Does this make sense?  Can we bring it into practical application in our daily lives, of the temporal that is always passing away and becoming out of this temporal world and into heaven?

Let us pray so!  Lord, please keep removing us from attachments to temporal loves and attach us in Your Perfect Love eternally, here and now.  We do not belong to this world--to any degree of lack of good, and You are the All Good.  Thank You, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, for our belonging to Your World, now and forever.  

Aspects That Drain, What Fills?

Was geared up to try to get out of bed today, to begin doing any of the overwhelming amount of work to be done in here.  But am COLD!  It is very cold in here, and to keep warm, stay in bed.  Still am praying for the courage and energy, to try to dress in layers (wearing flannel pj's and sock hat and under three blankets), and to do anything physical. It will have to upstairs; downstairs is definitely too cold.  Praise God that heat rises and does not waft out laterally!

This morning prayed Scriptures and Divine Office.  All very good, of course, and up-lifting.  St. Augustine's writings in Office of Readings is appropriate to current situation of body and soul.

Then read an online blog by a Catholic artist.  Had not viewed it in three or so years.  It is very clever, and intelligently written, has humor inserted and clever graphics.  Clever seems to be the operative word.  But clever left this nothing hermit all the more cold.

The blog depressed, and am not sure why other than the clever if not too-clever, too-brilliant, too-sure view:  of others, of Church, of world, of self.  All the clever and humorous and witty and pithy aspects somehow drained the spirit in this hermit, that had started to fill in from Scriptures and spiritual reading, prior.  Perhaps, also, the other blogger's mention of aspects of temporal Catholic Church, clerics, and political parts therein, depleted what reservoir of faith and hope within this hermit who is struggling with harsh physical circumstances, and no one to whom to turn for assistance other than His Real Presence.

And the Trinity is the best One to be turning to, obviously.  This hermit reflected upon persons, upon blog-writers, in general, and the elements of being entertaining, clever, of pedantic pontificating--along with bucketfuls of the temporal world and temporal church--and how they tend to douse this soul's fervor for the unitive way.  It all seems to place the spiritual so far out of reach and reality, that the temporal in its clever disguises, places a pall over the soul itself.

Then, this nothing cold hermit considered its own blog, here, and wondered if there is anything of good or helpful mentioned with any humility, or if it attempts any of the too-clever and too-sure-of-itself aspects, or thinks it superior in knowledge and pontificating?

With that wondering horror, and not knowing if this blog reeks (or not) of what doused the spirit of this hermit this morning by viewing blogs out there in the cyberworld, it must force itself to rise from what warmth it has garnered under the covers.  It must strip in order to dress in layers of blessed jeans and tops, folded and stored in a small laundry basket.  This nothing hermit must do something, some kind of manual labor, for that and prayer are the main antidotes to despondency.

And in diagnosing despondency as a result of having viewed some blogs, the reason surely must be, at root, too much of the world inserted into them.  The world is not evil in itself.  But the world is not heaven.  And when cleverness and self-assuredness of and in the world (even of and maybe especially of the church) become overbearing and in contradiction to the way of the Cross, and the humility of Jesus, then it is too much world, too little heavenly fresh air, too few, hopeful steps up God's holy mountain.

And this nothing Catholic hermit's blog may not be, either, less of the world and not near enough of climbing gear.  And, it may not touch others, or it may have the same effect as the other blogs had on this hermit's soul, this morning.  Yet we keep writing, us bloggers, and obviously hope to touch others for whatever reasons, if not also to try to touch ourselves, to uproot our lack, and thereby to try to touch the heart of God.

What His Real Presence drains, His Real Presence will fill.

God bless His Real Presence in us!  Little children, let us love one another as God loves, and be humbled, ourselves, in His love, remain in His love.  

Which is the Greater Immolation?

Yesterday was the 30th anniversary of the life-altering car accident.  Pain has been my constant companion ever since.  And, this year, a pain siege preceded and continues during this time period: elevated, exhausting, preemptive pain.

I decided to drive to the morning Mass in the local parish, which is for me quite a drive, regardless.  I had not been for a couple of days, and it was not easy to make myself go--not so much due to the pain of body but due to the emptiness and coldness of the people there, and the priest with so many, many unhealthy issues.  It is quite sad, all in all.

I arrived and entered.  I decided to see if anyone would smile or give eye contact, or even speak on the way into the vestibule.  I met a woman in the parking lot and smiled at her.  She did not respond.  No human effort at connection.  In all fairness, she had just finished off some conversation using a speaker phone or such.  Her mind was elsewhere, although she did see me.  How could she not as I smiled and slowed, just feet from her as we walked in?

People there do not genuflect before the Tabernacle.  It is an odd arrangement.  The tiny chapel is just off the sanctuary and body of the church proper.  The chairs face a small altar; the Tabernacle is behind the chairs.  Nothing is bolted down, but they evidently do not want the Tabernacle behind the altar and facing the people as they sit in the chapel.  I always have an urge to turn my chair around and face Him.

However, on this morning (yesterday), I genuflected and had the distinct essence that Christ is not in that tabernacle.  I said so, within.  "You are not even in there, Jesus, are You?"  No, I really do not think so.  I suspect the Host is not actually consecrated in that parish, in that church.

I had encountered a couple other people upon entering that chapel.  They are stone cold, unflinching.  I smiled and sent love from within me.  There was never any flicker of warmth.  The one woman who had given me a hard time the first day I had returned, nearly two weeks ago, glanced uneasily and shifted in her chair.  The woman who was exasperated and had not recognized when I wore my glasses a week prior and asked, "Who IS this woman who has been coming here?", walked within inches of me, gray and sad as hardened granite.

It would all be wonderful if they were stones.  There is a natural beauty and strength in granite.  But it is not suited to human beings who claim Christianity as their belief system.  I asked within of His Real Presence, "Is this the immolation You desire of me, or is the path of greater suffering and sorrow to not be here, and rather that I should suffer in isolation in the confines of my little fixer-upper?"  I asked if I was to remain for Mass there, that He would inspire any one of the human stones to indicate by any motion or sign of warmth or joy in being there.  After all, we are bodily inches from one another awaiting the supernal feast, the Mass with all seven Sacraments present as well as the reality of His Living Word.  Where are our souls in His and our humanity as well as spirit?

I knew this would be my answer to remain or to depart.   There was no warmth of life.   I departed.  I passed the priest on my way out, as he waits until the very last to come out of his office, away from his desk where he keeps thick volumes of poetry of such I had read in my undergraduate English Literature days.  I wondered if he would speak, smile, or show any sign of recognition that a human person with a soul was passing him in the vestibule.  Nothing.

It was as well to return to a sacrifice of mass in my little mess here, filled with overwhelming manual labor of which my pained body is barely capable of completing.  I stopped at the bank in the village, first, and the tellers and assistant manager immediately waved, greeted, and offered a cookie and coffee.  I was the only customer in the bank, and it struck me how the quiet other than the verbal greetings, was filled with holy, human kindness and warmth.

It struck me how the carpet and the walls of the small bank reminded me of the Catholic church chapel.  The wood counter behind which two smiling tellers stood, each one offering that I could come to their window, eager to assist in my financial sustenance and need.  It reminded me of an alter behind which a priest ought stand, welcoming and happy to have human souls come to be served and filled with His Real Presence, to be shown the portal of life sustenance through which all souls will eventually pass into eternity.

But how different the two and seemingly cross-purposed.  The bank was more a chapel, more filled with His Real Presence in essence, than the chapel with the unwelcoming, wary Catholics and the detached, aloof, unhappy priest.

I declined the packaged-type cookie at the bank but helped myself to a cup of coffee and headed back to Te Deum House.  I spent most of the day in bed, trying to assimilate the 30 years of much suffering from the split second of drunk teen hitting our car, as well as the 19th anniversary of my confirmation as a Catholic and the added 19 years of much suffering from those who have had such difficulty accepting and utilizing for good, one such as me.

By evening I was able to do some watering and planted a handful more perennials I had found on clearance on my way back to my Patmos from three days of helping out the one daughter who has remained in contact with her mother.  I was watching a grandson while the parents worked, and it was there that the pain siege began.  I praise His Real Presence for getting me safely back to this Patmos despite the grinding pain.

I will call my spiritual father and ask of him:  Is the path of greater suffering, is the immolation more to remain away from the sad and stony Catholics and a tabernacle seemingly devoid of His Real Presence?  Or is it for me to continue to insert myself among those most uncomfortable with my human presence, which it seems to me nothing more than my causing them consternation and occasions of sin?

To me, the isolation of removal and having to face the reality of the dearth in that parish and the priest who has not fallen in love with his vocation, which represents the mindset of so many Catholics I have met, is excruciating suffering and profound immolation.  I will wait to hear what the spiritual father opines.  He sometimes says he does not know but usually comes up with an idea or solution.

I'm not at all sure that His Real Presence actually intends all this suffering, particularly the suffering in the midst of people who one would hope to be filled with His Real Presence in faith, hope, and love.  But if He is not in that Tabernacle, and if the shepherd is not in love with his work, that would certainly explain the acres of wasteland and the fearful and unfruitful sheep.

I suppose this is what gets to me the most, however.  The oppression I have experienced, the suffocation from within the Church repeatedly, over 19 years, seems to have snuffed the wick within me and broken this my bruised reed.  I feel as if I am somehow not doing God's will, not being utilized for good in the Church or elsewhere, not using the many gifts and talents He has given me from birth as well as those developed in life.

I so want to be useful and helpful, to glorify God, to build up His church, to inspire others and bring love to all.  I yet have so much love in me, so much love to give.  Yet it is not being accepted.  I suppose only His Real Presence knows for sure all the reasons why.  I have been praying and asking all the more if I am to go out to the Gentiles, where previously in my life the fruit and goodness, the love, was utilized for His glory and the benefit of others, where those who came to worship were happy and alive, warm and receptive to the reality of His Real Presence within souls.

I do not think Jesus wants us to make of His Real Presence, a farce.  He is warm, alive, throbbing, pulsating, vibrant, light-smiling even in whatever suffering.  A flaming wick He does not snuff.  A bruised reed He does not break.

It seems I have been crushed down into the ground by heavy, cold stones and ground into dust from which no remnant of seed remains in which there will be germination and new life.

I consider the young prodigy artist born of a Catholic-reared but fallen-away father and agnostic mother: Akiane.  God is utilizing her in her visions and in locutions, to paint images of Himself and of Heaven.  The family as a result has converted to Christianity.  Not Catholicism, or so I could not find in research, but most likely evangelicalism.

It is Akiane's painting of Jesus that the young boy, Colton who spent extended time in Heaven when he nearly died at age four, that Colton says is the truest image of Jesus, at least of the Jesus he was with.  A God-glorifying and faith-filled book and movie about the young boy's experiences, written by his minister dad, has inspired thousands and thousands as to the reality of Heaven and of God.

God is blessing the Gentiles for their faith and their living out of the Gospel message of loving Him above all things and of loving others as oneself.  I think the second part of Jesus' greatest commandment, is squelched in many parishes.  There may be love of distant others, such as the poor in other countries or those in the soup lines, but where is the love of the person sitting inches next to us?  There is acceptance of those who are different physically, but not of the spiritually unique.

One can only surmise, although I have perhaps a clearer estimation, of the horrors that Akiane or Colton would have been put through, and their gifts suffocated, had they been Catholics.

I realize this sounds harsh, but there is truth to it.  The truth hurts at times, but it also is necessary if we desire to face ourselves.  My experiences may help in understanding why the PEW research shows one in ten Catholics leave the church and not due to doctrinal disputes.  Check out the article by Fr. Reese, SJ.  It is found online--I believe it was published in the Jesuit paper, NCR(eporter).

God bless HIS REAL PRESENCE in us!  Little children, let us love one another for love is of God.

Catholic Hermit Shares Bits of This and That

I still am working up the emotional energy to continue writing about the death experience.  I wrote in a couple blogs of the lead up, but I yet will write about what occurred in recovery room and after, including the actual dying process which for me did not include extensive time in heaven.  But it is yet worth writing and sharing, for each person who has these experiences can add a bit of information to the process that so many fear.

This past week I had a couple of nights and a day in civilization.  I was called upon to watch my grandson, age 7, for a day.  It was very good to be among some accepting people, and share love and our Christian values.  Plus, I so enjoyed a shower and delightful living conditions.  This body needed a break from heat, hard manual labor, and minimal type food.  Upon return, I am ever reminded of how the bulk of humanity lives in such conditions as this hermitage--or live in far worse!

I have been praying much for those suffering with Ebola virus, including the two Americans being treated with experimental drugs.  I think so of the people in West Africa who do not have the drugs and who suffer in harsh conditions.  Thanks be to God for missionary medical workers who are with them, trying their best, to save lives and provide any comfort possible.  It is a horrible virus with painful symptoms and a terrible suffering leading most of the victims to death.

Yet, when I consider the death itself, I am blessed to know how joyous it is for those who die.  But I pray for cures and for people to live.  We are born into this life to fulfill our missions, and mercy and compassion are part of humanity's hope and faith and love.

My grandson had plans for us the other day.  He started off making "Gaga" breakfast in bed, bringing a bowl of cereal, container of yogurt, and some water on a metal pizza pan.  We then walked a ways to pick some berries; his mother wanted some for a recipe she planned with dinner.  As the grandson and I walked, we talked of many things. 

Somehow, the Lord put into my mind the reminder that every step we take, every thought we make, is either a step or thought toward heaven, or a step or thought toward hell.  I shared that with the lad.  He is perceptive and quick.  The next morning I could remind him of it when he woke up "on the wrong side of the bed", so to speak.  He pulled out of a bad mood immediately with the reminder of our choices using our free will given by God.

I have pondered the truth of the choices and each step and thought, as I have slipped too many times to count, with not good thoughts--not thoughts that were taking my mind and soul toward heaven.  I had upsetting and negative thoughts, feeling beaten back and discouraged, criticized, and pre-empted in several circumstances.  Not good!  I have turned a corner, once more, with the reminder of how I can choose steps and thoughts toward heaven in each present moment.

A few mornings ago I decided to meet some people who gather at a coffee place.  They are Methodists, and I decided to cast the nets in the water to see how the encounter might unfold.  I was brought up Methodist, and I know the goodness and Christian values thereof.  There were just three of us, and it was a delightful hour of chatting--nothing intense, nothing spiritual per se, but helpful and encouraging.  I am casting nets to see if His Real Presence is going to put a fish or more in them.

I have pondered St. Paul's mission and his involvement not with the Jews but with the Gentiles.  Perhaps my encounters have become too focused on Catholics alone and have ignored what God may wish of me to be more universal in outreach, or to have my light shine in other directions, too.  I will see how this goes, but for now one hour a week of gentle conversation with kindly people seems a good net.

As for where God has called me,  19 years ago, into the Catholic Church, that has not altered.  But my being accepted in parishes has come to empty nets time and again, of sorts.  I did review the tremendous vision and locution involving Jesus Himself, over two years ago.  He specifically showed me Catholic parishioners, mostly women in the foreground, and they were nastily criticizing, judging wrongly, and rather envious and mocking in tone.  Jesus said specifically that I would be criticized and judged within the Church but I was to pay no attention to them.

I have not done so!  I withdrew to protect myself and also to protect them from continuing the abusive behavior, parish by parish.  It is not easy when one is shunned and not really welcome in deed, even if a priest now and then might say I was welcome.  When one extends peace and love and joy, and it is not returned, Jesus in Scriptures says to take back our peace offered and go on to the next place.  I am praying and discerning this Scripture along with His direct message to me of not paying attention to those Catholics who He said would criticize and misjudge me.

And, He also said I would feel very alone.

However, the hour spent in lovely conversation with other Christians, was positive.  I'm not sure how it would be if they knew I am a Catholic.  Isn't it rather a sad situation that Christians of varying re-formations as well as the many varying parishes in the Catholic Church, the varying rites--can have bias?  There is entirely too much division and fussing, or so it seems.

I have to admit it was quite refreshing to be with people who are not caught up in competition with one another for prestige, position or any power.  Unlike the fearful ones I have encountered, or those who judge me, or even insinuate (such as another hermit does without using my name directly) as to mental illness and other unhealthy morbidity, and of causing scandal to the Church.  This other hermit is rather tricky in ascribing such ills.  This is no doubt just part of what Jesus told me to pay no attention to, but the other, even if not at all accurate, is a contrast to steps toward heaven.

The Methodists with whom I shared a cup of coffee in charitable conversation, were devoid of such silly and nasty aspersions.  I suppose partly this is due to their not having hermit vocations, canon laws, or various spiritual experiences in their "system" in how they function as Christians and as an ecclesial group.  Of course, there are many other differences, and I am not suggesting any better or worse; but it is an observation.  I certainly appreciated the breather from scrutiny, regardless!

In the meantime, a young woman called--she has called before and is by now a spiritual friend.  She expressed how lonely she feels despite being a mother and wife.  Her husband is gone quite a bit.  But she feels a different kind of loneliness and longing, and she had called a priest hoping to be able to talk with him and get some counsel on some issues as well as spiritual situations.  He was too busy.

I suggested we read a book together, across the miles.  I do this with an older woman.  We read a few pages or chapter or two--nothing rushed or too taxing as their schedules are always more full by far than my hermit daily life!  So the young woman and I have chosen Rev. Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange's "Mary the Mother of Our Savior".  Garrigou-Lagrange is a great Dominican theologian, Thomist in background and theory, and was a favorite professor of the late John Paul II--as well as of many who find his writings outstanding.

Yes, I explained to the young woman that from my experience thus far, there are few priests today who have the training from seminary or time with experience in their priesthood, to be able to do much wise counseling or who have the time to do so, when a parishioner calls.  They have perhaps one semester training in counseling from seminary, and about one semester in the spiritual or mystical life, such as doing an overview of Teresa of Avila or John of the Cross in that semester.  Otherwise, they have many courses in administration skills for parishes, and a broad spectrum of other such needs including finances and managing lay staff.

So, I said she will be better served to turn to the time periods in which priests were trained more in the spiritual life and to those who we know long after their deaths were exceptional in their ability to guide souls to union with God.  It is not to blame the current priests or seminaries, but it is the reality of our times.  Thanks be to God these other persons left their writings and wisdom in the ways of the spiritual life, Scripture, mystical life, prayer, virtues and even how to combat the devil in spiritual warfare.

We will see how it all unfolds, our reading.  In the meantime, I have some manual labor and much watering in this drought area, and much praying and pondering to do today.  And perhaps, later, if  not too hot in here when the body needs rest due to the physical pain, I will attempt writing the recovery room and death experiences of 27 years ago.