Catholic Hermit, God's Hermit: Prayer and Love

Yesterday's Gospel reading of Jesus Christ's Holy Words according to St. John 15:9-17, were what I was going to ponder and share whatever insights before I let myself be distracted.  Another night of sleep has passed, and another morning of waking up battling the effects of far too much physical pain on the body.  Yet God's message breaks through the temporal externals, and Jesus' Living Word reaches and uplifts, always, the eternal human soul.

"Jesus said to His disciples:  'As the Father loves me, so I also love you.  Remain in My love.  If you keep My commandments, you will remain in My love, just as I have kept My Father's commandments and remain in His Love.  I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete.  'This is My commandment:  love one another as I love you'".... 

God bless His Real Presence in us!

Now to spend some stilled, silent time in the solitude of an early morning, to praise God and pray for the salvation of the world with whatever thoughts and words and feelings--or none--that come, what may or not.

Catholic Hermit: Finishing the Race

Been in yet another excruciating pain siege.  The usual phases occurred, replete with black outs, nightmares, inability to get up; then the day of emotions and temptation to great discouragement which signals a turning point, as the progression to being able to get up and get going.  Yesterday, the sense of fainting left, late morning.  The back was still quite sickening with radiating pain, but the electrician was here, and what an encouragement to have the electrical tasks finished.

He is a good soul, and I marvel at how we made connection nearly five years ago.  He has been a gift from God, truly.  In fact, I am astounded by all the miraculous interventions and assistances the Lord has provided in this process of trying to finish the renovation of this old farm house, to get myself out of what I got into without realizing the pitfalls prior.

Jean Patrick has cleared a day out of his work and classes schedule, to come help on Memorial Day, Monday.  The young lad has not been here for a week, and it is best he not come after school as he is too tired and I cannot keep up the pace given that I tried to do interior manual labor as well as exterior in order to have something ready that he was willing and able to do (with my always needing to work with him).  He is simply too young in whatever ways, and too weak, to do the tasks I need help with--mostly yard work.  It is easy enough to shovel bark mulch off the truck and into wheelbarrow, and to then spread it; but even at that he was slow and weary at his tasks, with my becoming weary just in trying to keep him motivated to hustle a bit, put some energy behind it.

Obviously, he liked the idea of having a job and earning a very good hourly wage, but the work itself, and working--not so much.  When he is older, he will learn more about work ethic; I tried to train him even to shovel a full scoop and to fill the wheelbarrow rather than leave it at one-third full.  But the next time he came, he was back to the lesser way, the weaker way, the more time-consuming way.

I have considered St. Paul's words regarding running the race.  It is true that we first must consciously be in the race, to live our lives as fully as possible, revering God and the life He has given us.  While we are in the race, we may or may not be running it.  And as to winning the race, most of us hope and pray to simply finish the race.  

I'm dragging to the finish line--or I should say "toward" the finish line.

Sometimes I wonder if this race is what God truly wants me to have participated in.  And then I consider that it is not the type of race that matters, but the way in which we approach and live out the various "races" in our temporal-spiritual existences.  When we can sprint or distance run, all well and good.  When we must walk, fine.  When we must crawl, we crawl; and when we fall or faint, we drag ourselves or are dragged  or picked up and lugged over the finish line.

If we collapse in the race, even then we are carried off.  There is still a forward effort, a finishing of the race even if we did not finish it in the way the others did or do.  There is still a conclusion of sorts.  And then there is a forward movement after, whether we are physically dead or alive.  There is always an unfolding for us--always and ever more.

Increasingly, I have been pondering the purpose, and asking the Lord to remind me of my mission which of course is of God, of His will, His love.  The means of union with God do include as our training, the efforts and situations we have in this world, notably with others even if as a hermit, not so much physically with others.  One may be spiritually with others as much as in the temporal as with those on the other side of the temporal, of this earth, of flesh and bone, time, matter, earthly existence.

Today's efforts include countering the earth's elements.  In my little spot, we've not had noticeable rain in a month.  I must today get started in hooking up the hose to soaker hoses, some of which need mending and replacing near trees and plants after having been moved in the weeding and mulch-spreading process.  And today's race, or lap of the race, includes limping with this body.  While over the worst of this recent pain siege, the body pushed yesterday, which is part of running a race.  We tend to push ourselves onward, praying all the while for the stamina and will to add extra impetus to the forward-propelling motion while very much aware of the wisdom and reality, the truth, that we remain in actuality in present moments.

Finishing this particular hermitage completion race is a ways off.  And there are always more races to run: metaphorically, actually, temporally, spiritually.  I'm recognizing that the most important race, the race of our souls throughout life eternal, is not going to have a finish line, not really.  Eternity continuously and continually unfolds.  The hoped-for and desired progression is toward union with God, but do we end or finish when we have been blessed with attaining this union, or are there yet more degrees of union, or further events and gradations of union?

Does love (of which God is love), have a finish line?  

While in the temporal or finite aspects of life's "races", there are types of finish lines, and the effect we may have of finishing a race and many races, there is always more.  Participating in the race and finishing the race varies yet are each a necessary part of living temporally and spiritually.

When we finish one aspect regardless if seemingly temporal more than spiritual, or more spiritual than temporal, there is another, and then another.  Love metamorphoses as do our souls which desire and pray to remain in Christ's love.  Love seems to be the key to running and finishing.

I must now rise and see about some very hot green tea to try to help clear the spinal headache that other medications have not quite tamed to a functioning point.  Yet love will be my focus in today's race of more manual labor, prayer, and each with Christ love as spiritual infusion.

God bless His Real Presence in us!

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.