Lectio Divina
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The Burial of Francis Berger’s Why
Francis Berger, the international writer, philosopher, and blogger who lives in Hungary is a friend of mine. I have never met the man, never spoken with him on the phone, and he has never (yet) bailed me out of jail. But he is my friend, and I say this because he fulfills the criteria for that term, and because I have considerable respect and even affection for this distant man. I have no idea whether Francis considers me a friend or not, and even if he showed up at my farm and told me that he does not consider me his friend, it wouldn’t change a blankety-blank thing. That’s the…
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Consummatum Est
In the last few years before her death, my mother talked to herself. Or rather, she talked to someone. Throughout my life, during her years on this earth, the kitchen was Mother’s place of abiding. She spent most of her waking hours within its warm, productive walls. In those last years before she passed from this life, whenever I was home with her, if I came into the kitchen quietly, I would often find her talking quietly as she worked. It seemed that she was talking to herself, but perhaps she was having a dialogue with God, or with an angel, or with a long-dead loved one. I do not…
- Church Life, Daily Life, Holy Days, I Never Thought I'd Be In This Situation, Lectio Divina, Prayers, Reflections
Lourdes, Lourdes
I’ve avoided writing about the current health scare for the same reason that I’ve avoided talking about it at length. There are too many sources of disparate, conflicting information, almost none of whom I trust, and I lack both the intellectual rigor and the sort of personality that delights in wading through all this dismal stuff. I suppose my stance on this situation is akin to my grandmother’s. I remember one day in the Seventies when a young plumber tried to engage her in a conversation about diet and heart disease. He presented all sorts of facts and figures in an evangelist’s voice, his eyes shining in his earnest face.…
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A Deep Failure
“I am more and more impressed by the fact that it is largely futile to get up and make statements about current problems. At the same time, I know that silent acquiescence in evil is also out of the question. I know too that there are times when protest is inescapable, even when it seems as useless as beating your head up against a brick wall. At the same time, when protest simply becomes an act of desperation, it loses its power to communicate anything to anyone who does not share the same feelings of despair. There is of course no need to comment on the uselessness of false optimism,…
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The Most Catholic Thing
Tomorrow I will embark on the most Catholic thing I’ve done to date: I will begin the 33-day preparation for a consecration to Mary on the Feast of St. Loius de Montfort. I’m looking forward to the focus and the discipline of this preparation. So many of the events swirling in the air today have reminded me of exactly why I began to be drawn to traditional Roman Catholicism some years ago, setting in motion a series of broken friendships and relationships that still grieve and perplex me to this day. *** I saw my bicyclist friend on the side of the road yesterday morning, in the rainy dark. I…
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For The Beauty
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose My youth is bent by the same wintry fever. The force that drives the water through the rocks Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams Turns mine to wax. And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks. The hand that whirls the water in the pool Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind Hauls my shroud sail. And I am dumb to tell the hanging…
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A Gift On Saint Patrick’s Day
Daily I expect to be murdered or betrayed or reduced to slavery if the occasion arises. But I fear nothing, because of the promises of heaven. — Saint Patrick of Ireland Contemplating this quote, I thought this morning of how real St. Patrick’s expectations were. At any moment, he could have lost his life or his liberty at the hands of those among whom he lived, by those whom he served. I doubt that he would have wasted a second wondering if the village market had sufficient hand sanitizer or toilet paper, even if such things had existed. He saw the opportunity to completely expend his life for Christ as…
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The Beginning Of March
The coffee tasted especially good this morning; my wife found a new variety at a local store and it is now a favorite. I stepped outside to clip my fingernails, careful to keep the sun behind me as it slashed across the needle points and glass shards of frost on the grass. While I was about my business, I listened to the birds calling to each other across the hollers. Are the back-and-forth songs merely a “Hello! How are you this morning?” or are they a communication of important information, the inflection and tone and volume carrying nuances that only an avian heart can catch and decipher? The feeders were…
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A Big Little Life
Up until this past weekend, I had read exactly one book by Dean Koontz. It was a supernatural suspense novel called Whispers, and I read it when I was a young Marine in 1980. The book came into my possession just as I was ending a two-or-three year spree of reading Stephen King novels, and I was growing tired of the genre. Whispers did its work with me — it kept me up late into the night reading, and later kept me awake listening to the night sounds and thinking about the world Koontz had created. But I assumed that Mr. Koontz was treading the same ground King had already…
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The Unquiet Universal Trance
Nine-tenths of the news, as printed in the papers, is pseudo-news, manufactured events. Some days ten-tenths. The ritual morning trance, in which one scans columns of newsprint, creates a peculiar form of generalized pseudo-attention to a pseudo-reality. This experience is taken seriously. It is one’s daily immersion in “reality.” One’s orientation to the rest of the world. One’s way of reassuring himself that he has not fallen behind. That he is still there. That he still counts! My own experience has been that renunciation of this self-hypnosis, of this participation in the unquiet universal trance, is no sacrifice of reality at all. To “fall behind” in this sense is to…