Prayer and Fasting? Ouch!

In an effort to step up my campaign in the “good fight” as St. Paul called it, I volunteered to go on a three day “Desert Retreat”. Although volunteering is in direct violation of my strict personal policy to never volunteer, I thought it was necessary to improve my spiritual growth. I guess they called it a “desert retreat” not to be mistaken for a “dessert retreat” because it is like going into the wilderness away from all the everyday distractions and temptations to fast and pray.

Our leader, who by no stretch of the imagination could be described as a small man, announced we would all gather at a common point in order to caravan out to the remote isolated retreat location. So we all met at, you guessed it, the “all-u-can-eat” Golden Corral. Well…this makes sense…as any athlete knows you want to “carb-up” before any marathon. In recent years I have learned to avoid these “all-u-can-eat” places due to the fact that I feel a moral obligation to hold up my end of the bargain. Plus being a member of the “clean your plate…there are children starving in China” generation, I have decided these eating establishments are places I need to be kept away from. But, I decided to take one for the team and “soldier on” thinking the next three days I would have to exist on stale bread crumbs and water.

We arrived at our camp site and immediately got into some heavy duty praying and spiritual exercise; the Liturgy of the Hours, the Rosary, the Divine Mercy Chaplet and around the clock Eucharistic adoration.

My stomach rumbled during the silent prayer. It didn’t need nourishment it needed a bicarbonate of soda. Finally by the next afternoon things settled down and I looked forward to the possibility of a hunger pain as some sort of sign of my spiritual progress. But as evening fell our leader produced a meal of spaghetti and meat balls that any decent Italian restaurant would have envied. So, for me, once again the line between sustenance and gluttony was blurred.

Fasting and praying…the praying didn’t go much better. My mind wandered and wondered back and forth, in and out, from the spiritual world to the worldly world. I couldn’t stay focused. I worried about my fault and failings, my “should have dones” and my “could have dones”. I needed to get out of the past and into the present, the here and now. So I pulled my chair up close to the altar, right up next to the Holy Eucharist, Our Lord, physically present in a special way. I just looked at him and thought “I can’t believe it”. It’s hard to believe I am sitting here in this little room with God…the almighty God who created heaven and earth, My Lord, My Savior. I worried that it strained my faith. I kept thinking…I can’t believe I am sitting here in this little nothing room, nothing more than a lean-to on a pump house in the middle of nowhere, with God.

I wondered…I questioned…how this can be. I had to keep reminding myself that I choose to believe. That’s faith, choosing to believe.


I clenched my teeth and held my breath in an effort to suppress the tears as I thought, “How gracious of my God to allow me this honor”.

Thank you Lord Jesus

For letting me believe
What I cannot conceive

Strengthen my faith
And quicken the pace

Lord, take my hand
That I might stand

Be my guiding light
Throughout the fight

Don’t let me roam
But take me home

For this I pray
At the end of the day

Amen

The Summer Drought

With each step the brown grass crunches under my feet, the summer drought has not only left the ground parched and cracked it also dried my soul…dried it to the point that all my thoughts and feelings have shriveled up. I just exist in a state of spiritual lethargy with no sense of God’s presence. I force myself to Mass almost everyday but it is like a habit…a habit I’ve gotten into… with no apparent emotional charge or recharge. I feel as lifeless as the dry brown grass. I am ready for a little grace to fall like rain and a little rain to fall into my field.

Perhaps I just need to keep turning the crank, pumping the pedals and finish “the race”…not go with my feelings…but do what I know has to be done.


Please Lord Jesus
Send your grace to quench my soul
and send the rain to make things whole
You’re the one who makes it right
To You I pray this prayer tonight

Amen

Awake

As I lay awake listening to the occasional light snore coming from my wife I peered at the clock ticking off the minutes of wee morning hours. It wasn’t the noise keeping me from sleep…but it was…the flow of tiny electrons through the circuits of my brain…it was the mental activity that would not subside. I kept thinking about the words from Sunday morning …the same words we always repeat at each and every Sunday mass. It was the Confiteor: “I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned thought my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do…” I couldn’t help but ponder all the “what I have failed to do” moments in my past…all those missed opportunities that I really never considered to be an offense to God.

The beggar on the street…I would roll up my window as I passed in an effort not to be seen. The collection plate at church …I would close my eyes, as it was passed, as if in deep prayer.
Not making the sign of the cross and saying the blessing out loud before public meals.
And the list goes on.

My policy is to never volunteer for anything, never do more than required, but never break the rules. Well, I have got to change my policy, I have to extracate myself from the mushy middle, get out of my lukewarmness, I’ve got to be proactive in this fight, and I have to get out front in this race.

I pray, Dear Lord Jesus, please give me the wisdom to recognize my faults and failings and give me the strength and courage to correct them.

As Amen crosses my lips…I nodded off to sleep.

Minding My Own Business

As I sat in the pew listening to the readings…just minding my own business and feeling quite good about myself…perhaps even a little smug and self-righteous. The priest read the last lines from Matthew’s chapter ten quoting Jesus: “Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father. But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly Father”.

For some reason those words struck me…struck me and stuck in my head like some catchy tune playing over and over. I could not purge the thought from my mind.

I could not help but think of the times that I felt self-conscious about making the sign of the cross in public…when eating out. Oh! Sure! It is no problem in church. I’m the perfect Catholic in church. But to bless myself in public makes me uncomfortable.

Then it hit me…it hit me as if I had heard the cock crow for the third time. My heart wept with a mournful sorrow as I envisioned Peter on that fateful Thursday night.

Well! I’ve got to make some changes uncomfortable or not…I have to acknowledge Jesus. If I don’t…being “ill at ease” in public is going to be the least of my problems.

Thank you, Jesus, for your very poignant words.
Please, Heavenly Father…please Lord God...send the Holy Spirit to give me the courage I need.

Amen.

Final Answer

Who wants to be a millionaire? Who wants to be rich? Who wants to be happy?

Is being rich being happy? Do riches make me happy? Do I want to be happy for all eternity? Do I want to distract myself with the pursuit of riches now… only to find out…I will be eternally unhappy?

It all boils down to choosing the correct answer…choosing…between heaven or hell, between Jesus or No Jesus…and the clock is ticking.

I know there is a hell because I’ve been there. Using the scientific method of trial and error, I have, over the course of many years, tested each and every one of God’s commandments. If I have not broken the commandment…I have, for the most part, bent it to the breaking point. Each and every experiment, each and every incident, each and every testing produced the same results.

The result was the bottomless pit of depression, it was the incessant grinding and gnashing of teeth, and it was the crippling and excruciating pain of guilt…it was…pure hell.

Living without Jesus is by definition…Hell.
Therefore, Hell is not my answer…I am certain of that.

So…..My final answer is…be…be with Jesus. Jesus is my final answer.


Dear Lord Jesus

Forgive me for/ the fallacy I believed
Thank you for/ the grace I received

I ‘m humbled by/ the patience you’ve shown
As I stumbled about/ the great unknown

Forgive me for/ the trials I’ve blown
Please give me strength/ to press on

Thank you Jesus/ for your guiding light
Allow me the courage/ to stay in the fight

No other answers will suffice/ it’s clear nothing else will do
For nothing compares/ to the promise I… have… in… You

Amen

In Nomine Patris

I walked the expanse of the enormous cobblestone courtyard, climbed the seven symbolic steps, passed thru the big bronze door, pushed open the massive wooden entry and stepped in. I stepped into what seemed like a time warp, I had stepped back in time…back to a place of my childhood recollections. I had entered into a pre-Vatican II world, a world of Latin and liturgy complete with gothic architecture, ornate stained glass appointments, immense columns, inlayed polished marble floors and ceilings that rose to the heavens.

Yet, all this paled in comparison to the spectacle of absolute reverence and awesome respect shown by everyone in attendance. I marveled at the sight of the altar-boys, all in lock step, as they processed up the aisle with serious somber looks on their faces. They ushered in the priest with candles and crucifix held high.

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.(In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit) the memories rushed back…my experience of being pressed into altar-boy service, having to memorize and recite all the prayers in Latin…the meaning of which I had not a clue…and the uncomfortable feeling of being watched by all. Looking back I suspect this is about the time my spiritual train jumped its tracks for I was a rebellious nine year old child.

The unseen cloistered nuns singing from the other side of the partition filled the shrine with the sounds of Adoremus, Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus and Panis Angelicus.

I looked on with astonishment at the sight of everyone dressed in their Sunday best, no T-shirts, no tennis shoes, and no provocative frocks. There was no parade going in and out during mass and no one leaving early or coming in late. There was just raw reverence…from the smallest child to the most elderly person.

Most but not all the women wore mantillas covering their heads, the men wore coats and ties, and there I was with wrinkled jeans and tennis shoes. I felt like the man in the parable of the wedding feast who did not have on the proper garment…fortunately I was not bound hands and feet and thrown out into the darkness with the wailing and gnashing of teeth.

“Confiteor Deo omnipotenti” (I confess to Almighty God), priest and participants alike recited the words. It seemed I was half awake and half asleep…in some sort of half real and half surreal dream-world. I had to clinch my teeth to keep my jaw from quivering, my eyes from watering and I had to force myself to breath due to my muscles constricting the normal lung movements.

“Dominus Vobiscum” (may the lord be with you). We all answered, “Et cum spiritu tuo” (and with your spirit).

The priest with his back to the crowd raised the consecrated host above his head for all to see saying, “Ecce Agnus Dei, ecce qui tollit peccata mundi.” (Behold the Lamb of God; behold him who takes away the sins of the world).

We all filed up to the apron covered communion rail, knelt and received Our Lord and Savior on the tongue. Emotions of being totally unworthy mixed with feelings of being eternally thankful churned within me…like fresh cream…they churned until the cream turned into the butter of grace.

The entire experience is a poignant picture that is burned into the memory of my soul.

Dear Lord Jesus/ I give you thanks
Now that I am/ among your ranks

For putting my train/ upon Thy tracks
For this I know/ to be the facts

And that’s not all/ you’ve done for me
So make me who/ You want me to be

Blessing too many/ to keep the score
But it is your help/ I do implore

Please help me through/ each day and night
Now that I have joined/ your lofty fight

I know this has/ to be Your way
So this is the prayer/ I pray today

Amen

A visit to the Shrine of the Most Holy Sacrament.
The home to EWTN’s Mother Angelica
Hanceville, Alabama
7/7/2009

Too Weird

After being startled by the alarm clock, I realized I was already late for my early Friday morning appointment. I slipped into my cleanest dirty shirt and pants, jumped on my bicycle and pumped as hard as I could until the blood started to circulate through my left brain. I was hoping to wake up some logical, rational and objective thinking…knowing that it would be wasted effort to circulate any blood to the right side. It is common knowledge that my subjective right brain persists in some sort of permanent coma. I arrived a full thirty minutes late but decided…what is in the past is in the past…I cannot change that. So I went in, said “Hello!” .... “Sorry I’m late.”

As I sat staring at the Bread looking back at me from the monstrance…I thought…how bizarre, how weird. All this mumbo jumbo about God’s only son who’s life, death and resurrection purchased us the rewards of eternal life. The story of a virgin mother giving birth to God made man…how strange this all seems. This is really hard to understand, hard to grasp with my left brain.

But, when I consider all the other strange and peculiar beliefs…all the other even more bizarre and more weirder gods, maybe it’s not that much of a leap of faith to believe in my God. Especially when it appears all the other material gods and theo-isms only lead to chaos, confusion and mayhem. So, perhaps my God is not so odd in the overall scheme of things. But, it is so incredibly mysterious. In John’s sixth chapter the disciples are quoted, “this saying is hard: who can accept it?”

Well, I'm with Peter. These are hard sayings. But, like Peter when asked “do you also want to leave?” Simon Peter answered “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

I choose to believe in the mysteries without having to understand them. It is a decision of the heart not the head. Because the head cannot figure this out. Maybe there is hope for my right brain after all.

Lord Jesus, nothing compares to the promise I have in you.

Amen

The Jar And The Jug

I opened the refrigerator door and stared in…a recreational activity which has become more pronounced in the last two weeks. Originally I had high expectations of accomplishing many projects around the house after my largest customer informed me that they were cutting back and tightening their belt due to the stagnated economy. At first I welcomed the free time but then I discovered something about myself, something that I didn’t really want to know.

I am not a planner; I prefer being told what to do and when to do it. Just give me one emergency at a time. I like to solve technical problems and work hard when the challenge arises…especially when it is an emergency, someone else’s emergency not mine. The routine mundane stuff is not for me.

Then there is that other problem…worrying…the worrying that I promised myself not to do. Worrying about the future and what is going to happen…what a total waste of time and energy.

I removed the expired carton of milk from the refrigerator and decided to make cornbread. Besides sour milk…buttermilk…that’s all the same stuff isn’t it? As I mixed the flour from the jar and the oil from the jug I couldn’t help but think of the widow from Zarephath and how she prepared a little cake for Elijah and what he told her. “The jar of flour shall not go empty nor the jug of oil run dry until the day when the Lord sends rain upon the earth.”

What a comforting thought as I ate my fill of comfort food. Perhaps I will start painting the house today.

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for the comfort food of eternal life…a life without economic woes or worries…a life where you do all the planning, all I have to do is follow your lead.

Amen


Ref: 1 Kings 17:8-24

Why Me?

As I cast a judgmental eye around the congregation I wondered if they were just there physically not spiritually. Were they only present out of habit or under duress from a spouse or parent? As I wandered the labyrinthine halls of my mind it occurred to me what a fraud I was…how judgmental I was. As I continued flipping the channels of my brain from day-dream to day-dream…I stood, I sat and I kneeled…I followed the crowd like a zombie. I watched the altar boy, in this case a girl, yawn…a most contagious yawn that had an infectious effect on me. I grit my teeth and tried for my most pious pose in an attempt not to follow suit but it was of no avail. I wasn’t even fooling myself. In the background I could hear the droning of a sermon as my coma persisted. Automatically getting in line and filing up to receive communion I heard the priest announce, “The Body of Christ”. That snapped me out of my stupor and I stammered, “Amen”.

The realization of how unworthy I really was came over me like a giant wave crashing down and causing me to gasp for breath. As a warm loving feeling washed over me and I strained to hold back the tears, my only thought was…why me Lord? What did I ever do to deserve love from You.

The tune and words from the song played in my head.

“Why Me Lord? What have I ever done
To deserve even one of the pleasures I've known
Tell me Lord what did I ever do to deserve loving you
And the kindness you've shown”

Amen

Tuna Salad

As I remove the stainless steel mixing bowl from the cabinet…the bowl that belonged to my mother…it brings back childhood memories… recollections of my mother’s tuna salad made in this very bowl. Every Friday she would prepare a batch of canned “sea chicken”. Although I cannot say for sure what the exact ingredients were or verify the exact proportions of each ingredient …I make it exactly the way she did. Over the years the tuna has morphed into Albacore and the Miracle-Whip into mayonnaise and who knows what other subtle changes have evolved…but the memories are unchanged and no less vivid. I remember the entire family sitting around the kitchen table eating together with no TV in the background, no carpooling children to soccer, or band practice and no going out on dates. There was no talking with your mouth full or leaving the table early. There was family time; there was doing the dishes (if it was your turn); there was sitting up straight; and there were manners.

I stir in the pickle relish, add salt and pepper, and taste. Yep! That’s it! Just like mom’s.

My mother has been gone for forty-five years but I miss her. I look forward to the day that I see her again just to say “I love you”. I know she must be a saint now. I can take credit for that because…I was the one who kept her on her knees.

Thank you Jesus, for that special mother.
Thank you Lord, for no other.
Thank you for those mem-o-ries
Thank you Lord from my knees
Amen.