Italian Pilgrimage: Florence

Florence as viewed from Piazzale Michelangelo

I never in my wildest dreams imagined that one day my husband, Paul, and I would travel to Italy, yet there we were for an amazing ten-day pilgrimage filled with graces and wonders.  We traveled with Bishop Donald Hying of the Diocese of Gary, Indiana, Pentecost Tours and the Institute on Religious Life.  Our tour guide, Patrizia, was fabulous!  She took amazing care of our group of 80 pilgrims, always watching out for us and our interests and teaching us so much about her gorgeous country and our beautiful faith.  We feasted on delicious food each day and drank more wine than was reasonable.  And, most precious of all, we had daily Mass! 

Garments of St. Francis of Assisi at Uffizi Gallery

With our hearts full of prayer for our friends and family, our country, our Church and our souls, we arrived in Florence, a bustling and vibrant city, tired from the long flight, but excited for the adventure that lay ahead of us.  We visited magnificent churches including the Duomo of Santa Maria del Fiore, the fourth largest church in Europe, Santa Croce where Michelangelo and Galileo were buried, and the Uffizi Gallery where we marveled at religious art and even discovered the garments of St. Francis of Assisi!  We celebrated two Masses in Florence, one at San Giuseppe and the other at St. Michele Gaetano, where Cardinal Burke celebrates Mass and ordinations when in Italy.  The vestments that Bishop Hying and the concelebrating priests wore at St. Michele’s were antique;  I believe they were several hundred years old!

Mass at St. Michele Gaetano
(photo credit Bishop Donald Hying facebook page)

Mass at San Giuseppe
(photo credit Bishop Donald Hying facebook page)

Sante Croce

Duomo Santa Maria del Fiore

One of the most charming experiences we had in Florence occurred during lunch at an outdoor cafe on a narrow street just outside of San Guiseppe's Church-I wish I had written down the name of the restaurant, but sadly, I didn't.  We watched as a dog ran into the open door of the restaurant across from us and saw the employees feed him some scraps.  Then the dog ran into the open door of the restaurant where we were eating and he received more scraps.  While the dog was enjoying his second lunch, his owner ran into the restaurant and scolded the employees for feeding his pet.  We would never have seen something like that happening in Wisconsin!

No matter which building we entered, whether it was a church or a museum, the tour guide was sure to point out the flood markers.  On November 4th, 1966, Florence suffered a horrific flood of the river Arno which caused over 100 deaths and saw the water rise to 22 feet.  As you can imagine there was much destruction to the beautiful churches and artwork in the city and the tragic event has remained at the forefront in the minds of all Florentines.  We marveled at the amount of repair work that must have been undertaken to restore the treasures of Florence. You can learn more about the flood here.

source

The square in front of Piazza del Duomo after the flood (source)

We didn’t think we could possibly see anything more marvelous than Florence and its historic churches and art that had been painstakingly restored as much as possible since the flood, but then we traveled to Assisi where even more amazing beauty and rich faith experiences awaited us.  I instantly fell in love with Assisi!  That story is soon to come.

  My favorite artwork at the Uffizi Gallery 

Mother and Child

St. Anne with Mary and Jesus

Mother and Child

Carrying the cross

Crucifixion

Scenes from Florence churches

Angels

Our Lord in the arms of God and the angels

Crucifixion

Scenes from Florence

The best meal I have ever had-so mouthwatering!
The waiter apologized because the mushrooms
weren't quite right but I thought they were perfect!
-from the restaurant with the dog

Benches made from bedframes at the restaurant with the dog-so quaint!

I have to stop telling lies!

View from the rooftop garden at Hotel Baglioni at sunrise

The happy pilgrims on the rooftop garden of Hotel Baglioni

To Jesus through Mary

source

On the Feast of St. Luke I was blessed to attend a most reverent daily Mass with Fr. Cliff Ermatinger of the Archdiocese of Milwaukee as the presider. Fr. Cliff had not ever presided at daily Mass at my parish as far as I know, and this was the first time that I had ever been present at his Mass.  I was deeply moved by how reverent he is!  Fr. Cliff spent a great deal of time elevating both the host and the chalice which made for a significant amount of adoration of both.  I had never seen that done at such length before and felt that it really helped to keep me focused on the real purpose of the Mass and prevented me from becoming distracted as, sadly, I too often seem to be.  

His homily for the feast day was enlightening!  He said that not only was St. Luke a physician and an artist, but he was also an historian who personally  sought out the sources before writing his Gospel. Although he never met Jesus in person, he had met His mother Mary, and it was through Mary that he learned everything about Jesus. He learned about the Incarnation, the Visitation, the Nativity, and all aspects of the  life of Jesus, through the eyes and stories of the Blessed Mother, with whom he personally spoke. How did he know that she pondered these things in her heart?  He knew because she told him.  And that's why Luke's Gospel is the only one that shares the personal details about Mary's experience.

St. Luke went to Jesus through Mary, just as we do today!  What a great and beautiful example!

Write My Life, Lord

“I say to myself, and I say to you: do we let God write our lives? Or do we want to do the writing ourselves?” ~Pope Francis

"Fools that we are!  We admire and bless this Divine action in the writings relating its history, and when it is ready to continue this writing on our hearts, we keep moving the paper and prevent it writing by our curiosity, to see what it is doing in and around us.  Pardon, Divine Love, these defects; I can see them all in myself, for I am not yet able to understand how to let You act...I have not, as yet, by abandonment, received even the bare outlines of your pencil."  ~Jean-Pierre de Caussade, Abandonment to Divine Providence

...or in the case of Jesus, hang on a cross and bleed.
Photo and quote  H/T Nancy Shuman.

Pope Francis gets to me.  I can't get through reading a single one of his homilies without the realization that I've got a lot of improving to do in my life, especially when it comes to the poor.  Over and over again he reminds us that the poor are the most important, that we need to give our all for them, that we must simplify our lives, in solidarity with, and to benefit, them.  It is no easy task.  In his recent homily on the Gospel account of the Good Samaritan, he reminds us that "part of listening to the Lord comes with helping the needy."  I'm certain that I often fail to be a good listener.  I recently experienced a week of great discomfort because God put situations into my path for which I did not adequately give my all.  I was the Levite and the priest hurrying on my way, too "put upon" to recognize the distressed face of Christ in my life.

I often spend time alone in church after the daily 7 AM Mass, praying before the tabernacle.  Many days I am the only one in church.  Recently, a homeless man came and sat in the pew in front of me, turned to me, and asked if he could tell me about his problems.  I listened as Terry told me about his brother who recently died and his lack of funds to attend the funeral out of town.  He complained about his divorce, his HIV positive status and his loneliness.  Alcohol fumes emitted from his mouth with each word he spoke.  He told me that he was so consumed with anger that he wasn't sure how much longer he could control his behavior. With those words, I became very uncomfortable, but despite that, when the maintenance man entered the church from the sacristy and stopped to stare at Terry and I, I waved to him to let him know that everything was fine.  Then I reached in my purse, gave Terry ten dollars, promised him my prayers, and walked away from him to light a candle.  When I got up to leave church, Terry was gone.  I left Church that day, feeling, not a satisfaction that I had found Jesus within Terry and responded out of love, but a disgust with myself for feeling uncomfortable and giving him money as a way to rid myself of his company.  Thinking back upon the situation, I wished that after listening to Terry's concerns, that I would have shared my concerns with him as well, as I would have with any other friend who takes the time to confide in me, that we would have had a real conversation.  There, despite the presence of Jesus in the tabernacle, I didn't give to Terry from my heart full of love, but, rather, from my mind full of fear.

Later, during that same week, my family and I spent a morning working at our parish food pantry.  I volunteered to work at the registration table.  A handsome young man came to sign up and when I asked him how he had heard about the food pantry he told me that God had told him to come.  I asked for his identification and he said that he had been in jail and the police took his ID card and never gave it back to him.  Then he started crying, with tears streaming down his face.  I reached out and held his hand, offering words of reassurance.  Suddenly, his crying turned to laughter; loud, boisterous laughter, that drew the attention of others in the crowded church hall.  I withdrew my hand and finished the paperwork.  As he worked his way through the food line, he continued to laugh, as well as dance and sing at the top of his lungs.  I recognized that this man was struggling with mental illness.  The compassion that I had felt while he was crying, turned to repulsion with myself because I didn't do more for him.  I wondered, what if that were my son, suffering so publicly, would I just turn away and ignore it, hoping that someone else would address it?  What would it have cost me to walk with that young man as he made his food choices, and to help him to carry his groceries home?  Could I have offered to assist him with obtaining another form of identification?  Shouldn't I have followed up with him in a week's time to see how he was getting along?  But instead, I turned to the next client and left this young man, this man that God had brought into my presence, to face his problems on his own.

And so, with a sorrowful heart filled with regret, and at the same time, a hopeful heart filled with promise, I pray:

Write my life, Lord.  Help me to hold still while your pen works out my story, so that I may accept all that you intend for me.  Don't allow me to squirm away from Your plans.  Spill Your ink upon my soul, and when you are through, open the book of my life to others so that they will read the words of Your will faithfully followed in every situation.  Amen.

"The Holy Spirit continues to carry on the work of the Savior.  While helping the Church to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ, He writes His own gospel in the hearts of the just.  All their actions, every moment of their lives, are the Gospel of the Holy Spirit.  The souls of the saints are the paper, the sufferings and actions the ink.  The Holy Spirit, with the pen of His power, writes a living Gospel, but a Gospel that cannot be read until it has left the press of this life, and has been published on the day of eternity.  Oh!  Great history!  Grand book written by the Holy Spirit in this present time!  It is still in the press.  There is never a day when the type is not arranged, when the ink is not applied, or the pages are not printed.  We are still in the dark night of faith.  The paper is blacker than the ink, and there is great confusion in the type.  It is written in characters of another world and there is no understanding it except in heaven."  ~Jean-Pierre de Caussade, Abandonment to Divine Providence

Old St. Mary

My family and I recently left the large suburban parish where we had been members for 21 years.  It wasn't an easy decision to make; it took us ten years (seriously) and it involved much prayer and discussion.  But over the course of the last few years, worship there felt more distracted than prayerful.  It was time to find a new church to call home.

After a year of church shopping, we finally found our new home downtown at Old St. Mary, the oldest church in the Archdiocese of Milwaukee.  The church is so beautiful that it's impossible for me to become distracted for long; there's always a statue, painting or stained glass window to draw my attention back to the Lord.  The rich history of prayer and beauty within the walls of the church help me to deeply know the Lord's presence and peace whenever I spend time in prayer at Old St. Mary. I've been attending the daily 7 AM Mass there for the past six months and that experience has been so spiritually uplifting for me that I easily get out of bed early in the morning eager for worship.  It's the highlight of my day!

Photo credit:  The Badger Catholic

The rat race on the freeway is just kicking into gear as Milwaukeean's begin their daily commute.  I leave the frantic pace of the road and enter into the reverent hushed silence of the intimate church where 30-40 early morning worshipers are gathered.  The priest and lector/acolyte enter from the sacristy with a ring of the sacristy chimes.  The Mass is quick, lasting only 20 minutes without a homily, allowing those who work downtown to make it to work on time.  The sweet sound of the sacristy chimes and the church bells, named Mary, Mary Anna and Mary Magdalen, mark the early morning hours as they ring out, calling all to worship. The acolyte also rings the sanctus bells at consecration reminding all of those present about the importance of reverencing Christ on the altar and adding a little bit of joyful noise to this holy moment.

Following Mass, it is not unusual for many of those gathered at Old St. Mary to remain on their knees in silent prayer for 15-30 minutes.  Sometimes by the time I leave for work I find that the others have all gone with the exception of Willy, the sweet, old man who sits in the back row, day after day, frequently sleeping. Willy always seems to be there silently keeping the Lord company every day, and whenever I stop to say hello he reminds me that he prays for me.  I think of him as my guardian angel watching over me while I pray each day.

Photo Credit:  Cream City Catholic

Now that my family has formally joined the parish, we were quick to volunteer.  We spent an enjoyable Saturday morning helping at the Riverwest Food Pantry.  Lisa, who heads up the food pantry, joyfully showed us the ropes and we even had time to take a long look around St. Casimir Church where the food pantry is located.  St. Casimir is equally as gorgeous as Old St. Mary.  There are so many hidden treasures in this city!  At the food pantry we met many wonderful and interesting people, and enjoyed long conversations with some of them as we walked them home helping to carry their groceries.  We are all looking forward to taking many more turns giving of our time in this way.

In my dull little life, it doesn't take much to give me a thrill.  When I offered to help clean the church on Thursday mornings before work, I was introduced to Christina, a wonderful woman who heads up this job and who is as kind and friendly as can be.  She quickly set me to work cleaning windows, holy water fonts, and the candle lighters/snuffers.  It's a little thing, but I loved it!  After all, it's those little details that often mean the most in life.  It's a great honor for me to help in some small way to keep this magnificent church clean.

Photo Credit:  Arise Milwaukee

It's always a bit nerve-wracking when you do something for the first time, isn't it?  Although I'd been a lector at my former parish for the past five years, I was nervous on the day when I was to read for the first time at Old St. Mary.  When I stepped into the sacristy, I saw a statue of St. Anne and my nerves were immediately reduced having that physical reminder that my patron saint was nearby keeping an eye on things.  I was more than pleased when Fr. Tim Kitzke, the pastor, joined the lectors and servers in the sacristy and led us in a pre-Mass prayer.  I had never experienced anything like that before, but it makes sense, doesn't it, to pray before you lead others in prayer?  Fr. Tim's jovial and energetic style includes homilies so memorable that my family and I discuss them days after we hear them.  His most recent homily about the Good Samaritan focused on how to get out of the pits of life, and help others out of the pits as well, by focusing on the three "E's":  Empathy, Empowerment and the Eucharist.  I always love a homily that includes our Eucharistic Lord!

Although it took my family years of discussion and debate before leaving our old parish and joining a new one, I am as happy as can be to have finally made the switch.  Everyone at Old St. Mary is so very friendly, welcoming and warm, from Daisy, the darling parish secretary, to Ken, the Director of Religious Education and David, the Director of Liturgy, to Nick, who keeps the physical buildings in tip-top shape, to the priests, volunteers, fellow parishioners and the old man in the back row. I've found nothing but joy and warmth throughout the parish.  And when it's time for worship, they are deeply faithful and serious about giving glory to God with love and respect and reverence.  My faith feels refreshed and alive.  I wish every Catholic could feel this joy about belonging to a parish and attending Mass.  Our parishes would be full and our Lord would be pleased, of that I'm certain!

Three Reasons I Love Catholicism Vol. 2

I think if I were ever to decide that I had enough of blogging and would be tempted to hang it up, I would still hold on to this sweet little meme.  Thinking of the reasons why I love Catholicism brings me so much joy!  Even when I get mad at the Church for her problems, I couldn't imagine being any religion other than Catholic because there is just an endless list of wonderful things about this faith.  So here I am linking up with Micaela at California to Korea  who offers this great meme at the beginning of each month, with a short list of Three Reasons I Love Catholicism...

1)  The Sacred Heart of Jesus

 When anxiety, fear, sorrow, and loneliness infringe upon my peace of mind and soul, I fly to the Sacred Heart of Jesus.  I place everything that bothers me into His pierced side and He burns all my troubles into ash within the fire of His Holy Love.  Then He gently draws me into His Sacred Heart as well and warms my soul with peace.  Nothing can hold me back and I can conquer the challenges of this world knowing that I am always held within the love of His Most Sacred Heart.

2)  The Holy Mass

 I've gotten myself into the habit of attending Mass, not just on Sunday, but nearly every day of the week.  Joining with the community of Catholics at Mass, my prayer is strengthened and my soul is soothed.  Listening to the Word of God and holding on to a small part of it to ponder and pray with throughout the day, watching as a simple piece of bread and cup of wine is converted into the very Body and Blood of my Savior and then receiving Him into my own miserable body in a Kiss of Love, is powerful beyond belief.  I can't imagine life without the Mass, and I'm so grateful to have the opportunity to attend so often.


3)  The Morning Offering

Sometimes it can be difficult to keep the command to "pray without ceasing."  The Morning Offering is such a simple way to pray always even when I am preoccupied with the busy activities of the day.  Starting each morning with a few words of prayer and then calling to mind all of those people and situations that are close to my heart as well as remembering Pope Francis and all of his intentions, I give it all to God and my day is covered in prayer.  Simplicity!!!  I am so grateful to my friend, Fr. Jim Kubicki, SJ and the Apostleship of Prayer for promoting this easy way of life.  Visit this link to learn more.


Visit Micaela's blog for more reasons to love Catholicism and add your own reasons.

The Skin of God

"I know that God will be here with me, but I need someone in this room who has some skin!"  
~Fr. Ronald Rolheiser

It's been six months since I began the practice of remaining for ten minutes after every Mass to offer thanksgiving for the gift of the Eucharist.  When I attend early morning daily Mass I usually extend that ten minutes to 45 minutes and include the Stations of the Cross in my morning prayer and then stop to light a candle for a friend on my way out of church.  My silent time with the Lord has come to be a daily treasure that I do not want to forgo.

And yet, there are times...

There are times when it feels so lonely.  There are times when I feel so anti-social, turning my back on my friends who are visiting and laughing with one another as I silently kneel before the tabernacle.  I long to join them in conversation but I can't bear to leave Jesus alone in His golden tabernacle.  There are times when I wish someone would join me, just silently kneeling beside me offering their own act of thanksgiving to the Lord.  And there are times when I wish someone would walk the Stations of the Cross with me, being my companion in that journey of loving prayer.

Sometimes I can almost sense the eyes of the maintenance man who busily cleans while I pray, and who is my silent company in church most days, looking at me as if I were nothing more than a pious old church lady, as if that were a derogatory term,  and it makes me feel even more lonely in my prayer.

But I want to be with Jesus.  I want Him to know that I love Him.  I want to feel that He loves me.  So I firmly commit to my daily time of prayer despite the loneliness that it entails.  Sometimes I feel sorry for Jesus, because even though I physically remain in His presence, my heart is often far away and my thoughts wander....

That's where I was this morning, full of wandering thoughts...thrilling for a friend who just brought home a beautiful baby from China...fearing for a friend who's son was undergoing surgery for a collapsed lung...worrying about all the daily tasks that await me at work and at home and about all of the problems that weigh heavy on this worn and weary mother's heart.  I wanted to share them with a real person, to pray about them with someone, instead of silently giving them to God who was only offering me silence in return.  With my face buried in my hands as I knelt before the tabernacle, I tried to give my day and my worries to God, and I barely noticed the soft footsteps approaching. I peeked through my fingers and saw my son, Joe, standing before me.

Joe has been working at our parish for the summer, helping with cleaning and yard work.  He told me that his job today would be to dust-mop the church floor, carefully cleaning between and beneath every pew.  His appearance felt like an answered prayer and even though he wasn't able to kneel beside me or walk the Stations of the Cross with me, just sensing his presence as his mop bumped around the pews, gave me peace and reassurance.  It was as if God came to me in the person of my son and accompanied me in my prayer.  Joe became the "skin of God" with a dust-mop for this lonely and pious old church lady.  And as my time of prayer was coming to an end, I embraced him, whispered my love, and then lit a candle for him in the hopes that the flame of that prayer would burn brightly for him throughout the day, assuring him of my gratitude for his presence within my prayer.

The Upper Room

While the early morning sun rises over the lake, casting pink and blue shadows across the sky, a small group of friends gather in a cozy little chapel hidden away in the heart of the city, to offer the sacrifice of the Mass. We listen to the stories of the early Church in this Octave of Easter and my imagination carries me back to that long ago place and time. In my heart our intimate gathering of prayer and devotion is really taking place in that upper room where the disciples of Christ first gathered in fear and trembling which turned to amazement at the sight of the Lord in their midst. The host is raised and my heart cries out "It is the Lord!" (John 21:7) Like the disciples, I, too, am incredulous for joy. (Luke 24:41) He speaks to me and says "Come, have breakfast" (John 21:12) and I partake of His body and blood.

Oh Lord, make my heart an upper room where You appear and hold dominion. Fill me with Your grace so that, like the first apostles, I may carry Your presence in my heart, sharing You with all those I meet throughout the course of the day, filling the world with Your love and peace. Amen.

Campfire Conversations

Moses and George Bush were riding on an elevator. George Bush recognized Moses and said "Hello." Moses ignored him. George Bush tried again but still, Moses offered no response. Finally, George Bush reprimanded Moses and said, "Don't you know it's rude not to speak to someone who is talking to you?" Moses replied, "The last time I talked to a Bush I spent 40 years in the desert!!!" (A campfire joke shared by my son John.)

On our camping vacation with our long-time friends from church, all of us friends since our teenagers were babies, we have a tradition of starting two adjacent bonfires at night-one for the adults and another for the kids, otherwise our group is too large for anyone to cozy up close enough to the warm fire.

The conversation at the adult campfire quickly turned to St. Matthias Parish, of which we have all been members for 15-20 years. The talk concerned the recent trend of emptier pews and the many reasons why we felt that families would choose to leave a parish to which they had long been members. One thought was that it is a parent's duty to make sure that their children were happy at church and the parents better do whatever it takes to insure that the little ones don't give up the faith, even if that means changing parishes. And Steve and Kathy, who have long been pillars of the parish, deeply involved in every ministry, and most currently passionately building up the youth of the parish by running the youth ministry which is affectionately called FEET (Faith Empowering and Engaging Teens), were just wanting ideas to keep those same teens who might be bored at church actively involved with their faith at the parish in which they were raised. There certainly are no easy answers and everyone is going to do what they feel is best for their family-either leave or dig in and plant the roots of faith even deeper.

So this girl who likes to send her roots down deep and stay put, changed the topic to share her love for her family minivan. Our minivan is over ten years old; it's rusty and noisy and has safely carried our family over 120,000 miles. Paul would like to trade it in for a newer and less maintenance-costly model, but I love my van-it's my daily traveling companion and I just can't bear to part with it. Sometimes it makes some strange noises, but I just turn the radio a little louder and carry on. I feel the same way about my house and my husband. I know that my van, my house and my husband, beloved though they all are, are none of them perfect. But I love them all just the same and couldn't imagine my life without them

And that's exactly how I feel about my parish. Sure, we've got troubles and problems, but if I bail, which I've often been tempted to do over the years, then I haven't done one single thing to help solve the problems, I've only selfishly run away to look for something new which I will soon find has problems of it's own.

A few years ago, when my depression was at it's most severe, God called me to begin attending daily Mass. I didn't want to go. I cried all the way to church, cried all during Mass, and then cried all the way home again. I begged God to just let me roll over and sleep for another thirty minutes. Why did He always have to drag me to church every day when I was just tired and wanted to sleep, I wondered? But somehow God's drawing me to Mass was powerful and potent and I could not resist, so there I was every day at 7 AM Mass, tears and all. Over time, I stopped complaining and dried my tears long enough to notice how beautiful that daily Mass was and before long I couldn't imagine staying away. I began to thank God for daily Mass instead of complaining about how unhappy I was to attend.

I think there's a lesson in that experience for the youth of our parish. They might not want to attend Confirmation classes, they might complain about having to dress nicely for church, they might prefer to sleep in on a Sunday morning, and they might even say that Mass is boring. But if we, as parents, continue to compel them to come through obedience, sooner or later they will stop complaining and they will find the beauty in the routine of worship and they will feel the love God has for them and will respond in wanting to give all of their love right back to the Lord. If we teach them to run away every time things become the least bit unpleasant at church or in life, then we haven't done our job in firmly teaching them the faith or given them the life skill of endurance through good times and bad.

And Steve looked over at the youthful campfire and said, "Now that's spiritual-twelve teens getting along, sharing stories with one another, even though they rarely see each other. There's a fine example of living joyfully and glorifying the Lord."

And why does that spiritual connection happen? Because even if the parents complain about the difficulties of camping such as rain, cold weather, and hard rocks to sleep on, they persevere in bringing their children on a family camping trip year after year and the children learn that there are joys and sorrows intertwined in all things, that life is a combination of ease and difficulties, and that by lovingly continuing the traditions of our faith and our lives we allow God to shine through and bring beauty and faith to all situations.

And so we stay at our parish, we continue on in our Catholic faith, we hold on to our friendships. We embrace a radical fidelity to the lives to which God has called us and in the end, He will reward our faithfulness with his abiding and eternal love.

Celebrating Longevity and Faithfulness

"The Mass is the most important work of the day."
Servant of God, Dorothy Day

Last weekend my family and I were invited to dinner at the house of some friends of ours from church. They had also invited our former associate pastor who had been reassigned to another parish last month. Someone was asking Fr. Dennis what he most missed about St. Matthias Parish and he responded with two things: he missed the weekly all-school Mass where he had the opportunity to teach the Catholic faith to the children and he missed all of the beautiful people who attend daily Mass. As a daily Mass attendee, the second part of his answer touched me deeply.

I have never in my life met so many wonderful, thoughtful and kind people as those who attend the daily 7 AM Mass. From those who commit themselves to help at Mass as altar servers and extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist and lectors to those who fill the pews day by day with their physical presence and fill the church with their prayers, the daily Mass crowd is a group of loving and lovable people. It's a rare day when I don't leave church without a hug or a compliment from one of the sweet grandmotherly types who frequent the Mass or find a little gift (usually some type of food treat for my family) waiting for me in my pew when I arrive.

Today happened to be a very special day and Fr. Dan announced at the beginning of Mass that not only were we celebrating the Feast of St. John Vianney, but we were also celebrating the birthday of one of the daily Mass attendees. Charlotte was rejoicing in 97 years on this earth and everyone at Mass was filled with anticipation for this day. A card had been circulating before and after Mass for the past week so that every one could wish her well on her special day and after Mass Sister Doris played Happy Birthday with a verse of "May the Dear Lord Bless You" added to the end. Everyone sang with joy for the woman who has graced us with her loving and prayerful presence for so many years. Then some members of the parish staff arrived with donuts in the outer hallway for a celebratory treat. Sweet Charlotte is a daily Mass celebrity!


















A Prayer for the Daily Mass Crowd

My Jesus, as I sit with my children in the back pew of the church, I look upon all of my fellow churchgoers. Although they are much older than me and my family,they seem to have a youthful spirit about themselves. Their bodies may be feeling the aches and pains of old age, but their eyes betray their bodies. For in their eyes a sparkle exists that spreads into a smile covering their entire faces. Those sparkling eyes speak of knowledge and wisdom and maturity which only comes from endurance through trials and challenges. The men and women at daily Mass represent faithfulness and constancy in all circumstances. No matter what happens in their lives,they keep coming back to God. Their wisdom and love attract me and open a desire in my heart to follow in their paths.

We are one as we kneel and pray. We are one as we silently adore the uplifted Host. We are one as we wave to each another in a gesture of peace. Although I am many years their junior, they accept me and fold me into their circle of friendship. Some share their life stories with me. Others share gifts for my children. Some, whose names I don’t know,simply share this daily time of prayer with me. That is more than enough. Lord, I pray for these men and women because I love them so and I love how much they love you. Amen.

"Put all the good works in the world against one Holy Mass; They will be as a grain of sand beside a mountain"
Saint John Vianney

St. John Vianney, pray for us!

(the prayer is a re-post from the archives in honor of Charlotte and in admiration of the wonderful example she sets in her faithfulness in prayer.)

Another Holy Man

He's decided to come to Mass with me every day this summer; quite a feat for a fifteen year old boy who would much rather sleep in than rise at 6 AM in the barely there light of morning while his siblings remain sleeping. He wouldn't come with me if it were just about the Mass, I know; he comes because I take him with me to the YMCA immediately following Mass. He's working on building his physical strength this summer and I'm amazed to see him becoming quite muscular at a rapid pace. His faithfulness to exercise is reaping immediate rewards, but I know that his faithfulness at prayer is reaping even greater spiritual rewards, although he's not quite ready to admit that.

What I most enjoy about my time with my son at daily Mass other than the overwhelming realization that he towers over me in height (I barely come up to his shoulders) is that I notice subtle signs of his ever softening heart. Joe is tough and doesn't want anyone thinking that he isn't. But I see the signs and I know that God has got his hand firmly upon his soul, gradually leading him into a deep faith. After his daily complaint about having to sit in the front because his mother is the lector, he asks me to hand him my blue Pieta prayer book which is always in my purse. It is his daily habit to pray to St. Joseph, his patron saint, from the prayer in that book. When Mass begins, he fully and respectfully participates but after Mass is sure to complain about the length of Father's homily, regardless of how short it actually was, as he races for the door so as not to miss out on any of his workout time.

The conversation in the car is usually filled with questions, the signs of a boy searching for meaning in the faith in which he is being raised. He's sure to remind me that it is difficult to be the son of a Jesus freak. When wondering about my work history, I told him the story about how miserable I was when I worked in food service management before I was married. I had applied for a new job in clinical nutrition and promised God that I would attend daily Mass if He could please see to it that the part-time job I wanted could be mine. When God came through on His end of the deal, I was sure to follow through on mine and I began to attend daily Mass on my off-days.

Joe's mouth hung open in astonishment at this fact. "You mean you were a Jesus freak even before you were married? And Dad married you anyway?" I answered, "Joe, I was raised to be a Jesus freak, I've been one my whole life. And so are you. Your faith will be with you forever, guiding you in your decisions, nurturing you in your sorrows, strengthening you in your trials, and enhancing your joys as long as you don't let anything come between you and God." And the boy who loves to argue and win, was blissfully silent as he absorbed this fact, and I offered a silent prayer that God would always keep his hand firmly in place on my son's soul and never allow him to power lift his way out of a deep and abiding relationship with his heavenly Father.

Forgotten at the Altar

This morning I arrived at church for 7 AM daily Mass, expectant with the joy of celebrating the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. By ten after seven, it was evident that the priest who had been scheduled for Mass would not be arriving. What would we do without Sister Doris who efficiently led all seventy daily Mass attendees in a communion service? By the end of the service, she was just about in tears, telling us how upset she was that there was no Mass on such a holy and special Solemnity.

After the service, I thanked her for leading the communion service, no one else would have known what to do! Then I told her that her obvious love and devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus touched me deeply and I shared with her the story of how I came to be especially devoted to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I told her about how I was praying the Sacred Heart Novena last year in anticipation of the Solemnity. On the second day of the of the Novena I had visited my favorite place, the shores of Lake Michigan to spend time in my favorite activity, searching for sea glass. Just as I was getting ready to leave, I spotted a red piece of glass which is extremely rare. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the sea glass was shaped like a heart with a gash in the side. What a beautiful sign of love from God!!! Fr. Don (Bishop Hying) blessed it for me and I wear my sea glass heart on a chain around my neck nearly every day. When I showed it to Sister Doris, we were both in tears, realizing the great and endless love that Jesus has for each and every one of us.

I am so grateful that I will have the opportunity to attend Eucharistic Adoration today to pray for all priests on this World Day of Prayer for Priests and for the opportunity to attend Mass tonight at the home of friends who have a monthly Sacred Heart of Jesus Prayer Group with confession, rosary and Mass in their lovely home chapel. I will be praying that Jesus will never again be forgotten at the altar. Won't you join me in my prayer intention?

Jesus, lover of our souls, You long for us to love You and to never forget You, especially at the altar! I am so sorry, my sweet Jesus, for all of the neglect that is shown towards You, especially on this very occasion devoted to your most Sacred Heart! I ask your pardon for our cold hearts and beg you to light the fire of Your love within us all, but especially within the hearts of Your priests whose charge it is to lead so many others to You. Let my love for You be large enough to soften the great hurt You must feel when others forget and ignore You. Amen.

Sacred Heart of Jesus, I place all my trust in thee!!!

The Sincerity of a Server

I rouse my son from sleep
before the light is full,
fingers brushing the blonde
of his hair, whispering,
"Get up for Mass."
It takes two tries
before he responds.
He quietly dresses
without waking the others.

We race into the rain
and arrive as the rosary begins;
he scrambles to the sacristy
to prepare the altar.

He never fails to bring the
cruets down with a loud click
on the glass table, causing
distraction to those
praying the rosary.

Our voices drone on in prayer
as my son continues
his work of preparation.

As Mass begins,
he stands stoically, holding the
sacramentary in his hands
as Father prays the words within,
and during the readings
he silently watches from his seat
behind the altar.

He smooths out his alb
during Father's homily
as he stifles a yawn.

I watch as he carefully opens
the tabernacle doors to bring
the hosts to the altar.
His work here is holy, blessed
and beautiful.

When Mass is over
the church ladies rush
to hug him, beaming with pride
and gratitude, the earthly reward
for the boy who rises early
on a summer day to
serve the Lord with sincerity.

Length of Days

"Wisdom is with aged men, and with length of days, understanding." Job 12:12














While grocery shopping with my children recently, I was greeted by an elderly friend from daily Mass. After I stopped to converse with him a bit about the never-ending growth of my children and the frequency of my grocery store visits, we parted ways and my family and I continued with our errand.

As we gathered up the groceries, my fourteen-year-old son told me that he felt sorry for me because all of my friends are elderly. I agreed with him that it seems to be true that most of my friends and acquaintances are of an older generation, we laughed about it a bit and continued on with our chore. But upon further reflection, I focused on the fact that my son was taking pity on me for something of which I am actually quite grateful.

Many years ago, before Paul and I were married, I worked as a nursing home food service director. At that time and in that place, my opinion of the elderly was something along the lines of that held by my son. The residents for whom I worked were usually quite cross, always complaining about the food and my staff and challenging me beyond what my capabilities were at that time in my life. I was fearful of those who could no longer comprehend the realities of life, and saddened by those who could no longer perform the functions of daily living such as feeding and dressing themselves. I viewed old age as a fearful and miserable time.

But as I age, and with the passing of my own parents, I often feel like an orphan in need of the guidance that only an older and wiser generation can provide to me. Because my work and my family life keep me surrounded by babies and youth, it is actually quite refreshing to spend some time in the company of those whose demands on me are quite simple-usually a few kind words and a smile are all they need to bring a little sunshine to their day, and that is something that I can easily accomodate. My elderly friends who attend daily Mass have become a type of surrogate parents to me and I am very grateful for their presence in my life.

I have met so many wonderful elderly people who attend daily Mass with me and I am moved by the constancy of their faith and uplifted by the fact that whatever stage of life I am currently in, they have been there before me and have survived it, no matter how difficult it might have been, and they continue to smile and pray and love, and so I know that I too, will survive any difficulties that beset me and I will continue to be able to smile and pray and love.

Recently, one of my elderly friends shared a most interesting story with me. I had never met his wife as he always attends daily Mass alone, so I was surprised when he told me that he and his wife attend a bible study at her church. I boldly asked him what church his wife attended. He answered that she was Presbyterian and that this month they would be celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary. "Wow," I thought, "forty-five years together, each maintaining a separate religion and continuing to remain faithful to their views is an outstanding accomplishment!" Then
he shared something even more astonishing with me. He said that two of his sons are Presbyterian pastors and he is as proud of them as any father could be. "When we get together, we have some very interesting conversations," he said. "And after a couple of bottles of wine, the conversations become even more interesting!" By sharing this story with me including the obvious joy and pride that he felt, he witnessed to the faithfulness required in the vocation of marriage, and I am blessed to carry his story in my heart.

I pray that as the shadow from my own length of days grows, I too, will bring an essence of joy and pride to a younger generation, encouraging them by my example of a life lived well and a faith lived deeply.

Starting the Day with Sunshine

I can't think of a better way to start the day than by attending daily Mass. Receiving the precious Body and Blood of my Lord and carrying Him within me marks my day as Sacred and Holy. There are very few things that could improve upon this blessed beginning, and lately I have been graced to witness and participate in a tremendous improvement that lifts my spirits sky high.

My eleven-year-old son, Jack, has volunteered to serve at the 7 AM Mass every Wednesday during the summer months. Usually, one of our elderly parishioners serves at the daily Mass, so it is a real treat to see a sweet boy at the altar next to Father. In fact, it is such a treat, that one of our elderly parishioners, Mrs. A, who usually attends daily Mass every day except Wednesday, has begun to come on Wednesdays as well, just for the joy of watching Jack serve. She recently sent me an email to praise Jack and his beautiful smile that never ends the entire time he is serving. Mrs. A says that she greatly admires Jack's sincerity as he assists the priest during Holy Mass.

As if watching Jack serve at Mass isn't joyful enough, our newly ordained transitional Deacon Christopher Klusman has also been assisting at some of the daily Masses. Like Jack, he has a smile that never ends. Listening to him proclaim the Gospel and preach a homily is like watching a living miracle each time he opens his mouth, as the fact that Christopher is deaf would hardly be noticeable to one who wasn't in the know.

This morning, my fourteen-year-old son, Joe, attended Mass with me. Before you jump to too many conclusions thinking what a wonderful and holy teen he is for attending daily Mass when he could be sleeping in as most teens do in the summertime, you should know that the only reason he came along was because he had a basketball camp at eight o'clock and if he wanted a ride there, he had to come to daily Mass with me first. (But secretly, I do believe a wonderful and holy teen is alive in his spirit just waiting to be released, no matter how hard he may try to disguise it!)

As Mass was beginning, Joe leaned over to me and whispered, "Mom, I think we're all going to be blind by the end of this Mass." When I questioned him on this theory, his response was that the brightness of Jack's and Deacon Christopher's never ending smiles would light up the church so much that we would all be covering our eyes as if we were standing out in the bright sunshine! And truly, he was right, because it is impossible to watch those two holy young men without smiling as well. By the time Mass was over, we might not have been blind, but everyone in our church was certainly smiling!

Please keep Jack in your prayers as he continues to serve at Wednesday Masses and weekend Masses and discerns whether or not God is calling him to the priesthood. Please pray for Deacon Christopher as well, as he finishes his last year in the Seminary in preparation for ordination to the priesthood next May.

The Absence of God

“You see all my light and You love my dark…and You’re still here.” Alanis Morrisette

It was several years ago on Holy Thursday. I was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes and it hit me hard. My words can't adequately describe the sudden, completely empty, cold and drained feeling that washed over my soul like the suds on the dishes in my hands. God had left me. I don’t know how it is that I knew this was the cause of my sudden emptiness, but there was no doubt in my mind that the absence of God had overcome me.

I had walked in the light of His love my entire life and had really taken it for granted that His love would always be there. I never gave any thought to the fact that the awareness of His presence was a gift. There were many times in my life when I put His love on a shelf and completely disregarded it as unimportant. What a fool I was!

So anyway, there I was at the sink, feeling absolutely horrible. Tears began to fall and my children, upset to see their mother crying, asked what was wrong. I couldn’t answer because I really didn’t understand what was happening to me and hadn’t a clue about how to explain it to my little ones.

We went to Holy Thursday Mass, and as I sat in church and looked around at all of the other people present, I thought, “How can God love all of these people but not love me?” I immediately scolded myself for my prideful thought, but it wasn’t pride really, it was something worse than pride. It was despair.

The associate Pastor who loved to include pop music lyrics in his homilies quoted an Alanis Morrisette song at this Mass-

Everything:

“You see everything,
you see every part
you see all my light
and you love my dark

You dig everything of which
I’m ashamed
There’s not anything to which
You can’t relate
And you’re still here.”

He explained that this is exactly how God is, loving us and never leaving us no matter what. As happens from time to time, I felt that these words that Father quoted, these song lyrics, were spoken directly to my heart. The tears I was trying so hard to control, began to spill once more. I knew he was right, that God is always with me, so that made my present condition even harder to bear. The tears continued after my family and I returned home. I cried while kneeling bed-side with my children for their evening prayers and once again they began to question my tears and attempt to comfort me. How could I explain the unexplainable? I had told them all their lives that God loves them and will never leave them. How could I tell them that He had left me?

By the next morning, I was feeling better, not quite so desolate, and gradually I began to feel the presence of God in my life once again. I know that God uses all things for good for those who love Him and this short-lived experience of darkness was enough to change my life significantly. Since that night, I began to attend daily Mass even though, at first, I questioned God all the way there and all the way home. “Why do you want me there? Right now I'd rather be anywhere but church!” I told Him. Yet everyday I'd get up, get dressed and drive to church regardless of whether or not I felt like being there. Sometimes I would cry all the way to Mass, cry the entire time I was there, and then cry all the way home. I wondered if there would ever be an end to my tears. Still, something made me go day after day. It’s as if God was drawing me through the pain to a deeper love for Him, one that didn’t rely on consolations and joy, but instead, thrived even in the nothingness and the pain.

That experience of the absence of God also brought me to spiritual direction in a desire to try to understand God and how he works in my life. It is such a relief to know that each month I can sit and talk one on one with someone who has also been in that dark place and has found a way through it to the knowledge that we remain forever in God's presence whether it is felt or not. It is a huge help to know that I am not alone on my journey to holiness, that others have been where I am, and that I will always continue to grow in my faith.

I know I’ve got a long way to go spiritually, but daily Mass, spiritual direction and spiritual reading have led me to understand that the words of that priest so long ago are very true: even when I can’t feel God, He is always there.