Happy New Year!

Let's celebrate with some dancing badgers. Gosh, people are weird. Weird, but cute.

You Must Break the Alabaster Jar ...

Long, long ago, I saw a great Life on the Rock episode, a "Day In the Life" sort of thing, starring the Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration in Hanceville, Alabama. The Nuns performed a beautiful song that one of the Sisters wrote. It was gorgeous, I tell you. Resplendent beauty! It really gets to the heart of why a regular girl (me) would want to do something radical (enter religious life.)

Anyway, I taped the episode, and I played it over and over again, trying to hear the words of the song. I succeeded only half-way. Thank you Brendan, for posting the correct lyrics. (By the way, you can listen to this LOTR episode, online, here. Just scroll down to episode #336.)


The Alabaster Jar
by Sr. Ashley, a Poor Clare Postulant

Break the alabaster jar
And pour it at his feet
Like Mary Magdalene who then began to weep
Don’t be afraid to give Him your all
You’ve been called to break the alabaster jar

He has asked you for an undivided heart
From the world and all its vanities
You must set yourself apart
Follow where He leads you with true docility
And He will bless you abundantly

In this life and vale of tears
So many separations, so many fears
Go to the Blessed Sacrament
Pour out your heart to Him
He will love you, always love Him

Learn to love suffering
Embrace the Cross
Thank Him for every trial and pain
Never count the loss
This grace He has given you
To share in His own
Accept it, and let him lead you home

Drop by drop you must pour
Even when you think you can’t bear anymore
If you surrender everything
Holding nothing back
He will make up for that which you lack

You must break the alabaster jar
And pour it at his feet
Like Mary Magdalene who then began to weep
Don’t be afraid to give Him your all
You’ve been called to break the alabaster jar

Don’t be afraid to give Him your all
You’ve been called to break the alabaster jar

Merry Christmas!

And no, that is not a "belated" Merry Christmas. I am not late. Christmas lasts until at least Epiphany, and can even be stretched into February, until the Feast of the Presentation. So there!

I'm enjoying myself in Ohio; I've become acclimated to automobile operations again. Initially, there was the usual upset at discovering that my parents have it together even less than I thought. Then there was the backsliding into the "change my socks? I don't need clean socks" behaviour. All in all, I'm very well adjusted.

Parts of my family attended Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve ... the real Midnight Mass, at 24:00, not the 22:00 wimpy stuff offered at a lot of parishes. We stayed behind afterwards, to look at the Creche. My favourite part of the Nativity are the shepherds. Of all the people in Israel, the Lord chooses to send His Angel to the little ones. The poorest, smallest people are the first to be invited to worship the newborn King. Humility is such a breath-taking treasure!

Okay. I know you're waiting for the gift haul list. I'm very sorry to disappoint, but the report is not too thrilling this year. As a newly self-supporting, on-my-own, gainfully employed bambina, I asked my parents to skip the presents and break out their wallets. Ahhh cash. Now I can hold the greenbacks directly under my nose, breath deeply and sigh: "June's rent is sooooo partially paaaaaid."

I took this carry-on sized suitcase with me, because I'm going to be flying to Nashville next week, and then on to DC. And I have no idea in all of jelly jam how I am going to re-stuff everything into it. I was standing over it last night, amazed by the fact that everything I brought once fit into it. Now I'm thinking: "Maybe I can leave my towel. The Sisters might have towels."

Blasted tiny suitcase. It's upstairs right now, lying on my bedroom floor, mocking me. My nearest relations are rather amused at my predicament. Remember that scene from Home Alone, when Kevin is astonished to find out that he must "Pack? My Suitcase?"

Kevin: I don't know how to pack a suitcase. I've never done this in my whole life.
Jeff: Tough.
Kevin: That's what Megan said.
Megan: What did I say?
Jeff: You told Kevin "tough".
Megan: The dope was whining about a suit case. What was I supposed to do? Shake his hand and say, "Congratulations, you're an idiot"?


Ick. Lord, help me pack my suitcase.

I Love Engrish

Everyone recall that "All your base are belong to us" fun? If you don't, (for shame, ) you can remember it here.

Meredith at Basia Me Catholica Sum posted this adaptation long, long ago:

In AD 2005, a new papacy was beginning...

Liberal Catholic: What happen?
Bishop: John Paul II pass away.
Priest: We get signal.
Liberal Catholic: What!
Priest: Look up at chimney.
Liberal Catholic: Habemus papem
Ratz: How are you gentlemen.
Ratz: All your base are belong to Benedict XVI.
Ratz: You are on the way to salvation.
Liberal Catholic: What you say!
Ratz: You have no chance to survive make your time
Ratz: Ha ha ha ha.
Priest: Hallelujah!
Liberal Catholic: Take off every 'Feminist Theologian'
Liberal Catholic: You know what you are doing.
Liberal Catholic: Move 'Feminist Theologian"
Liberal Catholic: For social justice.

Photo Day! Enjoy ...

I know I complain a lot. But I do heart my job.
Me and one of my babies:



Two of my flatmates, "the Lovers," in fact:



Me and a co-worker, and more babies:

Let's Build a Tower Out of Office Furniture

Or let's not, and tell the Boss Man we did.

I hate that team building stuff. It's so smarmy. Ever seen "Office Space," that delicious specimen of a cult hit movie? Everyone there knew that "efficiency consultants" were really just the layoff team.

Militantly atheistic work places are the same everywhere. So when the Programming Board (on which I somehow have landed) calls a "brainstorming meeting," everyone knows it's just a ploy to herd us all into a single small space for optimum-thrashing time.

Hence I was stuck at my office until 8 pm yesterday. The meeting dragged on and on, full of sarcastic remarks and sardonic comments. An hour into it, a flatmate (also on the Programming Board) leaned over and whispered: "shoot me. Now."

As for myself, I was busy humming "Kyrie Eleison."

Oh, Pretty

New construction at the Sisters of St. Cecilia's Motherhouse:

Ride the 92 at your own risk

I hate the bus. My team was traveling to our next service site, a community center in the North East. That move required us to take the dreaded, despised 92 Line.

There is always a troublemaker on the 92. There's that guy who slapped me on the bottom, the over-enthusiastic Jehovah's Witness, the assorted drunks and drug users.

Most recently, an elderly man was yelling at his wife, complaining about her cooking or something. A passenger sitting behind them stood up. "You can't talk to her like that," he said. "I'm talking to my wife," was the response. "Nobody tells me how to talk to my wife."
The passenger unzipped his jacket and drew a knife from his belt. "Why don't I get off when you do?"

The old guy shut up.

Sigh. I appreciated the effort to defend the lady.
But what a scary mess.

Lookee What I Found

You know I find most personality tests "iffy," but I couldn't resist this one. So: Go Draw A House. It's more fun than squeezing a stress ball. And for your trouble, you get an interesting psychoanalysis of your creative work. To begin doodling, click here.

Big News!

Today my brother was admitted to attend Miami University of Ohio. It's an extremely preppy State school, and we thought, perhaps, he wouldn't be accepted.

Aside from Miami, he was wanting to go to Xavier, a Catholic college run by Jesuits of ill repute. The staff includes a certain
Dr. Paul Knitter, once famously smacked down by our favourite Bavarian.

My brother has no religion to speak of. So I was nearly pulling my hair out at the idea that he would go to this University and be poisoned against the Catholic faith forever.

Cue huge sigh of relief.

In other extremely important Brother News:

I'm calling out my prayer warriors. Polish thy armour and draw they swords: My dearly beloved Shannon has a little brother with a staph infection. He's been staying at the hospital overnight. A Rosary please, or a Hail Mary, if you can manage that.

I've met the child in question, and let there be no doubt: he is a real cutie. As cute as pie, I mean. If he belonged to me,
he'd been eaten long ago.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Alright, everyone's doing it, so following Tommy off the cliff,
here I go too.

The Chronicles of Narnia. I saw it last weekend with a boy from the office. ( Don't worry, I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me that way. ) I'm very glad they started with "The Lion," and not "The Magician's Nephew." The publishers of those fancy-schmancy boxed sets always try to convince people that "The Magician's Nephew" is first. It is not! It was written as a prequel. You won't get as much out of it if you start with that one. It would be like suffering through The Phantom Menace without having seen The Empire Strikes Back. Very boring.

Anyway. I enjoyed the movie very much, if only because it qualifies for the "Movies I Can Watch With My Dad in the Room" list. There are rather few non-hokey films that do not involve, at least, sensuous kissing. Call me immature, but I can't stand watching that stuff in the company of the parental units.

The child actors were well-cast and very darling, especially Lucy. As far as the film goes, she is my favourite. In the book, Peter is my favourite, but on screen, he doesn't come off as well. He's much weaker, completely unable to handle the volatile personalities of his brother and sisters, and stumbles awkwardly towards a leadership position which is all but forced upon him.

The Christian allegory came through clearly. Watching it at times, I thought: wow, is that laid on thick. But I had to remind myself: it's that way in the book, too. That's what allegory is meant to be.

I first heard this story when I was small, and very much a pagan child. My Mother read the book with me, and neither of us recognized even the slightest shadow of the Christian religion within its pages. We were either remarkably dense or remarkably irreligious, but my reaction to the story is a testament to its universal power. I remember my feelings almost exactly:

The thought that Edmund had betrayed his family, and the gloriously innocent Aslan had suffered and died in his place, flushed my little face with horror and embarrassment at the injustice of it all. I thought that, if I had been in Edmund's place, I would have preferred my own death, so eager was I to avoid a debt that could never be repaid. Even today, I am not quite sure what to label that particular sentiment, which still occupies a certain honored place on my list of temptations. I think it is probably pride.

Anyway ... back to the movie. Narnia seemed like a small place, especially compared to Middle Earth. The Witch was perfectly played. Good movie. Take the kids. Read the book first.

Gi-normous, Extremely Urgent Question

Drum roll please ... is Batman, in fact, a superhero?

Some would say: no; he is actually just a rich guy with tons of expensive gadgets and an AbScissor or Norditrak machine. Others say: Of course he is, you try icing Mr. Freeze.

The issue goes to, I expect, what the exact meaning of "superhero," is, and whether or not the term "superhero" can be, or is always, used as a descriptive noun referring to a subject's substance.

Case in point: Batman's essence is not "superheroic," if by "superheroic" the word supernatural is also implied. However, if the word preternatural is also taken up in the definition, then it would take no grasping at emanating penumbras to list Batman in the superhero column. And of course, if "superhero" does not describe substance, but only accidents, (the way the object behaves in the physical world,) then that's a whole other can of worms.

Or maybe I am confusing my subjects and objects again.
Oy vey, and oh well.

I ask because there was an argument among my co-workers earlier today. I find that twenty-three year old men are really just boys wearing huge socks.

While we're at it: Is golf a sport?

More Nun-Gazing

Behold the Lockport Dominicans. You can go here for action shots.

The Miraculous is All Around Us

My sister posts a picture of an even younger Joseph Ratzinger. She comments:

"I remember reading in his memoirs about how his doctoral dissertation was torn to pieces by members of the faculty; they even criticized its physical appearance - the person who had typed the manuscript had made a lot of typos and been very messy, etc. I'm sure none of the professors ever in their wildest dreams imagined that they were critiquing a dissertation from a man whose name will [...] be permanently etched in ecclesiastical chronology [...]"

How easy it is to forget that God has a plan for everyday and everyone. Maybe I passed a future American President on the street this morning. Eighty years from now, the "this day in history" box might list December 11, 2005, as the date a Pope was born. There's an unheralded miracle every day.

Incidentally: It was Fr. Joseph's sister, Maria Ratzinger, who typed up his manuscripts ... she had to stay up late many nights to get it finished in time. And he loved her for it, too, typos and all. What a good brother!

Suffer for the Truth

Snow Day!

There were rumours of snow and ice today in the District. As expected, the government had a cow and closed the schools. The Federali were tempted, but they stifled themselves, limiting their action to putting liberal leave into effect.

So, that means: no work for me! Yippe-yay, yay, yay. A suprise 3-day weekend. Very cool.

Regina Immaculata

"There is a moment fixed indelibly in my mind, when on hearing his [Pope Paul VI's] words, "Mariam Sanctissimam declaramus Matrem Ecclesiae" - "let us declare Mary the Most Holy Mother of the Church”, the Fathers leapt out of their chairs and stood applauding, paying homage to the Mother of God, our Mother, the Mother of the Church. In fact, it is with this title that the Pope summed up the Marian doctrine of the Council and gave the key for its understanding. Mary does not just have a unique relationship with Christ, the Son of God who, as man, wanted to become her son. Being totally united to Christ, she belongs also totally to us."

From Pope Benedict XVI's homily on The Immaculate Conception.

Woah, Nelly.

Nope, nobody yelled at me about my cutie pie Papa Ratzi picture. But it turns out that the picture I put up was NOT Il Papa, but Johnny Cash himself, if you can believe that. Papa Ratzi is so much his spittin image, I didn't notice! My sister (who, as a journalist in-training, has great editing prowess, and therefor has my blogger passwords) saw my mistake and was good enough to change it for me.

I've decided to put it back up so all you guys can see that we have a Pope who looks like Johnny Cash. HOW AWESOME IS THAT?

Johnny Cash, not Fr. Joseph Ratzinger as a young dogmatic theologian, but really who can tell the difference:



The actual dogmatic theologian, Joseph Aloysius:



Still recklessly thieved from Zadok

Sick and Tired

I never thought the day would come when I was sick and tired of hearing pedophiles criticized. Neither would I have ever seen myself taking a position that could be skewed as "defending" Roger Cardinal Mahoney. But I think I've reached that point, God help me.

See, I can't help but cringe when I hear people called monsters, perverts, devils, freaks, etc. A human being is not a monster. A human being is a precious child of God that Jesus loves so much, He died to save him.

Child molestation is a monstrous, perverted, devilish, freakish act. People who commit that sin have got to be punished. Punish them, then. Lock them up. Throw away the key. But pray for them, that they may be seated beside you in Heaven.

I can't comprehend how people can sin that way. I've never sinned that way. But I've never been tempted that way, either. I've come to the understanding that everyone is capable of anything, if they fall into the clutches of Satan.

If these priests had been making a daily Holy Hour,
they would not have so fallen.

There but for the Grace of God, go I.

Mixed Results

On the bad side ...

I had to sit in a two and half hour meeting today, planning future meetings. It was basically a kvetching session with three supervisors, including the executive director of the whole Big Show.

I'm being irritated by my Boss. I'll post more about this later, but basically, I've had some trouble with D.C. guys hitting on me at service sites. So now my Boss is calling me "Hot Betsy." Of course, she's just joshing.

Maybe if I look really humiliated the next time she says it, she'll quit sexually harassing me. Geesh.

On the good side ...

It's snowing!!! The world is like a big snow globe!!! Yay!!!

"Hello, Sister."

So, I got called "Sister" again. Yesterday night, I went to see a Christmas Concert at the Basilica. It was super-duper, of course. "Gaudete," and other choral greats were performed.

I wore my usual Church outfit ... ankle length skirt, button up dress shirt and sweater, and my trusty Oxfords. Then I put on a black bandana, because 1. I didn't have time to fix my hair and 2. In the words of Pooh, it was a very blustery day, today.

So I walked up the steps of the Basilica, turned off my cell-phone, and greeted the Knight of Columbus holding the door. "Hello Sister," he replied.

Ugh.

I didn't correct him. I never correct people who call me "Sister." There's never time. (It always seems to happen in a line or on the way to Mass.) And there's the possibility that by saying "Sister," he's saying: "hello, fellow Christian, sister-in-Christ," and not "hail, consecrated religious."

I know. Fat chance of that. Of course, I'm not insulted by people who call me "Sister." I take it as a compliment, as indeed it is. But I don't like when it happens. It makes me rather uncomfortable.

First, there's the fact that I haven't benefited from the formation a Sister has. So I might not behave, in public, as a Sister ought. If people think I'm a Sister, but I don't act like a Sister, if I don't live up to their expectations of who a Sister is, I could cause some scandal.

Second, there's the fact that I haven't made the sacrifices a Sister has. When people call me "Sister," I feel like I'm stealing from all the real Brides of Christ who have made the commitment, taken the leap of faith, and paid the price that the religious consecration demands. No one likes receiving an honour they truly don't deserve.

By the way, the Concert was a charity benefit for SOAR: Support Our Aging Religious. The audience was welcomed by the president of that fine organisation, an aging religious herself, who donned ordinary clothes. I think, if religious got back into their habits, they wouldn't need to rely on charity concerts to support their crumbling congregations. And in addition to financial solvency, wearing the habit would have an added benefit for religious: People would quit confusing modestly dressed girls (e.g. me) with them!

I've Been Put To the Test

I know there is such a thing as Grace. There has to be. Because just today, not twenty minutes ago, I was put to the test. And I know without a sliver of a doubt, that I could not have passed it on my own. I teetered at the edge of death, and it was only divine strength which pulled me back.

Today, at work, we had our organization's remembrance of World AIDS day. No big deal, right? I'm certainly not for AIDS. Pandemics are cool, boo-yah? No. Of course not. But there are certain things I can't do. I can't pass out condoms, for example. I can't. I made that perfectly clear to these people when they hired me. Devout Catholic. Can't do it.

When I saw that "World AIDS Day" had popped up on the calendar, I spoke to the people in charge of planning. Let me know what the schedule is, I said. So I can take the day off if need be. No one got back to me.

So today, I was treated to a two-hour long presentation on STDs, complete with demonstrations of how to use various birth control methods and graphic photographs of venereal disease. I didn't watch any of it, of course. I spent the morning examining the office floor and ceiling.

One of my co-workers, a Baptist, was impressed. He made a point of joining me in "not looking," and refusing the "safe sex" kits they passed out to us. He told me he hoped to be, one day, as faithful as myself. So I was happy about that, joy joy, representin' Catholicism, yay!

Then we had a presentation from a bunch of AIDS activists. They made a point of telling us that we should resist the stereotype of AIDS as a "gay disease," (which it isn't.) Thing was, three of the four panelists were HIV+, gay men. I wonder who put that thing together?

Next came the hardest part:

We were supposed to spend some time this afternoon doing "outreach," ... that means, interacting with the public about AIDS. Now originally, when I asked, I was told that we wouldn't be passing out condoms. Only red ribbons, in remembrance of AIDS day. I was cool with that. Like I said, I'm all for ending the AIDs epidemic.

So all 55 of the kids in my office got their coats on, got supplies, and began walking down the street. And I was walking, and reading the material I'd been given. And I saw that, written on the brochures we were going to be handing out were advertisements for free condoms and Planned Parenthood. Then I heard a kid behind me say: "I got the sex kits."

So I stopped at the corner, my heart racing, my stomach plummeting. I was scared out of my socks. I didn't know what to do. When the light turned, the group started to go on walking, but I didn't follow them. And as they were leaving, I grabbed my roommate's (Dani's) jacket and told her: "I think I'm turning around." She took one look at my face, and asked me who my team leader was. "Dwayne," I said. "I'll tell him," she answered.

So I turn around. And I walk an excruciating two minute walk back up to my office, to tell my supervisor that I was weirded out, and I couldn't do my job. You guys who know me will know how huge this is. I am not a noisy cricket and I certainly don't make noise at Authority Figures.

My supervisor likes me. (Have you read the "Sunshine" post?) and she was okay with it. But I'm still shaking in my boots, partly because I'm going to be really embarrassed when my team gets back and gives me assorted Looks. But its also scary how close I came to losing it. To giving in.

Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus.

I've spent most of my life being afraid of people, things, situations. It's because I've got a lot of pride, and I hate the idea of humiliation. If I had been born in a rich family, I probably would have been diagnosed with a generalized anxiety disorder. So, this is huge for me. My love, my fear of the Lord, turned out to be greater than my fear of the world.

Fear of the Lord, that's a fruit of the Holy Spirit, isn't it? Thank you, Jesus.