The News Gets Weirder ...

Everyday.

Excerpted ...

Former Ohio first lady, ex-wife of former Governor Richard Celeste, Dagmar Braun Celeste was "ordained" in the Catholic Church by Romulo Antonio Braschi, founder of a schismatic community, on a boat in the Danube River between Austria and Germany on June 29, 2002. She was declared excommunicated by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith on July 22, 2002, which left her a priestess without a church.

Celeste will be conducting her Roman Catholic mass ritual this coming Sunday at the WinterStar Festival 23, "Sects & Sex", a gathering of Ohio Pagans at Atwood Lake Resort in Dellroy, Ohio, U.S.A.

Note to self: Consider the Lillies

Blah. I'm starting to worry about this summer. Entering a convent is a lot like getting married. Aside from all the emotional stuff that comes from leaving your family and the house you grew up in and all that, weddings cost money.

So there's a dowery and books and clothes and stuff you've got to have. And health insurance and doctor and dental exams.

The Sisters are super-cool, of course, so they say not to freak out, we'll see what we can do. But they're quite poor themselves. (It's that Franciscan/ vow of poverty thing.)

Anyway, the Lord provides. This is an opportunity to trust.

This Is Ridiculous

I admit it. Sometimes, when I'm reading about the more miraculous works of the Saints (the levitating, the Stigmata, etc.) I feel a little crinkle of skepticism. Yeah right, a tiny voice says. That's ridiculous. If I'm not careful, that crinkle on the crust can bleed over into the whole pie. Soon the tiny voice is denouncing the more fundamental things. Virgin Birth? It's impossible! Incarnation? It's unbelievable! Ressurection? Completely ridiculous!

Then of course, I remind the tiny voice that Thomas Aquinas had brains coming out of his ears, and it was all perfectly acceptable to him. Game, set and match. You're not all that, little mind. It's not like you can come up with a new objection that hasn't been blasted away by the logic of the Angelic Doctor and company.

People are always quite sure that Faith is ridiculous. They rarely consider how ridiculous everything else is.

The television camera, for example. Watch something through this lense, and little electrical signals will shoot out across the world and rearrange themselves to display the exact same picture on a screen 100 miles away. That friends, is the silliest thing I've ever heard. Why should that work? And yet it does.

Ever wonder about gravity? Now gravity, that's ridiculous. Everything, and I mean everything that goes up, must come down. Not only that, it all comes down at the same exact speed.

When I was a bambina, I understood that there were some things I couldn't comprehend on my own. They had to be explained to me. And even if I didn't understand the explaination, that didn't mean it wasn't so. But if I had the same know-it-all attitude that many grown-ups have, then when someone finally told me about television and gravity, I would have smiled nicely at that person and whispered to my nearest neighbor: "touched in the head, that one."

Grown-ups think they know everything. Silly nanny goats.

What do we do now?

Hilary asks: What do we do now?

I have heard what amounts to the same question from a number of different people this week, (some across the pond in lovely olde England.) There are different levels of despair among everyone who inquires. Some speak in terms of inevitabilities: what do we do now, now that nothing can be done? Others rage against the agonies of dry martyrdom: what do we do now, now that none care whether or not anything is done? A few do not betray any emotion, aside from bewildered anxiety, in their way of asking. They are sincere: what do we do now, now that we do not know what to do anymore?

What's the answer?

There's little thats known about the future. There will be suffering, that's a guarantee. We don't know what's going to happen, except that it is probably going to hurt a great deal. What to do, when so much is unknown, when the devil is circling, seeing whom he may devour? There is no way of guessing what is the best thing to do. I am utterly convinced of the following ... There is no program, to save or salvage anything. Except: Personal. Holiness.

No one, and I mean NO ONE can take your faith from you. Not any lukewarm DRE, or liberal nun or heretical priest or apostate Bishop. Not your Boss or your co-workers, or the media. Not a judge, not your neighbors, and not your doctor. Not your country or all of your country's armies. Not any power on earth or under the earth. They may all try to convince you to give it up, but it is yours alone to surrender.

I remember someone saying this next part. I heard it somewhere, or maybe I glued bits of it together in my own mind. In any case, thinking of it causes most of my anxieties to disappear in an instant:

Even before you were conceived in the womb, the Lord Jesus thought about how He was going to be yours. Hold on to what you've been given, and work while there is light.

My Knives

Awhile ago, I read this post on Quintero's LA Catholic. It reads, in part:

"... the publicly orthodox Western bishop who says privately that the Catholic Church will recognize gay unions within the next 20 years ... the pastor who counsels parishioners on how to develop a positive gay relationship... the bishops who dine regularly with gay couples... the pastors who give the blessing of the meal at all-gay dinner parties."

If you read the entire post, you'll see that the portion excerpted above are the published words of Eric Stoltz, an openly gay, recently ordained Deacon of Los Angeles, giving examples of how things have "improved" in the Catholic Church over the years.

I somewhat weirdly refer to these sentences as "my knives," because reading them over makes me feel like I'm being stuck in the stomach with a blade of the gut-hook variety. I was so moved the first time I saw them, I printed them out and kept them at my bedside, so I could read them each night before I fell asleep. So, I'm morbid. But sometimes these things are necessary to remember our Lord's betrayal and shed a few tears over it. To sharpen a sense of sin and re-double prayer for priests.

Anyway. I was wandering around this Sunday, and stumbled (again) upon the homepage of that shameless publication, The National Un-Catholic Reporter.

Sigh. Ladies and gents, I have another knife.

Behold:

" I have a lot of contacts because I've sort of developed a ministry with homosexual people -- gay men, lesbian women. It is difficult for them to find what they call a "gay friendly" church, because so many of the Christian, supposedly Christian churches, push them away ... Or even as our own church document says they're disordered, "intrinsically disordered." How evil. We have to change our attitude if we're going to be like Jesus."

These are the words of the auxiliary Bishop of Detroit, Thomas J. Gumbleton, during his homily last week. Now, his Excellency is infamous, and of course I've heard of him before. But for whatever reason, he has, today, finally earned himself a place on my daily prayer list.

Do likewise for the poor man, if you can.

Unpleasantness and Hilarity Ensued

William Schaefer, comptroller for the great state of Maryland, has a reputation.

There was his demand that a McDonald's employee learn to speak English. Then he suggested that people with AIDS should be listed on a state registry. Also, there's the fact that he's been referring to female employees of the State of Maryland as "little girls," for years and years.

Last Wednesday, the eighty-five year old had another unfortunate run-in with himself. Seems that after a young woman brought him some tea at some sort of government meeting ... He stared intently at her derriere as she walked out of the room. Then, just as she reached the door, he summoned her back. When the aide returned to the table, Schaefer told her "walk again," and watched her make the trip again.

When interviewed about the incident later, dear William called the line of questioning "dumb" and complained that "this little girl" ought to be "happy that I observed her going out the door."

Very funny, no? I read it in the Express yesterday morning, and nearly blew milk out my nose.

Veni, Electa Mea

Come, my little one
Incline thy ear
Come, my child,
And hear

Come, my girl
And Close your eyes
To the sights
And the lies
Of the world

Come, my daughter
And Dread no more
To knock upon these sacred doors
What you have sought
Come and behold
Waiting just across
this holy threshold ...

Come dream far
beneath the seal
Of the Morning Star
Come and see
The shining,
Sweet Star of the Sea
Come sleep,
Come and breathe ...
Among the sheep
and the lillies of the field ...

And that morning
The bells shall sing
and the angels shall say:
This day
Is blessed!
For this hour our King
Has wed His princess.

Caption Contest!

My contribution: "Miss. Betsy's students luuuuuv her."

Picture-Fest!

My fabulous CYCLE teammates:






My bambini:







My bambini in the play "Alice in Wonderland:"






Bambini and team:

Joy to the Snow Globe World!

Well, DC has been dumped on by that nor'easter. Lots and lots of lovely white stuff! As usual, my fellow Washingtonians had complete melt downs, in the vein of Chicken Little. The sky is falling, etc. I only had to work a half day on Saturday, because we wanted to get the bambini home before the weather got too bad.

Making it to Mass was a real adventure today, what with the common aversion to salt and all. But I made it in one piece, and boy did I have something to be grateful for once I fought my way through the snow drifts into the Basilica:

Yesterday, I got very happy news.

Sr. Louise Marie (SSEW) has a special ringer on my cell, so that when she calls I'll know its her and I can drop whatever I'm doing. Last night I heard the phone go off, and hark! The special ringer!

But I was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, and my cell was in my bedroom, buried in one of my volumous jacket pockets. So I made a mad dash across the living room, past the kitchen and into my room, nearly skidding into the door jam in the process. I fumbled around frantically for the phone ... and I discovered it with a triumphant A-ha! But the very second I flipped it open, it greeted me with the sorrowful words: Missed Call (1)

Uggh, the humanity! Nevermind, I called Sister right back. And guess what? The Sister Servants are letting me apply to enter in July! So many obstacles have been put in my path, but Jesus has been smashing them to pieces left and right.

So, now an application is coming to me in the mail. Along with a couple of their newsletters ... I'm such a doofus, I forgot to the tell the Sisters about my new address, so I haven't been getting the newsletters ... I am indeed silly.

I think in Heaven, Mamma Maria is smiling at me: "Beloved little silly."

Really Bad Friday

Today started off good ... and got bad fast. The Corps spent most of the day at the National Archives, soaking up the patriotic glow from the Constitution, Declaration of Independence, and Bill of Rights. Quite awesome.

Then we headed back to the office to have a dark, heavy meeting, the subject of which was kept secret. Well, the topic turned out to be: Fraternization. Seems that a couple members of the Senior Corps had been messing around with the first year CMs. So now there's a bunch of demotions and suspensions in the works. It was very traumatic. Basically, the Deputy Director got up there and gave a speech about how this was tarnishing our reputation, nationally, across the whole network, and blah blah blah. Then the people who Did It were forced (not forced, but guilt-coerced,) to stand up, in front of everybody, admit their crimes and apologise.

Unnecessary suffering, I think. A demotion and a suspension is public whipping enough.

Then my PM (Program Manager) called another excruciating meeting, immediately thereafter. One of my teammates was sick this morning, and tried to call off. My PM apparently gave her some flak, made her cry and all that. This got back to the rest of the team, and one of us told our PM's boss, and our PM's boss yelled at our PM about it. So our PM called a meeting about how her reputation had been unfairly tarnished, and so on and so forth.

In short I need a nap.

It's 9:45 in the morning

... and I've already been propositioned by a creepy old man.

People approach me on the streets all the time... I assume they're panhandling (they usually are,) for cash or bus transfers. Sometimes people have asked me for the time, but I don't hear correctly, and I start explaining to them that I don't carry cash. Oops. Very embarrassing.

This particular creepy old man was a fairly well dressed dude, in his sixties. But still, when he grabbed my arm, the first words that came out of my mouth were: "is there anything you need, sir?"

But he wasn't looking for money or a bus transfer. He started asking me if I knew this teacher friend of his in Missouri, and whether I knew about this "orange hat" patrol in Southeast, or the programs run out of Macedonian Church or something like that. So then I thought: oh, he's talking about City Year. Put on charming idealist face.

He stuck out his hand, and I shook it, but then he didn't want to let go. Then he asked my name, which was printed on my jacket. "I respect all Elizabeths," he said, "and then when I mentioned the Macedonian Church, I really set things off. So you busy?"

At which point I realized he was looking for a good time, and politely exited stage right.

That poor, creepy old man. So many are so very lonely. Even in a big city filled with all these people.

Funny Things Lately

Well, I got back in the saddle, and things are okay with the child I brutalized. I gave him some Starburst and he liked me again just fine ... Seriously, we had a little talk, and everything is cool!

This week has been hilarious thus far. I won't go into everything, or else you'll die laughing. But for example ... Yesterday I had one little bambino ask me: "Miss. K, what are those bumps on your face?" Answer: zits.

Life in general has been a little bit icky lately. Even that work-retreat last week, which was all about warm gooeyness, had icky shades. For example, the PT crew was particularly fascist.

One of our PT drills ( the extremely tiring, bitterly named "Slap Happies" ) ends with our arms extended straight out, in the manner of the crucifixion. We are not allowed to put our arms down until the leader of the drill shouts "Formation!" (Formation is our version of "at ease": feet apart, arms behind, elbows bent, folded hands rested in the small of the back.)

So there we were, legs definitely feeling the burn of the Slap Happies, waiting for merciful release. But for whatever reason, they decided to let our arms feel the burn, too, because they left us hanging there for what seemed to be an eternity. And let me tell you: It hurt!

Very, very icky.

And interesting side note is: The Alton Franciscans pray the Cross Prayer of Saint Francis (with arms fully outstretched) all the time. Those, dear friends, are some TOUGH German Sisters.

I made a kid cry today

We were playing word basketball. Spell the word correctly, take a shot. He was having a blast. Then he had to go test. He passed! Wonderful, right?

We moved on to the next lesson, comparatively dry book work. He was bored to tears. Literally.

I never yell. When I want to make a kid do something, I don't raise my voice. I simply make them feel badly. So I talked to my student about how well he had been doing all day, and how disappointed I was that he seemed to be losing it, and wouldn't he like to stay on the right track? No response. Then I asked my super-bored, I-don't-wanna-do-this student, "why are you being mean to me?"

And he felt badly. And he cried.

Now I have to go downtown and get my official "I'm a terrible person, probably going straight to Hell," ID card.

Back again

The retreat went fine and dandy. They taped paper bags up around the room; each one had a name on it. If I appreciated someone, I was supposed to write down why on a little slip of paper and drop it in the bag of whomever I appreciated. At the end of three days, everyone had a bunch of "I appreciate you because" slips. It was very nice.

My favourite came from one of my beloved teammates: the atheist vegan Jew who let me borrow her polo shirt. "You are the most positive, happiest person I know in City Year," she wrote, "and I respect your religious convictions ... you rock," etc. I was pleased as punch reading that, because joy is something which identifies authentic Christian faith.

Anyway, I now have a bag full of compliments sitting on my desk, which I can peruse any time I like. Now Betsy can stroke her ego at her own free will ... fatal mistake, City Year! No escape now!

In other news, today the Pope delivered a stirring Angelus address calling for respect for the dignity and value of all human life, especially the most vulnerable (the elderly, the sick, the dying, and the unborn.) Behold the cool photo above. The green balloons floating in St. Peter's square are inscribed with the words which mean, in English, "Yes to Life!"

So long, farewell, auf weidersehen good-bye

For the next three days (through Friday) I'm going to be on a retreat for work. They will feed us bad grub, cram us into close quarters, and force us to do various other squishy things. All of this will build Corps cohesiveness and morale, or so I've been told.

Oy vey. It will certainly interesting, and it could be fun!

So, so long, farewell, auf weidersehen goodnight,
I leave,
and heave,
a sigh and say good bye -
goodbyyyyyyeeeee!

(Disclaimer: The Sound of Music is a very silly representation of Nuns.)