Another 10 year anniversary for me. On this day, 10 years ago, I served at Mass for the first time. On the feast of St. Pius of Pietrelicina. Who? St. Padre Pio, of course. I had hemmed and hawed about it for a few weeks, but a friend named Conor one day more or less dragged me into the sacristy (he was a big guy), threw a soutane and surplice at me, and that was that. No arguing. Fold your hands and get out there. I was so nervous! Sometimes it's as simple as that. I remember, for some reason, being thankful that I started serving on the feast of St. Padre Pio.

Now St. Padre Pio always seemed a little scary when I was growing up. I mean, what kind of a holy man yells at his guardian angel? And those eyes! So piercing! Stop reading my soul!... Still though, he is a gem of a modern saint.

 The following is from today's Office of Readings. It is a bit lengthy, but well worth the read:

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SECOND READING

From the Letters of Saint Pius of Pietrelcina, priest
(Epist. I, 1065; 1093-1095)

I will raise my voice and will not stop imploring him

Out of obedience I am obliged to manifest to you what happened to me on the evening of the 5th of this month of August 1918 and all day on the 6th.

I am quite unable to convey to you what occurred during this period of utter torment. While I was hearing the boys’ confessions on the evening of the 5th, I was suddenly terrorized by the sight of a celestial person who presented himself to my mind’s eye. He had in his hand a sort of weapon like a very long sharp-pointed steel blade which seemed to emit fire. At the very instant that I saw all this, I saw that person hurl the weapon into my soul with all his might. I cried out with difficulty and felt I was dying. I asked the boys to leave because I felt ill and no longer had the strength to continue. This agony lasted uninterruptedly until the morning of the 7th. I cannot tell you how much I suffered during this period of anguish. Even my entrails were torn and ruptured by the weapon, and nothing was spared.

From that day on I have been mortally wounded. I feel in the depths of my soul a wound that is always open and which causes me continual agony. What can I tell you in answer to your questions regarding my crucifixion? My God! What embarrassment and humiliation I suffer by being obliged to explain what you have done to this wretched creature!

On the morning of the 20th of last month, in the choir, after I had celebrated Mass I yielded to a drowsiness similar to a sweet sleep. All the internal and external senses and even the very faculties of my soul were immersed in indescribable stillness. Absolute silence surrounded and invaded me. I was suddenly filled with great peace and abandonment which effaced everything else and caused a lull in the turmoil. All this happened in a flash. While this was taking place I saw before me a mysterious person similar to the one I had seen on the evening of August 5th. The only difference was that his hands and feet and side were dripping blood. This sight terrified me and what I felt at that moment is indescribable. I thought I should die and really should have died if the Lord had not intervened and strengthened my heart which was about to burst out of my chest. The vision disappeared and I became aware that my hands, feet and side were dripping blood. Imagine the agony I experienced and continue to experience almost every day. The heart wound bleeds continually, especially from Thursday evening until Saturday.

Dear Father, I am dying of pain because of the wounds and the resulting embarrassment I feel deep in my soul. I am afraid I shall bleed to death if the Lord does not hear my heartfelt supplication to relieve me of this condition. Will Jesus, who is so good, grant me this grace? Will he at least free me from the embarrassment caused by these outward signs? I will raise my voice and will not stop imploring him until in his mercy he takes away, not the wound or the pain, which is impossible since I wish to be inebriated with pain, but these outward signs which cause me such embarrassment and unbearable humiliation. The person of whom I spoke in a previous letter is none other than the one I mentioned having seen on August 5th. He continues his work incessantly, causing me extreme spiritual agony. There is a continual rumbling within me like the gushing of blood. My God! Your punishment is just and your judgment right, but grant me your mercy. Lord, with your Prophet I shall continue to repeat: O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger; do not punish me in your rage! Dear Father, now that my whole interior state is known to you, do not refuse to send me a word of comfort in the midst of such severe and harsh suffering.

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We never really know what people are going through in life, do we? I usually try to give my students at school the benefit of the doubt. You never know which kids go home and are spoiled rotten, and which kids go home and are beaten. I think with saints sometimes we do get a glimpse of the inner sufferings (Story of a Soul), yet we still too often put them on a pedestal. St. Padre Pio brings it all back to reality today. This is a story of incomprehensible suffering. Yet we are called to suffer courageously as well. Not with the stigmata (I hope), but still courageously. Sometimes that is the only way to serve.

Indeed...

RESPONSORY

He who wishes to come after me, must deny himself,
– take up his cross and follow me.

The White House

You've probably heard by now that President Obama has invited some guests to join him in welcoming Pope Francis to the White House. His guests are quite diverse, in that they encompass nearly every gender ever imagined. Apparently the Vatican has since pushed back on this list. I'm not sure what exactly they mean by push back. I would hope it's not something along the lines of:

Sss..ss..sstop that.

But why not? Sure these guests are vehemently against Catholic teaching, but Pope Francis is a big boy. He can take care of himself. Right? The only thing I would add to this is that if Obama can bring some friends to join him, Pope Francis should be allowed to do the same! Here are some people our Holy Father should bring to the White House with him.


5 - Cardinal Burke
Well duh. A high ranking American Cardinal. Very symbolic. Never mind the fact that he is known as The Lion due to his ferocious and outspoken defense of Catholic teaching, especially about marriage. Well, and his middle name is Leo.


4 - Kim Davis
Jailed for refusing to validate a gay marriage. In the spirit of openness I'm sure Obama's guests would be up for a civil discussion on marriage.


3 - The Rock (Dwayne Johnson)
Not that I would expect any trouble or anything. Of course not. But, you know, just in case...

2 - Donald Trump
The Donald would be a very entertaining guest. His hair alone would provide hours of amusement. But things might get a little tense when he starts taking measurements of the White House, to see how his furniture would fit.


1 - Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI
Tag team time. Two popes. Any arguments people there might have are invalid. It'd be the White House indeed.

Make it happen, Vatican. Less of this: 

More of that: 

We eat supper at 6pm.

The Cave

The other day I came across a picture on the internet (and have not been able to find it since) which began with a picture of a man cave. The man cave was full of football memorabilia, lazy boy sofas, drinks, snacks, and of course the big screen TV. The picture stated something like we need less of this, and more of this.. it then showed a picture of a traditional study. You know the kind you'd read about. Beautiful shelves, office space, couches, a fireplace, some more sophisticated drinks, and lots and lots of books. Yes, it was a striking juxtaposition of the intellectual man vs. the man living for thrills.  It's either Plato's Cave, or the Man Cave. Which would you choose? 

I didn't find myself deeply attracted to either.

Let me get this straight. I'm wild about sports, and TVs, and snacks. I'm also wild about philosophy, theology, knowledge, truth, and THE FORMS (ba dumm.. ba dummm). But each one isolated from each other?

Let's look first at the new man cave. Sports everywhere. Flashy lights. Bells and whistles. Yet guys who talk sports everyday get too caught up in them. I know because I'm one of them. And it doesn't really matter how into the sport, or team, we are. I had a rousing discussion with a colleague of mine the other day about the Philadelphia Eagles offensive line. We discussed to merits of having a pulling centre, the importance of speed, and most pressingly, how Demarco Murray will fair with this o-line after coming over from the Cowboys. We could've gone on and on, but that dratted school bell rang, so we had to go teach something far less interesting than the dynamics of o-line footwork.

Yes, men and their sports. In Plato's cave, the sports guys would be the ones happily holed up deep down in the cave.

On the other hand, I can't see myself strictly as an intellectual study sort of person. I've actually seen these people! In real life! They all were in a little valley area roughly two hours from Ottawa. They would discuss books and poems. There would be fine alcohol, and pipes or cigars. Always pipes or cigars. Because Chesterton smoked, you know. Curse Chesterton. He may have had a sharp mind, but given the choice of having his body vs. the body of any athlete, why the heck would anyone choose to look like Chesterton? Not too intellectual, if you ask me.

And Flannery O'Connor. Oh the talk about Flannery O'Connor. "What an author that Flannery is! Only those who read, enjoy, love, and worship every word of Flannery's are real Catholics." I've read a grand total of two shorts stories by Flannery, all because I had no other choice. I vaguely remember something about someone stealing artificial limbs from people. And they were either hiding them in a tree house, or stealing them from the people while they were in a tree house so they couldn't get down. Stunningly brilliant. Amazing writer. Limbs of trees... and limbs in trees... Who could think of something like this? Besides every twisted 10 year old around...

I know, having an opinion on an author after having just read two short stories is like having an opinion on an o-line without watching every game they play. Nevertheless, all in all the atmosphere surrounding the intellectual study is just a little too stuffy for me. By all means discuss philosophy (which I love), and even poetry, but golly gee aren't men supposed to have a warrior's heart deep within? A desire to be a part of an epic battle? Something to fight for? Even just if it takes place on Sunday afternoons on TSN or Fox?

The ideal man, I think, should not be one or the other. He should be both. Every man cave should have books, and even a map. Even a cover for the TV. Every study should have a chin up bar, and a no smoking sign. Real men love God, books, and sports. We must feed the soul, mind, and body. Chesterson said that: “In Catholicism, the pint, the pipe and the cross can all fit..." Sorry GK, I say the pint, pigskin, and cross must all fit. Correct?

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

A Stop Along the Way

My parents are currently on a six-week-long cross-Canada trek by van, driving from their home in Brantford, Ontario all the way out to Victoria, B.C. and back again. It was always a dream of my Dad's, who took a few such trips himself as a daring young man, to take all of us kids with them all the way West. Alas, it never happened (although we took a few trips to our East Coast family roots and one trip to Sioux Lookout when I was little). Instead, each of us kids (although not all yet - I'm looking at you, Jim!) have found our own way west little by little. And now my parents find themselves on this adventure too. Little did they know, all those years ago as they dreamed of such a trip, that when they finally accomplished it they'd be visiting two daughters and their families along the way. 

We enjoyed a week with them, ending around Joseph's birthday on September 2nd, and will have them stop by again for a night or two later this month.

Hanging out at the Regional Park in Nipawin. We had plans for a nice lunch BBQ, mini-golfing, and hanging out at the splash pad. Instead, we spent over an hour helping a frantic grandmother (and eventually the RCMP) look for her three-year-old grandson who got lost. Thankfully, he was found safe and completely unaware of the worry he caused. But I'm sure it's a story my Dad has told on their travels, as he says it took years off his life. (He doesn't look any older from the ordeal, we assure you.)

We took them swimming at the Melfort pool. Twice, in fact. We had plans for the beach, but after a beautiful mosquito-free summer, they came in a vengeance and forced us to change out our plans for indoor swimming. As you can see, the boys were hugely disappointed (er, not) at swimming two days in a row. We almost had our trip to Dairy Queen in the bag, but Joseph just hasn't come through on putting his head underwater all by himself (for which he's been promised a chocolate dipped cone). But both boys are much more comfortable in the water (much to their lifeguard-mom's delight), after lots of late-summer swimming.

Soon after Grandpa and Grandma's arrival, Joseph was thrilled to find they'd brought along Alfie and Georgie Bear, buckled in the back seat of the van. These little friends are a couple of the star characters in special story books written for Joseph by Grandpa Bear himself. We have a hunch their own cross-Canada journey might lead to new books in the near future.

We celebrated Joseph's birthday a few days early so that both sets of grandparents and a couple aunties/an uncle could join us. Lots of smiles and laughs, of course.

When the mosquitoes subsided a bit, we took advantage of some beautiful weather to play baseball, blow bubbles, and such in the backyard.

Have fun on your trip, G&G Bear, but be sure to stop back again! After all, the only thing that could make up for not doing the trip with your own kids is getting to spend time with your grand-kids along the route, right?

Happy Birthday, Joseph!

Just like that, Joseph is 4! It's an exciting and scary thing when your children really begin to become their own persons - separate little beings that have their own opinions and personality and want to control it all themselves. I feel like that is what the last year has brought for Joseph: more grown up, more wing-testing, more unique and individual. 

Joseph went from a quiet(ish), watchful, sometimes shy little toddler-boy last fall to the fast, loud, rambunctious, adventurous "man"-boy he is now!

Leading up to his birthday on September 2nd, we heard a lot of "When I'm four, then I'll ...be able to beat up Daddy ...run faster than you ...ride my bike ...wear my (too big) shoes ...never cry when I get hurt." He really and truly believed that that last sleep before he turned four would be the big step he needed to grow into the man he thinks he can be. Now, he's taller, faster, and stronger!

Most of Joseph's interests are those of 4-year-old boys: Lego, cars, machines, working out with Daddy, competitions of all sorts (except finishing his meals), playing/singing music (too often the likes of U2 or Mumford and Sons), reading book after book... but mostly just Lego.

He aspires to be a fireman, policeman, priest, and altar-boy when he grows up. There is a specific order in which these will happen that I've forgotten, but it's not the usual order nor will he be more than 1 or 2 at a time. As he waits for that day when he can take on these roles, he practices his police skills with friends at the park and blows out candles at church. 

Because these are the only grown-up jobs he thinks anyone would want, he thinks we all dream of being firemen and policemen too. He asked me today: "Mom, what are you going to be when you grow up? Do you want to be a fire-girl?"

But just as Joseph's excitement for the chase aspect of the policeman is extreme, his fear of being chased verges on another extreme. "No, no, no, I'll chase YOU!" he tells us, with a quake in his voice and flashing eyes.

Despite always using what my grandma would call an "outside voice" and moving at top speed all the time, Joseph has a sweeter, quieter side too. When John Paul gets hurt, Joseph will offer to kiss him better and when he's crying about something and wants to read a book, Joseph will bring out a book to read to him (never mind that John Paul hasn't yet accepted the book offer). One day soon, John Paul will appreciate it.

Stuff Joseph did this year:

• Joseph decided he's left-handed (we think)
• Joseph stopped napping every day
• Joseph washed his own poopy gitch and loved it
• Joseph learned to skate
• Joseph learned to write his own name
• Joseph learned to tell stories
• Joseph went to Wee Ones and got his picture in the paper
• And much, much more

What's in a Name: Pt. III

A new school year. New hopes. New dreams. New names I'll never remember. And some I'll never forget. Yes, as a prep coverage teacher I have the responsibility of teaching over 200 different students. This is a nightmare for trying to remember names. What names do I have to contend with this year?

First off, it's not all bad! I teach three Daniels! Now they all come from different countries. But still! Then I get into the usual: Zenek, Kayson, Nash. Xander, Drayden, Arizona, Tilka and Athena. I must not get Elenna confused with her sister Elaine (wha...?). Nor the seemingly five dozen Riley/Rylees mixed up. I am intrigued by the spelling of Alexyss, and I wonder what Nastya means in Ukrainian (Anastasia?). Little miss Summer-Rae is a beam of sunshine, and I try not to think of the you know who when I call Isis.

But, without a doubt, there is a name that I'll always remember. You see, on the first day I saw a child walking down the hallway. Then a teacher next to me called out: "Hi Love!" I shot the teacher a glance. You don't call kids love! How inappropriate! The teacher saw my confusion and quickly clarified: "No! Her name is actually Love!" So now in class I have the responsibility of calling Love when she raises her hand. It was so awkward yesterday! Maybe I'll just ignore her... she won't mind. After all, Love is patient. Love is kind...

I'll stop now.