It’s been four years since I’ve had the pleasure of accompanying my young siblings and two parents for the ritual 12-hour drive to Southern California for Thanksgiving. And the only reason I have time to write this now is because I am sitting in my parent’s house at 7pm waiting to hear that age-old words “all aboard that’s goin’ ashore” from my dad. And waiting….And waiting. Of course this morning we were not going to take the tent trailor, but as of a few hours ago we are. Of course two hours ago I had to drive thirty minutes to pick up the car we’re driving because it was in the mechanics. And, of course everyone’s hustling and bustling with sharpish humors about them. BUT, some of my only memories of my family all together for more than ten hours are on road trips such as these. As we drive down the road (after we turn back twice to get what was forgotten) it is as though we enter a new world. What should have been done before simply melts away and lists are forgotten and we just ARE together. I like these times, even with the all-too-predictable inconveniences and unplanned adventures (like the time my dad got pulled over and was spread eagle on the ground because the cop had put in the wrong license plate number and the vehicle had come up stolen). So, Happy Thanksgiving – enjoy the difficult times with family because they make the good times so much sweeter.

An older piece I wrote to address those who find the crossing of one’s self to be horrific and unacceptable for Protestants

Refutation of two Anti-Crossers

The first adversary is one that screams “Rome!” in a very loud, high-pitched, and slightly annoying voice as they sprint in the other direction. The best time to approach these types is when they have not yet seen you cross yourself and are completely unsuspecting of any Romish tendencies that they might later perceive. I would recommend at this time that you calmly approach the subject, subtly saying that crossing one’s self is indeed very Catholic, but in no way Roman (this comment may take a bit of explanation, which you must be prepared for).

The second adversary is one of a Gnostic tendency, specifically the kind that think crossing is highly “liturgical”, and liturgical means structure, and structure means a severely decreased leading of the Spirit. On the first point, they are absolutely right, on the second, even more correct, and I still haven’t quite nailed down what the third accusation really means in their mind, but I sometimes wonder if it could be related to that heartburn from Saturday-night pizza that hits during the third praise song…. I gently ask them to read the Old Testament and get back to me (encouraging them to consider that it is the same Spirit in both the Old and New Testaments). Upon our next meeting I ask them as tactfully as possible how they see the leading of the Spirit in their church. The response consistently seems to boil down to emotions, a popular example being: “I felt led to raise my hands.” If they go there, I light up like with excitement and exclaim that, “I feel led to cross myself, and when I do, so does everyone else in the congregation! We must be really unified in the Spirit!”

Blessed are the peacemakers.

Sixty-year old dancin’ skirts swirled around as the war veteran and his belle danced at the All American Swing concert last weekend. The dancefloor was full of such couples, the hunched man gently holding his lover’s wrinkled hand as the dance slowed to a flowing breeze. How long have they been married? How many times danced these dances? Do they remember holidays when the smartly-uniformed man joined his wife in the absence-wrought fondness? Several songs went by, and it was clear that they were trying to forget the arthritis that was creeping through their bodies as they swung the moves of yesteryear. No fatalities had occurred when we hit the 45-minute mark, which I only remember because that is the time when a young, early 20’s couple stood to take the dancefloor. I felt this contained scoff come from within me – who were they to take the floor with couples who had been dancing together for 60 years? They were all lovey-dovey, but do they recognize that they have not yet attained love? Will they suffer all wrongs, take no offense, sacrifice for one another – know the true passion of those who have tested it and tried it and found it has little to do with feelings? One day, I hope, they will know the beauty that through trials grows ever more lovely in the beholder’s eye.

Burn my soul, dear God above, that all dross this day may banished be. I offer here myself a sacrifice, blinded by the blemish that I have become. The sin which so easily entangles has done well its work in me, until from the depths I cry unto Thee, knowing full well that Thine is the only hand that can make me clean. Yet lingers a fear, a shame that downcasts my soul – have I the faith to touch Thy hem as a woman years ago had done? This is the fire of which I speak: a cleansing flame by Spirit driven that returns me to the dust from which I came. But in my dying I am raised, for spotless Christ proclaims, “She is in Me and I in her – My blood has made us one”. The fragrance now raised before the Throne is that of mingled flesh, as all sin, shame and spot are burned. My Husband has once again presented a spotless Bride to Thee.

Oh would that it did end there! But you, my whoring soul, are so like Israel, that day after after day this same must be done. How great is my desire to be true, faithful, and pure and yet how great my shame as once again you find me selling my soul to another. How well Thou knowest Hosea’s grief! I beg, therefore, that through judgement and patience Thou would teach me to be a Wife. I seek to be not a daughter of Eve but a daughter of Mary. Through the power of Christ, may the incense of this handmaiden’s faithful prayers be greater than the fragrance of my sacrificed sins. And in this may I be a pleasing aroma, the Fragrance of Christ to Thee.

Whew! That was a close one. I received Chris’ cry to return to the blogfield, and was a bit confused until I saw the dreaded “Not Found” URL page. How can this be? Could I have lost all that work? A year and an half of thoughts and discussion? Travel stories, struggles, poems, updates, laughs, and tears – all lost to the black whole of the world wide web??? And then I hit “Republish blog”. I’m not sure why I had to do that, but my universe has been restored. The doctor says I’ll recover.

In an homile on the Holy Cross, the Priest mentioned that the practice of putting a cross on the Altar is actually a Reformational practice. I looked into it a bit and found that there is no evidence for any altar crosses before the 13th century, and even then it was not widely employed. We know that Bede’s “Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum” contains reference to a Processional Cross going before St. Augustine, so that is an ancient practice. And there are citations that later (13th-14th C.) the cross was taken off the pole and placed onto the altar during service. So there was the idea of having a cross on the altar, but no such thing as the Altar Cross we are familiar with. I am still looking at things, but it would seem that the Reformation popularized the practice of having an altar cross, and particularly in England (spreading from there to the continent). I thought this was an interesting bit of history, has anyone else heard anything about this, or maybe could find more info?

A trochaic poem.

The beauty captures blinded eyes with sight,
As squinting ears lean in and heed those words
That lie unfolded upon wood so white,
And yet so scarlet-dyed for words unheard.

So great the strength within the clear water,
That prove the spear was true indeed, and now
They come to us from throne and font to give
Salvation strong – forever must endure.

As mouth and heart together take the grain,
A banquet lies aright with grape and yeast.
Within the lintels peace and joy are lain,
And voice cries out, “Made ready now the feast.”

The people fast in solidarity
Make way in fear with glad and unity.

Look at this site. This was in London this past February. For some reason the media seemed to miss that day…
http://www.simpletoremember.com/vitals/Muslim-Religion-of-Peach-Demonstration.htm

From the beginning God named that which He loved. “Adam”. “Eve”. He next told Adam to name the animals, and naming became part of taking dominion. There is an authority involved in placing a name on something, and we name things we care about and things that we own. We put names on our children, we give nicknames to our friends, we bestow titles like “dad” on ones we love. We are naming creatures.

When Christ came, Mary and Joseph were not allowed to name their child because He would have a greater Father. And when Jesus began His ministry, He felt free to rename those who would be his disciples, such as Simon called Peter and the sons of Zebedee called “Boanerges”. He named those He loved.

When we go to buy milk it is a quick task. But what if you knew everyone in the market? And even more, what if you cared about them? Then you would have the heart of Christ. In saying that, though, Christ didn’t touch everyone or stop to call every person by name – He had a particular ministry with particular people in particular areas for particular purposes. He had a calling.

I am learning to trust my Gardener to prepare the soil of some particular plots. My calling is to the poor and needy, but they are too many and I am overwhelmed. I realized this week that if everyone had a name my heart, soul, and body would break. So I asked the Name above all Names to bring to me the faces He wants to name for me in order to fulfill His purposes and ministry.

An old friend has told me a number of times (in different ways), that the things which distract holy-livers aren’t Saturday-night parties or adultery, they are the needy and hopeless situations that are outside of their focus or calling. If everyone in the market had a name, the milk would never be bought. But if you remember that the milk is the focus then you might very well enjoy one or two conversations along the way.