My first VLOG: Sin and the Baptismal Garment

I have been meaning to do this for so long, and so today I just jumped in with two feet and recorded a lesson that I did with my kids. We added some silly graphics and words to explain and here it is.

Enjoy!

7QT: Out of Sync and a Link (or two)

So, instead of saving my pretty, happy, funny and real pictures from the Convent Blessing, and using them for {phfr} at Like Mother, Like Daughter, I used them on Tuesday. Instead of doing a What We're Reading Wednesday I wrote about our book on Thursday. I totally skipped 7QT Friday, but I have at least a few quick takes to do this morning.

In keeping with my Out Of Sync Week, here is my version of 7 Quick Takes for A Saturday Morning.

1: Nick Names
I promised to explain about Sister Joseph Andrew's nick name "Sister Bone Breaker". Don't worry, it wasn't very widely known or used. But it was very apt.

Back in the day--when I was single and living in Ann Arbor and Sister was after me to attend a discernment retreat and I was hedging and making excuses, I thought I had the prefect excuse. My friend Laurie was coming to visit. She would be flying in the day the retreat was to begin. Sr. Joseph Andrew slyly offered to pray that, if it was God's will, I would be able to attend the retreat. I smugly assumed God's will had already been decided.

When the day of the retreat arrived, I get a call from Laurie. She is at the airport and her flight has been delayed due to frost--or it may have been diverted--but anyway, after an hour or two of hemming and hawing and multiple phone calls she decided to stay home that weekend.

Seriously.

I HAD to go to the retreat.

When I showed up and told Sister Joseph Andrew she smiled knowingly, and told me she had another girl coming who had the same excuse as me only her friend BROKE HER ARM and couldn't come to visit.

So, the other girl---don't know who she was---and I were both prayed into the discernment retreat by a Sister whose prayers were, apparently, so powerful they could stop air travel AND break bones.

2: Link #1
I found the following link at Conversion Diary and was moved by the blogger's story. You will be too. I promise: I'm no theologian.

3: Link #2
Here is a humorous, and mostly accurate, explanation of the entitled generation of young people trying to flood the job market these days: Generation-y-unhappy.

4: Safety Moment
At work, Jim and his co-workers have what they call "Safety Moments". In the oil industry, not paying attention to safety can cost lots of money, and more importantly, it can cost lives. So they are interested in making sure everyone, across the business is safety minded. A "Safety Moment" is when a presenter at a meeting shares some story of safety--or un-safety--to inspire folks to pay attention.

The most common safety reminder in our house is to "hold onto the railing while going up or down stairs". We are always after the kids, especially when they are toting toys from one floor to the other with no free hand to hold on with. So, yesterday morning, 7yo A was on her way down stairs, with a stuffed animal in one hand and the letter that the stuffed animal had written in the other, when she apparently missed the first step. We heard the sound and it was scary. According to her story, she feel from the top to the first landing, about 10 steps.

Being prone to drama, her crying was LOUD and it took a few minutes to be sure there was nothing seriously wrong. We quickly narrowed down the pain to her ankle and she was moved to the couch to rest. By the afternoon we were pretty sure we had at least a good sprain so we headed to the local Walk-in Clinic---make sure you walk, don't run, 'cause you'll be waiting awhile anyway.

After hours of waiting and a few minutes with a doctor in one office and an x-ray technician in another location, we had the diagnosis: sprain. Cure: off load the ankle for two weeks.

A was a trooper until she heard she needed crutches. For some reason that induced lots of weepy objections. When she had calmed down I was able to get an explanation out of her: "When I picture myself in crutches I just don't like it."

I don't think it is a vanity thing, I think it is a fear thing--it makes her feel like something is wrong and she is worried about that.

We haven't gotten any crutches yet, but the plan is to find some today. I don't think I can carry her everyplace all week, so we will persevere in the search for a mobility assist.

7: No, I didn't skip 5 and 6. Check my math below.

Since #1 and #4 were so long I will count them each as two. So that makes....let me count two plus one more, plus another, plus two more is six. So this is seven.

Quick take #7 is just to say that I will belatedly link to Jen over at Conversion Diary. And, though I don't want to be a weird fan-girl or anything, I just have to say I spotted Jen at the Convent Blessing, though she left before I could go over and ask for her autograph.

No--I would really do that. But, I may have introduced myself if I had a chance---or any guts. Instead I stared and pointed.

Yah. Weird, huh?

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Chocolate and Heaven

So...slow readers that we are, we are STILL reading The Last Battle. But we are still loving it! Currently, we are near the end and the characters are all trying to figure out where they are. They saw Narnia die, at least the Narnia that they knew. But this new land looks a lot like Narnia. Here is what Lord Digory says:

When Aslan said you could never go back to Narnia, he meant the Narnia you were thinking of. But that was not the real Narnia. That had a beginning and an end. It was only a shadow or a copy of the real Narnia which has always been here and always will be here: just as our world, England and all, is only a shadow or copy of something in Aslan's real world. 

When we finished the chapter we had a great discussion of this life and the Next Life. We talked about how everything good that is here points us to the good of heaven. 

At this point, the seven year old said. "You know what? Chocolate is a copy of heaven." A girl after my own heart! Is a taste for good chocolate genetic?

I got this image from Googling chocolate. I do not own it but I hope it is made from dark chocolate. 

Sometimes the simplest things are the truest (if one thing can be truer than another, which it can't, really…but you know what I mean). 

Yes, chocolate is a thing that points me to heaven. So is that beautiful flower. So is a beautiful painting. So is a crucifix. So is the face of an innocent child. So is a venti, iced, cinnamon dulce latte. 

Perhaps they aren't equally clear copies of heaven. But, any created good in this life is a taste of the eternal Goods of Heaven. 

That is why we sin when we make a created good our god. That incredible sunset is meant to point you to its Creator. That love you experience from your friends and family is meant to point you to the Lover (God) and the Beloved (God). 

The Catechism of the Catholic Church (second only to Scripture as a self-help/answer-all-the-questions-of-life-book) says this. (the big print is my addition) 

#1060 At the end of time, the Kingdom of God will come in its fullness. Then the just will reign with Christ for ever, glorified in body and soul, and the material universe itself will be transformed. God will then be "all in all" (1 Cor 15:28), in eternal life.

If our love for this world is properly ordered it will lead us straight to the Triune God who awaits us in the Next World. 

So, the next time you taste some great chocolate, praise God and long for the Chocolate of Heaven. And if you have to skip that great chocolate, you can offer it up and remind yourself that you are building a store of REALLY Real Chocolate in Heaven! 

"You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness."

In light of yesterday's post about the dangers of the "silliest time in one's life", I wanted to share this quote from St. Augustine on his feast. In his famous Confessions, he spoke of his love of created things and how they kept him from the love of God. 

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you!  You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you.  In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created.  You were with me, but I was not with you.  Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would not have been at all.  You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness.  You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness.  You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you.  I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more.  You touched me, and I burned for your peace.

from The Confessions of St. Augustine 

May all the flashing, shining, lovely things in our life point us to the One Who loves us first and best.

Happy Feast of St. Augustine!

****

So, my son called me yesterday. 

For the first time. 

No he isn't away at college---he's only nine for goodness sake. 

But he heard Father at Mass yesterday, on the Feast of St. Monica, mother of St. Augustine, give everyone some homework: 

call, write, hug your mother. 

So he picked up the upstairs phone and dialed my cell phone just to tell me that he loved me and that he would give me a hug as soon as he saw me. 

I was downstairs. 

And he asked first. 

What a good boy!

Give Pollyanna A Break!

Today I read this line in a blog post: "To be clear, it isn’t a Pollyanna version of positive thinking we’re going for." *

We all know what the blogger meant. "A Pollyanna version of positive thinking" is unrealistic, blindly optimistic, simplistic. 

Who really knows Pollyanna? If we have any idea who she is, most of us probably picture Halley Mills in the Disney movie. And that was a delightful film. But, as usual, nothing compared with the book. 

"Blind optimism" is not what the real Pollyanna (in the fictional story) promoted with her "Glad Game". 

In the book, Pollyanna tells the story of how her father invented the "Glad Game". Her father was a preacher, his wife had died and he was raising his daughter alone. The two of them relied on donations for most of their possessions. 

One Christmas, Pollyanna was hoping a doll would show up in the missionary barrel that they knew was coming their way. But the barrel, which was usually filled with whatever was available to pass on, did not contain a single toy, let alone a doll. 

It did contain a pair of crutches, though. 

You can imagine what a therapist, or modern novel writer would make of that. Tragedy. Hoping for a doll, getting crutches. 

A typical story accused of being too "Pollyanna" may have had some wealthy person (or "virtuous" government program that would take her from her father since he obviously couldn't provide for her) bringing her a beautiful doll. 

A typical story trying hard NOT to be "Pollyanna" may have had the little girl go on to a horrible life of crime and drug addiction--she couldn't help it, her childhood was so sad!

But, Pollyanna's father knew that growing up in poverty didn't have to be tragic, if you had the right attitude. So he invented the glad game. There is always someone worse off than you. There is always something to be glad about. The game is to figure out what that is. 

What was there to be glad about when you got a set of crutches instead of a doll for Christmas? 

Well, as Pollyanna learned, you could be glad that you didn't need the crutches. {it is important to note that for Pollyanna it was never "I am glad I am not that person" but "I am glad for what I have"}

For Pollyanna, that put her circumstances in perspective and, as children often do, she took the lesson to heart. Most of the book takes place after the little girl's father has died and she has gone to live with a wealthy, emotionally distant and severe aunt. She is in a small town filled with many unhappy people, feeling sorry for themselves, nursing old grudges, gossiping about each other and caring more for public acclamation than actual good works. 

Being glad no matter what does not always come easy to Pollyanna. She often struggles to find the Glad thing in her situation. And it is often her determination in the face of difficulty that causes others to sit up and take notice. 

Ultimately, with her "Glad Game" and her cheerful life-loving nature, she teaches the town to see the good in each other and the joy in their lives. 

Far from being "un-realistic" and "blind", being a Pollyanna means humbly admitting that things can always be worse. And those things in my life that I have little to no power over---things like the age and developmental stage of my kids, the size of the pay check we have chosen to live under, the amount of work it takes to feed and clothe and love the kids God has given me, even illnesses and disability---those things are crosses to bear, but they are not unbearable. And to "bear" them means to carry them with JOY. 

Is that easy? Of course not. 

But lets give Pollyanna a break. Playing her Glad Game can help us avoid the traps of self-pity and negativity. 

To imitate Pollyanna you need not pretend as if nothing bad has ever happened to you, instead you move forward, changing what you can and taking joy in the cross that cannot be taken away. 

*(no need to link to the post--it was a good post, but not about Pollyanna and I don't want to criticize the blogger for a passing reference.) 

Blogs and Feelings and Such

I just read a blog post that made say aloud: Ditto. Ginny over at Small Things is writing about "hard times, pretty pictures."

Example of my photography skills. 

I do not say "Ditto" because I have experienced what Ginny is experiencing. Though she doesn't share what it is, I know that right now, in my life, things are going along rather "swimmingly", not so much "sinking-ly". So I am not posting the good as opposed to the hard times, or tragic or painful times. But maybe as opposed to the messy, embarrassing, or frustrating.

Example of kid photography skills.

One of the ways I see my blog is as a record of things for my kids to look back on. A snap shot of their childhood. I am not good at remembering to take pictures, and I am not a talented photographer, but I know how to write. And so I try to put into words what we are doing and thinking now. 

Cousin seen through fingers.

It is also a place to put down my thoughts, reactions, rants, musings...whatever. But I rarely share too much about the bad days. It isn't my style and doesn't help me deal better with them. 

Ginny says: 

And I guess I just need you to know that.  I post beauty, even when life is ugly.  For me, it’s the only way.

I see that in her blog. I admire that in her blog. And I am thankful for the reminder. 

Ginny also says: 

Blogs have a way of deceiving, but that’s only if you choose to read them that way.  It’s a choice.  You can read that I stopped for cherries, and make all sorts of assumptions, or you can simply be reminded that we all have our good moments–you and me. 

Again..."Yes Ginny, thank you for saying it." 

I know that there are some very beautiful blogs that I avoid because they make me feel---no---I choose to compare myself and then end up feeling bad, or stressed, or regretful. 

But I realize some people might have the same reaction to parts of my blog. And then I worry and think--should I be more real? Should I blog like Jen (whose words I love to read and chuckle at) about my life with kids. But I am not Jen. And she is not me. Nor am I Ginny. 

Finally, Ginny's blog post struck me with this line: 

I choose not to share the trials we face as parents here.  As our boys have gotten older, it has become far more obvious why it’s necessary that I don’t.  No matter the temptation to pour my heart out, this is the internet, and my heart is not the only one on the line.

I can see that my "funny kid stories" are increasingly only about the youngest, and that I am reluctant to share stories (even triumphs and good stuff) about the two older kids. 

Those are no longer only my stories to tell. As kids grow and become more self-aware those stories are entirely theirs. I may write about them in a more private setting, just to save the memory. But they don't go here anymore. 

More Kid Pictures: Puppy watches Cousin. 

Why My Girls Won't Be Reading Anne of Green Gables Any Day Soon.

"Oh, don't speak about freckles to me...It isn't delicate when I'be got so many."

Anne

"Well, they didn't pick you for your looks, that's sure and certain"….She's terrible skinny and homely, Marilla….Lawful heart did any one ever see such freckles? And hair as red as carrots!" 

Mrs. Rachel Lynde.

My girls have freckles and red hair. They are beautiful little girls who will grow up to be beautiful women and their red hair and freckles will always be part of them. 

Anne of Green Gables also has red hair and freckles. But, she isn't happy about it. And neither are some of the people around her. 

We all know we are surrounded by a society that OVER emphasizes appearance and under emphasizes character. And this is especially problematic for girls. Girls tend to focus on BEING more than DOING. With that comes a focus on appearances. That isn't all bad…it is, in a certain way, how we are wired. 

The 7 year old comes down stairs in her pink leotard and tutu and asks for her hair to be put in a ballet bun. She wants to BE a ballerina---and looking the part is all she needs for now. Of course she doesn't care that her undershirt is all bunched up under the leotard, or that the tutu is hanging too too low. Someday she will attend to those details, and that will be appropriate, then. 

Both the 11 year old and the 7 year old are learning how to dress modestly. They usually follow our family standards for this virtue (not that there is anything written in stone, just a few rules for what sorts of clothes go together) without much discussion. They are both developing their own sense of style and opinions about what looks pretty. 

However, when they begin to look at the things that are "the way God made them"---their bodies, their physical features--I want them to be accepting and appreciative of the unique gifts that they are. For MY kids, that means freckles and red hair and it has never occurred to them yet to dislike those features. They often get comments from people that are positive--though I wish people would not do that. I know that they are just trying to be friendly and complimentary. But for some kids any attention from strangers is negative and embarrassing.

I read an interesting blog post last week about how to talk to your daughter about her body. I agree with the article but I also see the point of one commenter who said that not hearing anything about her appearance from her mom left her assuming it was because she wasn't very pretty. I have tried to not speak negatively about my own body in front of my girls. I have also not spoken to them about things like weight--we don't talk about foods as "fattening" but healthy or not-healthy, foods that give you good energy or those that don't. But, I also think there is a danger in pretending that they don't care about their physical features. They do. 

Can I expect my girls to not notice that they have red hair and freckles? That ship has already sailed. They look in the mirror, they know. But what I hope for them is that they can grow up to accept their unique physical features as "they way they were made" and to resist the destructive thoughts that lead a girl to stand in front of the mirror and say "I hate my…". 

Maybe someday my redheads can read Anne of Green Gables and gloss over or laugh at Anne's insecurities. And they will see the young lady she grows up to be and all her other great characteristics. But for now, they do not need to be introduced to anything that might make them look in the mirror and question their beauty. 

Here Lies Munch

Here Lies Munch.

A cricket. 

(we think)

Best friend of A. 

(at least for an hour or two before he perished)

Though small of stature,

(I could barely identify this bug insect on the ground though I crouched down and looked closely)

he (she?) merited a large grave. 

Family 

(not sure if there are any, do crickets have families?) 

and friends 

(the best friend, namely A) 

are handling this trauma drama quite well. 

Weekend Links

One of my favorite type of blog post (especially when it comes from my favorite bloggers) is a Saturday morning list of article/blog post links. 

Like Mother, Like Daughter does their {bits & pieces} post every weekend. And today I got a new idea for cooking bacon. 

Jamie at Simple Homeschool also does a weekend links post and I enjoyed this article this morning, especially #1. 

Sometime last week, I found this link from someone on Facebook (sorry, I don't remember who it was!): Big Dreams.

I found it very interesting because it contains a story of a little girl making a robot out of paper and cardboard, glue and tape. And when she had worked so hard and was all done she asked her parents for batteries to put in her robot to make it work. Her parents were faced with a choice: give her the batteries and let her discover the truth or gently explain that they won't work. 

We have a little girl in this house who did that very same thing...exactly. We were caught by surprise when she asked for batteries and I really don't recall my reaction. I think I waited to see what she would do, but I do remember a slightly tear filled conversation about how real robots work. 

But, yesterday, when a certain boy announced plans to sew a stuffed dog just like Balto from the book he read, with fur and everything, I struggled to let the dream be. 

Read the article to find out what happens with the little girl and the robot in the article. It may change the way you approach your kids' big dreams. Come back and let me know what you think.

Lost in Translation

Me to seven year old: Go tell your brother and sister I am going to take my shower then I am going to get breakfast ready so they need to get going on their morning routines. 

Seven year old yelling up to her brother and sister as she heads upstairs: Mama's gonna take a shower and then pour the cereal so get going!

Since when did "get breakfast ready" become "pour the cereal".

Is that not the best bowl of cereal you have ever seen? It's all in the presentation. 

Someday they will tell my grandchildren "Grandma could pour the BEST bowl of cereal ever!"

7 Quick Takes: The Desperate for Something to Blog About Edition

--- 1 ---

When I asked 7yo A what I should blog about, she said I should blog about "the most beautiful doll in the world", which she recently discovered at the bottom of a pile of other (more expensive) dolls and doll paraphernalia in the window seat of her room. 

She has been gushing over this doll for a whole day now. I think she is going through a "girly-girl" stage of some sort--her stuffed animals have been having romances and weddings and children all week. 

--- 2 ---

Speaking of A, I found this list of quotes from her in my drafts email folder:

May 3, 2012 

" I am going to make a paper earthquake to destroy my sins. And then get monsters to attack them"

March 17 2013 "Saying sorry is like leaves blowing in the wind" as a reason for not saying sorry.

April 12, 2013 "Do bullets kind of look like cigarettes?" (this was followed by shocked looks of wonder from her parents---what has she been watching on TV???)

April 12 2013 

Me: "Stand quietly, like you are ready for your First Holy Communion"

Her: "Yes, but did you know that a giraffe can clean his nose with his tongue?"

April 2013

"If aliens were real what would their bandages be made out of?"

Life with A is always interesting. 

--- 3 ---

When it comes to eating healthy, I follow the 80/20 rule. For instance, this week I have had a donut, a pastry from Starbucks (okay, maybe two), multiple servings of ice cream, multiple cups of homemade chicken broth, daily tablespoons of Apple Cider Vinegar, daily cups of Potato Peeling Broth, fresh ginger, several salads and some other regular food.

The problem is, I am not always sure if the HEALTHY is the 80 part, or the 20 part. 

--- 4 ---

Oh no, I am only on #3!! This blogging everyday is hard. I am not sure I have that many things to say!

--- 5 ---

This is almost an entirely A post today...but I had to talk about A's pet. Yesterday, she found a little snail on a log, named it Mushroom and made a little plate with grass and stuff. Then she checked him at least every 10 minutes until we left the house. Well, when we got home, he was gone and she was devastated. She looked for him all afternoon.

Just now, she was telling our pest control guy to "watch out for a little black snail with a little scratch on his shell, which he got before I caught him cause I didn't hurt him, and don't let him die, okay?"

Luckily, he is an easy going guy, and didn't feel pressured to save her pet. He cheerfully reassured her that the snail was underground by now, hiding from the heat. So, no worries, he says, she will probably see him in the fall when it gets cool again.

I am positive we will be dealing with this snail drama in two months again.  

--- 6 ---

In the spirit of simplicity, which is the latest fad in the mommy blogger world, I have distilled my homeschool curriculum plans down to this:

Step 1: Read books.
Step 2: Talk about them.
Step 3: Repeat

--- 7 ---

OOOHHHH NOOOOO! Now what do I write? Quick take...quick take....Ah!

I am going to go on a date with my husband today. It is always weird to say that because we don't think of ourselves as ever having dated. We met virtually, we met in reality, he courted me, we got engaged, we got married.

Now we date.

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Star Trek to Starbucks

Dear Kids,

I really never thought that I would have kids that played Star Trek. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing it all. I just never thought. 

Not too long ago, A greeted me first thing in the morning with "Mama, there is a Borg walking around upstairs."

Needless to say, my heart leapt into my throat. 

"You are just pretending, right?" I said with alarm. 

She smiled and assured me with a very subtle nod…she didn't want to break from her role for too long. 

The rest of the day I received updates on the number and location of the Borg drones around the house. I was assured Bolt (yes, we need to tell the story of Bolt here don't we…another day) was taking care of it. Obviously, I was comforted by this. Wouldn't you be?

Recently, a dinner conversation devolved into a rapid fire volley of "Remember the episode when Chakotay was…." and "Remember  when Captian Picard said…" punctuated by laughter and "That was so cool!"

Fortunately for M and I your Papa gently reminded you that dinner conversation was meant to include all. And the two Trekless members of the family were greatly relieved. 

Of course, M and I could have regaled you all with tales of our multiple trips to Starbucks for our menu planning meetings (which is what gives the rest of you the opportunity to watch Star Trek). 

Me: "M, remember that time that you got a cake pop?"

M: "Ya, that was so great! Remember that time you got the Venti Iced Tea, Black, Unsweetened, Light on the Water, Heavy on the Ice?" *

Me: "Yes, very fondly. And remember the time you got the cake pop?"

*Note: the preceding was a not so veiled hint to anyone visiting me on a hot Texas day to feel free to bring me a Venti Iced Tea, Black, Unsweetened, Light on the Water, Heavy on the Ice. 

Ulterior Motives

Boy: Mama, when the dryer buzzes I'll take the clothes out for you.
Me: That would be great, but I usually fold them when I take them out.
Boy: Oh, okay. I'll fold them then...
Ecstatic Me: Great!
Boy, overheard walking down the hall: ..and I can search the pockets for money as I take them out.

WWJE--What Would Jesus Eat?

We had just come down to the family room from the bedtime festivities, and I hear the familiar cry from upstairs. Four year old A. is upset.

Me: What's up Sweet-Pea?

A: (in a very sad, crying voice) I forgot to brush my teeth and I have to go potty!

Me: Oh, well lets take care of that.

In my head: This should be easy enough.

A: (back in bed) Why don't you read me two stories?

Me: Ummm...what do you mean? Are you talking about the Winnie the Pooh story on the ipod?

A: Yes, why isn't Tigger in the story?

Me: Ummm...I don't know. Maybe Tigger wasn't....

A: (apparently no longer worried about me reading to her OR Tigger) Why doesn't Jesus eat spaghetti?

Me: Well, maybe He does. How do you know He doesn't?

A: He doesn't! I know. I've watched it all. And He doesn't eat sandwiches either! Why doesn't Jesus eat spaghetti OR sandwiches.

Me: (wondering what sort of visions she is having) You watched it all?

A: Yes, I saw all the Stories of the Bible and He didn't eat ANY spaghetti or sandwiches!!

How do you answer that??

Only a change of subject would satisfy that question.

White Week

On the way home, he asked "Is Poland a holy place?" An odd question from a five year old. Unless, of course, you were with us at Mass that morning. It was the usual Saturday morning Mass at the Cathedral in Aberdeen. However, the pews were all decorated in white, especially the first two on each side. The altar rail was also festooned in white flowers with silky material elegantly draped. And soon those first two pews on each side began to fill with children. The girls on one side, in matching white dresses that resembled albs. Each dress had an embroidered patch on the front shaped in a circle, like a host, with IHS in the middle. They had flowers and bows in their hair. The boys sat on the other side and they wore a short alb-type garment with the same Eucharistic symbol on the front. It looked like a hooded white jacket. There were about 35 children in all, including the 7 boys on the altar. All three priests were there to celebrate Mass.

At the beginning of Mass, the young Polish priest explained that this was the last day of "White Week". The Polish tradition began the week before with First Holy Communion. Then, each day that week the children came to Mass in their First Holy Communion garb. The weekday Masses were at 5pm and in Polish. Saturday's Mass was in English, though the gospel and homily were in both English and Polish. Throughout the Mass the children sat, stood, and knelt with folded hands, without any obvious adult help. There was the normal 7or 8 year old wiggly-ness, but the kids for the most part faced forward and did what was expected. They seemed to be getting their cues from the priest on the altar. As the children went to Communion, they each filed out of their pews in order and lined up at the steps in front of the altar. An acolyte moved a decorated kneeler to the top of the stairs, and each child took their turn walking up the stairs, kneeling, and receiving the Eucharist. Again, there were no adults standing in the aisle, telling them when to go. They each returned to the pew and stood until the whole row was back and then the knelt in unison and folded their hands.

I understood why he concluded that Poland was a "holy place". These kids looked serious about the business of being at Mass. At least more than most kids he normally sees at Mass. But, I know from experience that some probably came from families that didn't attend Mass as regularly as they should, not all had great examples of Catholic living at home, and many were probably day dreaming for most of the Mass. However, they had been doing this everyday. All week. They had it down. The ritual was ingrained.

Some might say "See, ritual just makes you automatic in your worship. Where is the heart? Where is the love? Where is the feeling?"

Well, the heart is in the middle of that body that is standing and kneeling and dressing itself in white. The heart is being formed by the senses that feel the kneeler beneath the knees, feel the hands pressed together, see the bread, the wine, the white altar cloth, the priestly garments, the stained glass. The sense of touch helped that child dress each day in their special white garments.

And somewhere along the line perhaps they noticed that the Altar cloth is also white, and maybe they remembered that this was all about the Eucharist. And when the priest reminded them that Jesus was living inside them, even the most distracted child...the one with the least support in their faith at home...even he felt a little stirring in his soul. Someday, he would tell his children about his First Communion, because how could he forget all that ritual?

The ritual, the tradition, gives us shelter when we are not entirely comfortable with the reality. It allows those whose lives still need to be conformed to Christ (ie: all of us) to be a living, breathing, moving part of the Body of Christ, and to get close to that Sacred Heart, Whose love makes it possible for us to live.

So, yes son, Poland is a holy place. But so is Scotland. In both places we have the great privilege of celebrating Mass. And the smells and bells of Catholic worship do give an air of holiness. But that is the point. If we hope to "put on Christ" we need to engage all of our senses in that effort. The liturgy wraps us up in holiness, and we hope some of it rubs off on us.