Martha, Martha...

Reflections on Luke 10:38-42

Dear Sisters,

Today as I ponder the morning readings in Magnificat, it occurred to me that Martha's other name could be 'Action'.

Travel with me as we see Martha wiping her hands on an old piece of cloth tied around her waist.  She greets Jesus as he approaches the door and bids him to enter.  You can see her bustling around as she accommodates all of her guests.  Already her mind is on offering washing water for their feet and cool water to drink.  She is mentally tabulating the offerings in her larder and deciding what she needs to prepare.  Her mind is full of what needs to be done...done...done.

In the midst of the frantic activity her guests have whirled her into, she looks around to see that she is alone in her tasks.  "Where on earth is Mary?" she wonders, irritation clearly written on her face.  "Doesn't the girl realize all that must be done?  It has ever been this way with Mary.  Head in the clouds!"

Martha, her hands and wrists deep in dough shifts her stance in order to see into the other room.  "Where can she be?"  All the bodies surrounded Jesus, make it hard for Martha to make out Mary's whereabouts.  Where Mary wasn't, was where she ought to be....according to Martha.

Suddenly some of the others shift a bit and Martha finally sees Mary.  And where is she? Sitting, SITTING, mind you at Jesus' feet with a goofy adoring look on her face.  Here I am...as per usual... carrying the lion's share of the work while the child (I can't think of her as any other way) is SITTING! Hmph!!

Now ladies, there isn't one of us that hasn't felt exactly like Martha; put upon, overworked, irritated by the thoughtlessness of others and victimized by the circumstances.

Watch with me as Martha crisply wipes her hands and marches, yes, I believe she marched out of the kitchen area.  I think too that the apostles gave her a wide berth when they saw the blood in her eye, so that she had a clear path to Jesus and Mary.

Mary, at the feet of Our Lord is blissfully unaware of the tempest about to descend.  Her heart is so full and her soul has been lifted by golden wings by the words of The Master.  She can but stare lovingly into the face of this amazing man.  His voice so pure, His words speak to her of eternal things.  She is sitting at his feet, because it is the only place in the world that she can possibly be.

Into this peaceful tableau whirls hurricane Martha.  "Lord! (I added the exclamation point) do you not care that my sister has left me by myself (again!) to do the serving?" The accusation, imposed into the peaceful setting, stops all movement.

Jesus looks lovingly at this woman who he knows well and says, " Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.  There is need of only one thing.  Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.

Jesus can easily read Martha's hit parade of worries.  Everything from offering 'proper' hospitality as defined by the norms of that time to hoping that the refreshments are up to snuff,  obsessing over whether the house is presentable enough and on and on and on.  Can you just see the hamster in the wheel in Martha's head rolling along with all these random thoughts, and worries?  Squeak, squeak, squeak goes the wheel, causing complete distraction.  In a brain so full already, there was no room at all for what Jesus was sharing with all the others.  Martha was present, yes, but she wasn't present in the moment.

I am Martha.  This reading today is a direct conversation from Our Lord to me.  How hard is it for me to just sit and pray!?  I rarely give myself permission to do this.  Read,...sure. Walk and do the rosary,...yes. Clean as I listen to Catholic Radio,...no problem.  Iron as I watch EWTN, ...yep.  But sit quietly and just 'be'?  Why is that so difficult?

Today I feel Jesus is giving me permission to just BE.  He is telling me to be present to Him.  He is reminding me that I do not have 'the better part'. And He is convicting me of His great love despite it all.  He's waiting for me in the ever present moment...and in this moment I leap into his arms, sit quietly at his feet, and let Him love me.

May Our adorable Lord grant all my sisters quiet moments to just BE.

With love,
His little broken pencil...

The Lord Is My Shepherd

Dear Sisters,

Currently I am reading I'm Not Being Fed: Discovering the Food That Satisfies the Soul by Jeff Cavins.

The book recounts beautifully Jeff's reversion to the Catholic Faith.  In moving language and minute detail for which this bible scholar is known, Cavins points out all the many reasons that the 2nd largest religious denomination in the United States is ex-Catholics.  As the Catholics leave The Church to be 'fed' elsewhere, they become like sheep wandering in the desert.  Some fall into deep pits where they perish, some lose their way and are devoured by animals, some wander around and around in the same circular paths without ever finding the restful pastures or still waters that they are seeking.

Cavins points to Psalm 23 as a sort of road map of our lives when we follow the Good Shepard who is Our Lord Jesus.  I found his insights so moving and I decided to explore in my own life the ways that I have followed and how I have strayed from the path the Good Shepard has laid before me.

Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd there is nothing I lack.

How true that when I have allowed God to be my shepherd, I lacked nothing.  I think of the times we spend in the home of Only 1 Holy Spirit for our Endow or book studies.  Sometimes it has been an effort to leave a problem, concern, irritation, or undone task behind as I concentrate on just BEING with each of you.  Opening myself to the Spirit and putting everything behind has indeed been a time when I have lacked for nothing.  My cup has been full to the brim.  So too in my life.  When I've put the Lord first, no matter how arduous a task to do so, I have been rewarded with complete serenity and peace.  These precious opening words written by King David more than 3000 years ago I resolve to keep close to my heart.  The Lord is My Shepherd there is Nothing I lack.

In green pastures you let me graze; to safe waters you lead me; you restore my strength.

Waves of serenity lap over me as I meditate on these words.  I am filled with a vision of a bucolic scene of intense green grass, a pond of still water and Our Lord at one time guarding me from danger and taking joy in seeing me so filled with calm and peace.  In this pasture, I allow Jesus to have my back.  I allow Him to guide me.  I allow Him to show me the way.  I eat where He says I should and the food feeds me unto eternal life.  I drink deeply of the still waters and find that my thirst is slaked for the first time in my life.  Tears run down my face as I let the Good Shepherd lead me where He knows I must go to be safe, and fed.  What freedom to just let go and let God!

You guide me along the right path for the sake of your name.

Every generation needs to resolve anew to follow the Good Shepherd onto the right path.  Our church in America took a turn into the wilderness, leaving us exposed to the wolves, hyenas and bears.  But like the wonderful shepherd He is, Jesus has not allowed us to wander forever.  He has called each of us in our group to come to Him.  He knows our names and He called us back to him.  He has sent us worthy shepherds (Jeff Cavins, Scott Hahn, Mother Angelica, 'Mitch', JPII, Benedict XVI, Francis, Bishop Olmsted etc) to lead the way along the right path for the 'sake of His name.'  Think ladies how much our perspective of the world around us has changed since allowing us to be guided.  Every relationship in my life has been renewed.  Guide me all the days of my life Lord!!

Even when I walk through a dark valley, I fear no harm for you are at my side; your rod and staff give me courage.

How true this is!  The world is very dark indeed.  Cavins points out in the book that every Christian denomination or non-denominational church is following a heresy from the first 4 centuries of Christianity.  All these old heresies have found new names, but are the same recycled ideas of old. A dark valley indeed.  I think of my very nice 'hippie' neighbors from across the street.  They are into Reiki.  A quick prayer to St. Michael for protection and I'm ready to interact in charity with them.  They a sweet couple, but because they don't follow the Good Shepherd, they've wondered off into a very dark world.  I wish them rest in the Lord.

You set a table before me as my enemies watch; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Cavins points out the obvious reference to the Sacrament of the Eucharist in these lines from the Psalm.  How true it is ladies that the table is set for us even in this hostile world.  The table has been set even by false shepherds within the church. Our Lord has found a way to be with us always, and it doesn't depend on the inner disposition of the shepherd at the altar, but by His grace alone.  We have received the anointing, the sign of his approval and welcome into His family.  My cup does indeed overflow as I contemplate the Lord's Mercy to us in this beautiful sacrament.  May our church always set the table and invite all to partake of the Lord's Mercy.

Only goodness and love will pursue me all the days of my life; I will dwell in the house of the Lord for years to come.

Oh Good Shepherd how wondrous you are!  I pray for all my family members and friends that don't understand the goodness and love that God offers.  To know that by following the Good Shepherd I will dwell in his house is so humbling.  I don't deserve it.  I'm just a silly sheep.  I've wandered far away at times.  I have heard Him call and not answered.  I have hurt Him with my disobedience and yet, because He is Good, He has comes after me and has tenderly carried me home.  Goodness and Love I wish for all of you, dear sisters, all the days of your life and when those lives are over, may we find each other in the home of our Father.

Love and Peace!!

Man of Blessing

Dear Sisters,

Lately I have read a biography of St. Benedict by Carmen Acevedo Butcher.  This beautifully written account of the holy man credited with the monastic movement was filled with wonderful accounts of miracles, love of Christ and of neighbor and a simplicity in life that I can't help but envy. 

St. Benedict started nearly every day at 2 a.m. and by 5 a.m. he had already spent 3 hours in communal prayer and the recitation of psalms known as the Divine Office.  It's an ironic fact that this architect of communal life who wrote a rule still used in monasteries today spent years first as a hermit before seeking out the company of others.  Once out of the confines of his solitary cave, this holy man started a movement that expanded exponentially throughout his life and still exists to modern times.

The father of monasticism was born in Nursia in 480 AD, the son of a Roman nobleman.  Tradition holds that he had a twin, St. Scholastica.  The foundational years for this young Roman were violent ones in his country with a number of armies and leaders invading, each causing death and destruction in their wake.  Personal stories of St. Benedict exist through the efforts of Pope Gregory the Great, who wrote about Benedict extensively.  Gregory in fact points out that "Benedict helped others achieve peace in the minutiae of ordinary life." 

This notion which resembles greatly 'The Little Way" of St. Therese who we will be studying more in-depth during the summer seems to be a recurrent theme with some of the holiest of our saints.  It appears that the love of Christ so permeated their lives, that every small action, gesture, conversation, desire and moment became an opportunity for living in God.

In his little cave in Subiaco, "Benedict came to understand in his every molecular cell, step, and breath that hours, days, and minutes do not belong to the human race."  This sense of our need to give our time to God is another common theme among our saints.  "Benedict's rule teaches that the only true way to yield to time is by praising God and praying for others."  Several times a day the Benedictines honor and praise God by stopping their work and simply worshiping Him who is all for all.

The book brings to life this brother of ours in faith in a way that I as a reader, felt that I had gained another good friend in my journey to the heavenly Jerusalem.  It reminds me of our riches in the Church and how good God has been to give us so many holy examples to follow.  The worlds that these mean and women lived in had their own challenges and evils. 

As we journey through our own period of time, let us realize that the evils we see so manifest in our society are the recycled ills that befell all the human race when Adam and Eve disobeyed Our Lord in the garden and have been plaguing mankind since that time. 

I have seen traditional marriage going the way of abortion, euthanasia and so many other gifts from our God that were meant for our good but now are used for evil.  Let us remember that we can appeal to these real people in heaven who 'have our backs' and will help us to navigate the turbulent waters of society and time.  Some day others will come after us who will also live in the light and will look around in bewilderment at the darkness crouched at their door.  Let's hope we are in a place where we can help them with our prayers as we now look to the prayers of our brothers and sisters in heaven.

Peace, Sisters

Take My Heart Lord

Dear Sisters,

I am currently reading Sr. Faustina's Diary.  Sometimes when I am reading something the saints have written, I feel a real pang of sweet pain for the love they have for our Lord.  It reminds me that I have a long way to go.

In Sr. Faustina's Diary (No. 57), she says "Oh, if I could only cut my heart into tiny pieces and in this way offer to You, O Jesus each piece as a heart whole and entire to make up in part for the hearts that do not love You!"

Imagine, each tiny piece of her heart a whole and complete loving heart to offer the Lord to make up for so many that don't give Jesus any part of their hearts.  This lovely thought struck so powerfully that it kept coming up at odd times to remind me to love Jesus in every moment as well as I can.

Today as the Eucharist was being distributed, it occurred to me that Jesus too cuts himself into tiny pieces so that each of us can have all of him 'body, blood, soul and divinity' in each and every host.

This reminds me that as we come to know and love Jesus more, we become more like Him and so it flows naturally and beautifully that we want to do for Him what He already does for us.

My nature is to 'do-do-do'.  At work I am pulled in dozens of directions.  I give of myself to my husband, my children, my family, my friends, my co-workers, the families I serve...but all?  Not usually.  I give some of my attention, some of my strength, some of my kindness, some of my love.  Instead of cutting myself into WHOLE tiny pieces and giving all to each endeavor, I cut myself into
selfish little pieces and tell myself that it is enough. 

Imagine if Jesus did that?  Instead of offering himself wholly and completely on the cross, imagine if he held some of himself back?  We would be right back where we started in the Garden, following the snake instead of our Father.

So today, I ask Jesus to grant me the grace to be 'all in'.  Not to do as Dusty Springfield
suggests and only give 'a little piece of my heart', but to do as Sr. Faustina suggests and give all to all and in that way imitate He who is Love.

Wishing you all peace on this beautiful Sunday!

03/09 weekend retreat at the Redemptorist Center Tucson with Kristi, Maria, Belinda, Terri and Ellen

WITNESS-Conclusion

WITNESS-CONCLUSION

The carpet in the large apartment was a dusky blue.  I ran from room to room to see it all.  How different it all looked.  The ceilings were low not tall like back home, there was carpet not tile on the floors, except for the linoleum of the kitchen and the octagon shaped white and black tiles in the bathroom.  If I dragged my feet, my skirt would stick to my legs and a current of electricity would shock anyone I touched.  Some of the windows looked onto the brick walls of the apartments next door.  The kitchen window looked out to a screened porch and beyond there was a tiny square yard, frozen over like everything else in this cold place.  The front windows were my favorite because they looked out to a park filled with naked trees and covered in layers of snow.  The rooms were all empty of furniture.  Mami looked about with a bewildered look.  Where would we sleep?  Where would we eat?  Papi hugged her close and then pulled the rest of us to them.  We were together.  At last, we were all together.  The rest would work out in Dios’ time.

A knock on door broke us apart.  Papi opened the door to a miracle.  A truck sat on the icy road in front of the apartment building.  The man at the door had a chair in his arms and behind him were more men and woman carrying things.  And what things they were!!  Beds, mattresses, sofa, chairs, tables and more chairs made their way through the door.  Mami had shaken off her shock and was now using sign language to gesture where to put the items.  My brothers and sisters put their coats and boots back on and helped bring the things in. 

There were bags of warm clothes.  I quickly found a pair of boy’s boots just my size.  I kicked off my blue shoes and stepped into their warmth.  In the kitchen two ladies were filling up the pantry with food.  Plates, utensils, pots and pans came next.  Mami hugged the women to her and debuted her English “sank ju!, sank ju!”(Thank you)  I came to understand that all these wonderful people had come from the local parish.  This was their welcome to the newest immigrants to their country.  My father thanked everyone again and again.  Tears shined brightly in his dark eyes.  My brothers and sisters were speaking English with everyone and I yearned to understand what they were saying.

That night we were all together for the first time in  what had seemed like years.   We were warm, our bellies and our hearts were full.  We had been welcomed and embraced by our new faith community to this strange land of cold and ice.  My angel told me that I wouldn’t be seeing him/her much longer.  I had my family now and all the new, kind people that God was putting in my life.  But my angel had been there for me when I was scared and lonely.  I didn’t want him/her to go.  “I will never leave you.  You can talk to me anytime.  I will help you always if you let me.  Call on me, I will be here.  You and I will be companions in this life and the next.”

I knew that I was loved by my family and God.  I was safe and all my needs were met.  I let myself feel the happiness and as I slept, dreamed of blue skies framed by palm trees.

  

WITNESS-Part V

WINTESS-Part V

The blue-gray expanse of sky illuminated the stark landscape.  The trees looked like black sticks and the grass was white under a layer of ice and snow.  Going through the gangway had chilled me to the bone and I shook like a plucked wire.  My skirt and sweater weren’t up to the task of keeping me warm.  Our breath came out in white puffs that reminded me of Papi smoking a cigar.

Love had brought us to this cold place.  Love of family.  When my parents inquired with the nice Americanos that ran the Catholic Charities, they were told that my brothers and sisters had been sent to foster families in Chicago.  Mami and I didn’t speak a word of English, but most folks we met had treated us kindly.  I was weary from all the travel, hungry and now so very cold.

I laid my head on my father’s shoulder as he carried me through the cold tunnel out to the terminal.  Ahead was noise and confusion.  People were greeting their loved ones as they left the plane.  I could hear the screamed “Mami! Papi!” from somewhere in the crowd and then we were a mass of arms and legs, tears and laughter, hugs and pats.  Mami and Papi cried tears of joy as they held all of us.  Mel had grown a foot.  He was now taller than Emi.  Tata and Yeye had long hair.  They were all dressed in heavy coats, scarves, hats, boots and there were gloves poking from their pockets.  I was passed around to the boys, but Tata held me the longest.  Even Yeye looked happy to see me. 

We were introduced to the foster parents.  Emi and Mel had gone to live with a kind and generous Cuban family that had emigrated in the 1950’s.  Tata and Yeye were living with a wonderful American family.  I saw my angel peak out from the edge of the group.  One blue eye winked at me and sent me a wide smile that told me that everything would be okay now.  There wasn’t a soldier in sight.

WITNESS-Part IV

WITNESS-Part IV

My favorite blue shoes made a clicking sound as I struggled to keep up with Mami’s hurried gait.  Her hand clutched mine tightly.  Mami had told me to hush so many times that I was all but mute.  She had resorted to putting her hand over my mouth to remind me to be still.  How can she expect me to be still?” I thought.

Papi held papers in his hands as we waited in line.  In front and behind us were lots of families, suitcases in hand waiting to get on the airplane that shone brightly in the noon day sun.  A current of nervousness traveled through the air.  Short whispered conversations could be heard.  In the long, wide hall were a row of soldiers, carrying their guns and looking in our direction.  I heard a muttered “Gusano! (worm)” from a soldier who spat on the ground before putting his cigar back into his mouth.  I looked up at my mother, who had turned pale at the utterance by the soldier.  She pulled me tightly to her side. 

Our turn finally came to speak with the man at the table.  He wore glasses and had kindly eyes.  “They are leaving us so young,” he commented sadly as he looked at me pressed up next to Mami.  The soldier next to him gestured towards my father’s hand.  After a heated exchange of words, Papi turned to Mami and told her to take off her wedding ring.  My father took their rings and dropped them over the table where they clinked loudly before they rolled to the floor. Then he took my mother’s arm and we headed out the door into the sunshine.

All the people on the plane gave a cheer of utter joy as the ground pulled away and we went up, up, up into the blue sky.  I sat next to Mami, nose pressed to the window.  The propellers on the plane moved so fast that I couldn’t see the individual blades. And the roar they made had me screaming to be heard.  Mami gave me a genuine smile, a smile I hadn’t seen for a long, long time.  I wondered if my angel would fly to America too. 

WITNESS-Part III

WITNESS-Part III

Intense blue met my startled gaze.  Then a smile like sunshine radiated from a beautiful face.  I smiled back.  My innermost being understood that this friend had been sent by Papa Dios to help me endure the scorching loneliness that I had felt since my siblings had disappeared from my life.  An angel; he or she was an angel to bring me hope.

My friend spent a lot of time with me each day.  I couldn’t tell if the angel was a girl or a boy as he or she was dressed in a gown of searing white.  It didn’t matter.  My friend had time to hear what I had to say.  My friend would play with me when my mother was so sad that she couldn’t get out of bed or my father came home late, tottering on his feet as if he were just learning to walk, scaring me with the noise he made as he knocked things over until he could fall into bed.

I told my angel all my hurts.  I shared stories of my hometown and my life before the soldiers came.  I told my angel about my brothers and sisters and about our neighbors; about the little park in the town square where we were allowed to play after dinner each night.  About the sweet man that owned the dime store next to our house.  All the little details of a way of living that were fading away day by day. 

My angel friend would listen patiently and would always tell me that God loved me very much.  I would see my brothers and sisters again, but I needed to be patient and very good, obeying my parents, even when they weren’t acting like themselves. 

One day a visitor came to see my father.  I almost didn’t recognize him as it had been so long since I had seen him.  He looked old, much older than my father and yet he was younger.  Tio, Papi’s younger brother, had come to have a talk with my father.  He greeted my mother in an odd manner and rubbed my head.  Before I would have run to him and he would have thrown me in the air, but now I felt a chasm between us, all of us and him.  I looked at my angel friend.  Sad blue eyes looked back at me.

The two men went into my parent’s room and shut the door.  Arms crossed my mother paced from window to window.  I could hear the men whispering and wondered what this new development could mean for us.  Finally, the door opened.  Tio nodded to Mami, gave me a long, piercing look and then went out the door.  I turned to see my father wipe tears from his eyes.