tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212248052024-03-16T14:52:19.966-04:00Teresa's Two CentsMoonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.comBlogger2297125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-64180089060411909612023-07-13T16:40:00.004-04:002023-07-13T16:56:34.684-04:00
<b><center>Leaving Jordan, Leaving Jerusalem</b></center>
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Our final stop in Jordan before approaching <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allenby_Bridge" target="_blank"> <span style="color:#2980b9">the border crossing at Allenby Bridge</span></a> was <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Nebo" target="_blank" <span style="color:#2980b9">Mount Nebo, a delightful Franciscan church</a></span> that houses numerous floor mosaics and other archeological artifacts.
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<br>A recording of Gregorian chant played softly in the background as our tour group rambled up metal staircases to metal platforms for a better overall view of the mosaics. I recalled <a href="http://teresatwocents.blogspot.com/2018/08/i-learned-names-of-only-few-on-holy.html" target="_blank"<span style="color:#2980b9">the mass Tim and I had participated there five years ago</span></a>. No chance of that now with this group of mostly non-Catholics<sup>1</sup> and our tight schedule. I lit a candle as the next best spiritual thing to do, conscious that I was not able to leave enough money to actually cover it.
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Earlier in the day, our tour bus broke down. Fortunately, we were fairly centrally located, in the capital of Jordan, Amman. We had just visited <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amman_Citadel" target="_blank"<span style="color:#2980b9">the Citadel (Wiki)</span></a> and were promptly back to the bus. Yet, the bus lingered, its engine running rough. The day before the bus had stalled as we climbed a country road in the south. Ultimately, a repairman was able to fix the bus but it ate up 90 minutes of our morning.
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As this tour included reading sessions in the biblical languages, while the bus was being repaired, those of us with interest stepped off with our reading materials and worked through a passage of St. John's Gospel (1:19-34). The heat of the late morning as well as evidence that the bus would soon be ready to go meant we covered about half the pericope's verses. I myself read aloud and translated verse 20. It didn't hit me until I'd already arrived back home that there are places in the world where one cannot read from the Bible in public. Jordan isn't one of those places.
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Our plans rearranged then, we went directly to lunch. It was a lovely restaurant with courtyard seating completely covered by leafy trees! Food came family style, and the initial dishes were fresh vegetables. We'd been warned to not eat anything uncooked while in Jordan because of the water. Yet, in setting down a coke with ice for the man next to me, the waiter said that the water is filtered. I was very conflicted, watching the staff happily bring platter after platter which we didn't dare touch!
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Eventually, though, the cooked food was presented and it was exquisite. But our rushed schedule forced us to press on. There was a brief stop at a craft store to see <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madaba_Map" target="_blank" <span style="color:#2980b9">a replica of the Madaba Map (Wiki)</span></a> because we lacked the time to head for the church which houses the real one. I missed that presentation entirely, however, because the airline, El Al, had texted me about my flight home being delayed.
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Via text message over the bus's WiFi, I communicated with Jeff who was also aware that my flight was delayed. He was seeking to get me on a slightly later flight that evening rather than the delayed flight next morning, but he wasn't able to get me on it. So, he moved me to the delayed flight in the morning. That's when things began to unravel.
<br><br> We made for the border, arriving a bit before 4pm. As with coming into Jordan, we again turned over our passports to the tour guide who ran into the building for us to process our exit. As before, we remained on the bus. We were traveling with another tour bus and we stuck together as we approached the border. As far as I know, leaving Jordan was no problem, but after some time, we became aware that the Israeli border was not allowing anyone in. Saying we were in "no man's land" seems a bit extreme but technically that's what it was.
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As we sat before the gate, one of our party suggested that we pray. So they did, and I went along in my thoughts with their sentiment. Suddenly, the closed gate lifted and we drove through. Then the next one lifted and we continued. I watched through the bus window as our tour guide engaged the Israeli customs agent, intensely yet without anger, petitioning him to let our buses through. As I've only ever crossed the border on one other occasion, this looked a bit different to me, not yet knowing the full story. I remember thinking, "They love to argue, don't they?" Later, she told us that she played the "Americans on board" card.
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But we all breathed a sigh of relief for only a moment because the time was now 7:20pm and folks had an 8:00pm shuttle to the airport for their midnight and 1am flights. We were in Jericho about 40 minutes from Jerusalem. I was no longer in that group of travelers anxious to make a midnight flight as mine had now moved to 7 am the next day. But for their sakes, I was prepared to travel to the airport on this bus. That would not be the solution, however, because <a href="https://www.reuters.com/world/middle-east/protesters-close-israeli-seaport-eye-airport-judicial-crisis-simmers-2023-07-03/" target="_blank" <span style="color:#2980b9">protests at the airport over the ultra conservative Israeli government had created a two mile traffic jam</span></a>. No airport shuttle was going to get there in time. The only alternative was the train and right away!
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After getting through Israeli customs, and as we moved our luggage from one bus to the next, I pulled out my Apple Watch charger because I was preparing to still make the 8:00pm shuttle that I was originally booked on, if necessary. I thought I could charge my near-dead watch battery on the bus. But there were no charging ports! Just like the Jordan bus had had none. Suddenly, our guide asked if anyone had an Apple Watch charger because our driver needed to charge his watch as he had more driving to do that night! I ran my charger up to the front for him.
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My airport shuttle reservation was switched from 8:00pm to 2:00am, thankfully, during that drive from the border at Jericho to Jerusalem, and thus, the handful of people that I had originally intended to ride the shuttle with - Jimmy and Jack and Doug and Ignatio and Jeff and Rob and Anabelle and Karen and others - were teaming up for a mad dash to the taxi to the train to the airport with all their belongings! I wouldn't wish that on my worse enemy. From what I understand, they all made their flights. Glory Be.
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Myself, I got dinner! Albeit at 8:30pm. And I ate the raw vegetables! I had a room, so I showered, and repacked sensibly! I waited up until 1:30am when I went to the hotel lobby, checked out of the Gloria Hotel, hopped on the 2:00am airport shuttle (which swung inside the Jaffe Gate at 1:35!). I wore my seatbelt! So many people walking the streets at 2am! A bride in white wedding gown with her fiancé in his tux were posing for pictures just inside Jaffe Gate - the only (relatively) quiet time! I got through airport security and to the gate before 4am. The most difficult hour was 6am to 7am -- I could not hold my eyes straight. I fell asleep after breakfast around 9am and had a most comfortable flight home.
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<sup>1</sup> Our tour guide referred to the Franciscans as the "Holy Land guards", but his thick Jordanian accent sounded like "Holy Land gods". So one of the Protestants muttered, "I don't think I'd refer to myself as a 'Holy Land god' but ok." So I tried to set her straight on the whole custodian role that the Franciscans have taken for the past 800 yrs in the Holy Land. Like, their presence allows and <i><b>has allowed</i></b> Christians to visit these sites through the centuries. Amen?
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Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-42275750884720593632022-03-03T19:32:00.001-05:002022-03-03T19:38:16.982-05:00<p>St. Paul talks about the Father, Son and Spirit<sup>1</sup> but God is one.<sup>2</sup></p>
<p>St. Paul talks about the resurrection of the dead<sup>3</sup> but it is nowhere found in Scripture.<sup>4</sup></p>
<p>How are sins atoned for? Not Jesus!<sup><span style="font-size:11.666666px">5</span></sup> Rather, <span style="color:#2980b9"><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=leviticus+4-7&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Leviticus 4-7</a>.</span></p>
<p>Our prophets have told us how to live.<sup>6</sup> We don’t need Paul’s moral exhortation<span style="font-size:11.666666px">.<sup>7</sup></span></p>
<p>Jerusalem is the heart of Judaism. How can Paul prefer Arabia and Damascus, Syria and Cilicia to Jerusalem?<sup>8</sup> How can Paul say Hagar represents Sinai, a mountain in Arabia which corresponds to the present Jerusalem?<sup>9</sup> We are descendants of Abraham and have never been enslaved to anyone. How can Paul say, ‘You will become free’?”<sup>10 </sup></p>
<p>Why does Paul have Timothy circumcised?<sup>11 </sup>But not Titus?<sup>12</sup> Is this the behavior of someone who knows what he’s talking about? Have you heard what Festus, procurator of Judea (A.D. 60 to 62) thinks of Paul? <strong>"You are mad, Paul; much learning is driving you mad.”</strong><sup>13 </sup>Even the so-called "Prince of the Apostles" attempts damage control for the loose cannon that is Paul of Tarsus, saying, "Paul, according to the wisdom given to him, also wrote to you,<sup> </sup>speaking of these things as he does in all his letters. In them there are some things hard to understand that the ignorant and unstable distort to their own destruction."<sup>14</sup></p>
<p><strong><em><u>Just remember, Peter sat with us in Antioch!</u></em></strong><sup>15</sup></p>
<p>Incidentally, when was the last time you saw Paul?<sup>16</sup> </p>
<p>How can someone who is still living say they have died and have been crucified with Christ and that Christ lives in him?<sup>17 </sup>Paul himself has even said, "For it is not those who hear the law who are just in the sight of God; <strong>rather, those who observe the law will be justified.</strong>"<sup>18 </sup>In saying this, Paul is in good company,<sup>19</sup> especially with our brother, James.<sup>20</sup></p>
<p>We don’t want your money<sup>21</sup>— we don’t have any churches to support. Do you think that we will take advantage of you as you recover from circumcision as our ancestors did?<sup>22</sup> Of course not!<sup>23</sup></p>
<p>Incidentally, that Paul wishes we would slip with the knife and castrate ourselves <strong>is hardly Christian!</strong><sup>24</sup> </p>
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<p><sup>1</sup> <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+1%3A3%2C+3%3A2&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 1:3, 3:2</span></a> <em>grace to you and peace from <strong>God our Father </strong>and the <strong>Lord Jesus Christ</strong> ... did you receive the <strong>Spirit</strong> from works of the law, or from faith in what you heard?</em></p>
<p><sup>2 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Deuteronomy+6%3A4&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Deuteronomy 6:4</span></a><span style="color:#2980b9"> </span><em>Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God, <strong>the Lord is one</strong>.</em></p>
<p><sup>3 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=galatians+1%3A1&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 1:1</span></a> <em>Paul, an apostle not from human beings nor through a human being but through Jesus Christ and God the Father <strong>who raised him from the dead</strong></em></p>
<p><sup>4 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=job+14%3A12&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Job 14:12</span></a> <em>So mortals lie down, <strong>never to rise</strong>. Until the heavens are no more, <strong>they shall not awake</strong>, <strong>nor be roused out of their sleep</strong>. </em>[<span style="font-size:12.0px">NB</span> <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Daniel+12%3A1-3&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Daniel 12:1-3</span></a> is about a small group of martyrs during the reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes. <span style="font-size:12.0px">NABRE</span> footnote: “Many of those who sleep: Daniel does not envisage the universal resurrection as later developed.”]</p>
<p><sup>5 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+1%3A4&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 1:4</span></a><span style="color:#2980b9"> </span><em><strong>who gave himself for our sins</strong> that he might rescue us from the present evil age in accord with the will of our God and Father</em></p>
<p><sup>6 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Micah+6%3A8&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Micah 6:8</span></a> <strong><em>You have been told, O mortal, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God. </em></strong>[<span style="font-size:12.0px">NABRE</span> footnote: "To do justice refers to human behavior in relationship to others. To love goodness refers to the kind of love and concern which is at the heart of the covenant between the Lord and Israel; it is persistently faithful. To walk humbly with your God means to listen carefully to the revealed will of God."]</p>
<p><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Deuteronomy+26%3A16&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Deuteronomy 26:16</span></a> <em>This day the Lord, your God, is commanding you to observe these statutes and ordinances. Be careful, then, <strong>to observe them with your whole heart and with your whole being.</strong></em></p>
<p><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Zechariah+7%3A9&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Zechariah 7:9</span></a> <em>Thus says the Lord of hosts: <strong>Judge with true justice, and show kindness and compassion toward each other</strong></em></p>
<p><sup>7 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+5-6%3A10&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 5-6:10</span></a></p>
<p><sup>8 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+1%3A17%2C21-22&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 1:17, 21-22</span></a> <em><strong>nor did I go up to Jerusalem</strong> to those who were apostles before me; rather, I went into <strong>Arabia</strong> and then returned to <strong>Damascus</strong>. Then I went into the regions of <strong>Syria</strong> and <strong>Cilicia</strong>.<sup> </sup>And <strong>I was unknown personally to the churches of Judea </strong>that are in Christ;</em></p>
<p><sup>9 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+4%3A24-25&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 4:24-25</span></a><span style="color:#2980b9"> </span></p>
<p><sup>10<span style="color:#2980b9"> </span></sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+8%3A33+&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">John 8:33</span></a><span style="color:#2980b9"> </span></p>
<p><sup>11 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=%28Acts+16%3A3%29&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Acts 16:3</span></a> <em>and Paul wanted him to come along with him. On account of the Jews of that region, <strong>Paul had him circumcised</strong>,<span style="font-size:11.666666px"> </span>for they all knew that his father was a Greek.</em></p>
<p><sup>12 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+2%3A3&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 2:3</span></a> <em>Moreover, <strong>not even Titus</strong>, who was with me, <strong>although he was a Greek, was compelled to be circumcised</strong></em></p>
<p><sup>13 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Acts+26%3A24&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Acts 26:24</span></a> </p>
<p><sup>14 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+peter+3%3A15-16&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">2 Peter 3:15-16</span></a></p>
<p><sup>15 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+2%3A12-13&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 2:12-13</span></a><span style="color:#2980b9"> </span></p>
<p><sup>16 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+4%3A20&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 4:20</span></a> <em><strong>I would like to be with you now </strong>and to change my tone, for I am perplexed because of you. </em>cf <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus+32%3A23&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Exodus 32:23</span></a> <em>They said to me, ‘Make us a god to go before us; <strong>as for this man Moses </strong>who brought us out of the land of Egypt, <strong>we do not know what has happened to him</strong>.’</em></p>
<p><sup>17 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+2%3A19-20&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 2:19-20</span></a></p>
<p><sup>18 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+2%3A13+&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Romans 2:13</span></a></p>
<p><sup>19 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+7%3A21%2CLuke+6%3A46-Luke+6%3A49%2CLuke+8%3A21%2CJames+1%3A22-James+1%3A25%2C1+John+3%3A7&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Matthew 7:21, Luke 6:46-Luke 6:49, Luke 8:21, James 1:22-James 1:25, 1 John 3:7</span></a></p>
<p><sup>20 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=+James%C2%A02%3A21&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">James 2:21</span></a> <em>Was not Abraham our father <strong>justified by works </strong>when he offered his son Isaac upon the altar?</em></p>
<p><sup>21 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+4%3A17&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 4:17</span></a> <em>They show interest in you, <strong>but not in a good way</strong>; they want to isolate you,<span style="font-size:11.666666px"> </span>so that you may show interest in them.</em></p>
<p><sup>22 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+34%3A15%2C+25&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Genesis 34:15, 25</span></a> <em>Only on this condition will we agree to that: that you become like us by having every male among you circumcised. On the third day, while they wer<span style="color:#2980b9"></span>e still in pain, two of Jacob’s sons, Simeon and Levi, brothers of Dinah, each took his sword, advanced against the unsuspecting city and <strong>massacred all the males</strong>.</em></p>
<p><sup>23</sup> <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/quicksearch/?qs_version=NABRE&quicksearch=of+course+not&begin=52&end=52" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Romans 3:4, 6, 31; 6:1, 15; 7:7, 13; 9:14; 11:1, 11</span></a> </p>
<p><sup>24 </sup><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+5%3A12&version=NABRE" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><span style="color:#2980b9">Galatians 5:12</span></a> <em>Would that those who are upsetting you <strong>might also castrate themselves!</strong></em></p>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-57800269703976058712021-08-15T16:41:00.010-04:002021-08-15T17:35:37.416-04:00The teacher sprinkled our personal introductions over the week, meeting a few fellow classmates at a time. Either before class began for the day or after returning from break, he'd call out six or so names from an alphabetized list of registered students. If the person did not happen to be present at the moment, he'd move on to the next name. I had all week, then, to decide what to say, and there was a catch-all on the last morning for those overlooked.
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One man from SA gave his name, that of a popular Hollywood actor, along with the apology that his parents were Catholics. Heads nodded. Catholics aren't so bound to saints' names anymore, but choosing one sure makes writing that Saint Report in third grade CCD easier. I should have asked him his confirmation name. The guys behind me marked him out because <a href="https://www.masters.edu/news/legacy-article-bible.html">he touted the Legacy Study Bible</a>.
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One man mentioned having membership in the Evangelical Free church and someone seated across the room blurted out, "<b><i>Another E-Free!</i></b> I thought I'd be the only one here!" The following day and for the rest of the week, they sat next to each other.
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It was impossible to miss the two black robed Dominican friars sitting front and center. This central spot helped them stay focused and kept them out of trouble. The older one, <a href="https://www.stanselms.org/index.php/about-us/monk-profiles/14-about-us/monk-profiles/32-br-ignacio-gonzalez">Br. Ignacio</a>, had attended the Elementary Biblical Greek Review class the last time it was held, January 2019. As they travel in pairs, he had along a younger man, <a href="https://www.stanselms.org/index.php/15-news-media/news/236-labor-day">Br. John Baptist Santa Ana</a>, who said he was a convert with a Baptist background. And that he still went by the name "Baptist!" As there were many veterans in the class, Br. Ignacio's Marine service won him much respect. Throughout our break times and lunches, these two were engaged in intense discussions with other classmates. I haven't the faintest idea about what. I suppose they are prepared for that sort of thing, dressed as they are. Invariably, their discussion partner would say in a sincere tone, as they separated, "Well, you have given me something to think about."
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Br. Ignacio talked to me briefly, mostly about the Eucharist. The extent to which others share his great devotion may be a sort of litmus test. He dredged up a tête-à-tête he'd had with our teacher during the prior class -- in Jan. '19 -- on John 6: "How can he not see it, it's so clear!" I tried to be diplomatic with him because I had noticed our teacher glancing our direction. Later in our class discussion, the teacher recalled Br. Ignacio's previous debate with him on John 6. So, he had been able to surmise what we were talking about.
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One guy, when called upon to introduce himself, went forward and took the teacher's clip-on microphone to address us. I settled in. He said his Daddy was a minister, maybe Methodist, and his earliest memory is of his father going through every prayer book in his church, crossing out "catholic" in the Creed and writing "universal" over the top. I cannot remember if this story had a point other than to demonstrate his Protestant credentials of a prejudiced upbringing.
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Maybe the presence of the Dominicans had something to do with everyone else needing to prove how Protestant they are. But, in any case, this guy gave his spiel and then in the afternoon, the Dominicans were gone. Someone noticed their absence and asked the teacher. The teacher joked that they'd been offended and left, but then he explained that they went to Gethsemani for the afternoon. The one who asked about them then said, "Well, I'm a Catholic, too, and this is a bit too much." When his turn came to introduce himself, he said he was a convert who <a href="https://www.trinityrocks.com/admissions/academics/faculty/#josh-kusch">teaches theology and coaches chess in a Catholic high school</a>, very much the Ohio version of my sons' religious school in New Jersey.
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One man had arrived a day late because while driving to Kentucky, he struck a truck tire in the road and totaled his car. He was thankfully unharmed in the accident. Our teacher remarked on the "spiritual warfare" at work in inhibiting his timely arrival: "Satan doesn't want you here." Well, I did not have any trouble getting there, so what does that mean?
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When my time to introduce myself came, I decided not to list off academic or professional credentials as others had, but to mention a fun fact about my home state as well as my current ministry and family situation. I know people generally have a poor impression of New Jersey, but I professed that summer is our best season. I told them about "God's Square Mile" on the Jersey Shore in Ocean Grove where the tent meetings started by the Methodists have pretty much been taken over by the Baptists<sup>1</sup>.
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I mentioned being a lector<sup>2</sup> at church. I explained what a lector does as they may not be familiar with it. Since they're mostly all pastors, they are accustomed to hearing their mic'd voice speaking solo in church, but I've only been lectoring for a year so I'm still getting comfortable with that. I said that I've happily accepted many requests for substitutions from other lectors who are getting away on vacations after the COVID restrictions and this is helping me grow in proficiency in proclaiming the Scriptures. And I mentioned my home-life which made a couple of them accuse me afterwards privately of "escaping" and "running away."<sup>3</sup>
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The weekend conference began in the afternoon Friday, and I found myself standing in the registration line with a couple of friends of acquaintances. The wife asked about the online Greek New Testament reading group and I gave her the contact and zoom information and invited her to join in. Then she proceeded to casually spout off <b><i>how many Catholics</b></i> there seem to be about. I waited patiently for her to explain her experiences that have prompted this tallying. She mentioned the Catholic churches and schools right next to this very Protestant campus<sup>4</sup>. And of the <b><i>three</b></i> Catholics -- that she knew of -- in our class, well, <b><i>two of them converted to Catholicism!</b></i> And, so, yes, she has joined the weekly online Greek New Testament reading group that I participate in. She is very nice, quite emphatically Lutheran, but there's no way I'm coming clean.
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<sup>1</sup> One guy actually shot his fist into the air with a "Yeah" and nudged the guy next to him. This was exactly the reaction I was going for and not surprised to see.
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<sup>2</sup> <a href="https://thetextualmechanic.blogspot.com/2021/08/aurelius-of-carthage-illiterate-church.html?fbclid=IwAR1wRNQef5DzRFvMMv1iu7Rav5dLr0PhCIyz81r6moS2YpYhSOKODd6NY28&m=1">An illiterate lector</a>
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<sup>3</sup> Pastors
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<sup>4</sup> So, I'd say the neighborhood appears to be zoned for churches and schools as I noticed a good mix of various denominations very close by.
Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-20481098550623775212021-08-06T22:47:00.004-04:002021-08-06T22:58:47.116-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-awPqO4VyjVg/YQ31tCQyDPI/AAAAAAAADWw/gQe8wORakzgdP-u_gHTyJ7vjqBrVzpKDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_2915.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-awPqO4VyjVg/YQ31tCQyDPI/AAAAAAAADWw/gQe8wORakzgdP-u_gHTyJ7vjqBrVzpKDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_2915.jpeg"/></a></div>People at the hotel were all decked out for a Reds game. I recalled that the first <font size="-1">MLB</font> game I ever attended was a Reds game. I remember the rain delay and not too much else.
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All the traffic seemed headed for the airport. Why does the sun rise so late out here? Bright orange construction signs telling of the closure of 71 South. Waze took me around it, heading to the monastery. The radio went strong and weak as I rolled among the Kentucky hills, now and then bringing in the sound of a screaming Protestant minister.
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Jeff texted about losing my signal around Bardstown.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_KYrzx4Z1WU/YQ3VagfMyYI/AAAAAAAADWY/GY26j_5x2YM1sHb2nxTqvpkSSWbCGKnJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_3083.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1168" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_KYrzx4Z1WU/YQ3VagfMyYI/AAAAAAAADWY/GY26j_5x2YM1sHb2nxTqvpkSSWbCGKnJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_3083.jpeg"/></a></div>
I arrived at the same time, that is, an hour early, as another visitor who said his daughter lives in New Jersey. It was his first time also to the Abbey, though it wasn't exactly the blind leading the blind because, even with some areas like the gift shop still closed from Covid, the church entrance was straight off the parking lot.
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He opened the door to the main church for me and then he slipped into a side chapel. There was holy water in the font, and I was alone in the church except for the occasional monk passing through. I took my pictures -- my camera lens had fogged something fierce outdoors in that thick, late July, Kentucky air -- from the ground floor and from the balcony upstairs.
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The material making up the floor, pebbles set in cement, seemed so practical, though I had no intention of kneeling on it as some did. There were cushions available for kneeling.
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I used the booklets to participate in the third hour of prayer, "terce", as it's called. The monks sat on the near end of the long, narrow choir but not so close that they could hear us. I mostly listened or whispered. There was one strong voice among us. Then we were allowed to pass through the choir area to a sanctuary at the far end for Sunday liturgy.
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Most of the monks disappeared to vest because they are also priests. A second pipe organ graces the sanctuary but the organist sat just out of view. There was a sprinkling rite with the penitential rite. There was incense before the reading of the Gospel. The homily was about welcoming others and offering hospitality. The communion bread, I didn't have the luxury of examining it, of course, but it was very thin, very white, larger than usual with some imprint. Maybe <a href="https://www.loyolapress.com/catholic-resources/prayer/arts-and-faith/culinary-arts/meet-the-cloistered-nuns-who-bake-communion-bread/">it's made in nearby Erlanger</a>.
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<a href="https://www.trappists.org/monasteries-in-the-united-states/">Trappist Monasteries in the United States</a>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-43379235262582069172021-08-06T17:48:00.003-04:002021-08-06T17:53:28.872-04:00Thursday, the teacher invited the entire class to dinner at an Indian place. He cancelled the following day's quiz -- we had quizzes every morning since Tuesday -- but the final exam was still pending for those taking the class for credit. About twenty of the 90 students came out for dinner.
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During break time, I had completed the translation assignment, John 4:7-14, due Friday morning. I arranged a ride to the restaurant with a classmate who, along with his wife, was also staying at the hotel on campus. At the agreed to time, she entered the lobby and we talked, as her husband brought the car around. She said,<blockquote>"My husband's car has been having a problem that the mechanics can't figure out. So, in the week leading up to this trip, I asked the Lord for clarity concerned which car to take. And last week, his car took a turn for the worse and here we are in my car, a perfectly good car."</blockquote>Is <a href="https://qara.org/why-asking-god-for-clarity-is-the-wrong-question-to-ask/">"seeking clarity from the Lord"</a> synonomous with asking for a sign?
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Between the two of them, they had <b><i>three</i></b> GPS screens going, homing in on "Shalimar Indian Restaurant." I don't know the laws regarding handheld devices in Louisville<sup>1</sup>, but I generally assume it's illegal everywhere. Not wanting to be a backseat driver, I kept Waze off and trusted them. There was a wrong turn into a deadend, a driveway for a dumpster, for which the wife, as the designated navigator, took all the blame. I said something like, "All alleys in New Jersey are connected, no deadends" and the husband said Texas is the same.
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As we joined a table, the ongoing conversation paused momentarily and then resumed. The man to my left, whom I later learned was a retired trial lawyer of fifty years, was telling about the reaction of French Catholic tourists visiting a Harlem church. His buddy to his left, a retired rocket scientist, said that maybe some life could be breathed into the Catholic liturgy if more Catholics visited spirit-filled churches. Later during the meal, the same lawyer told a story about a Manhattan hotel -- except he said "a New York City hotel" -- that charged only $30 a night "if you are a Catholic." So, his wife, who played organ for a Catholic church, was told she could stay at that hotel, even though she isn't Catholic<sup>2</sup>. It was difficult from his tone to judge whether he said these things approvingly.
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The teacher was pushing the Chicken Tikka Masala as a crowd pleaser. Most everyone listened to him and ordered that. He recommended zero spice. I ordered Shrimp Jalpharezi which was fine, only occasionally spicy. The portion was small so I was hungry later but I'd taken home some naan bread and ate that before going to bed.
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The idea was to treat the seminary students from the class who had joined us at the restaurant. Three times, the teacher went from table to table in our party, asking students for their dinner check. He came back empty-handed each time. I was willing to pick up someone's bill, as was everyone else at my table, but we did not get that chance.
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<sup>1</sup> A law <a href="https://www.whas11.com/article/news/local/new-laws-july-1-kentucky-indiana/417-9a558bb6-0713-429e-8828-d4b62e1df53a">to that effect passed last summer</a>.
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<sup>2</sup> I suppose he means this place, <a href="https://leohousenyc.com/">The Leo House</a>, charging $190/night these days to guests of all faiths.
Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-73940315951165202012018-09-15T21:34:00.000-04:002019-08-08T14:57:38.403-04:00<div align="justify">
The same day that I'd looked ahead in our itinerary, Remy, the Israeli tour guide, warned us to pack our Dead Sea gear in a carry-on the morning we returned from Jordan because the site would be our first stop after immigration. He didn't want to go into the luggage under the bus hunting for swimsuits and flip flops.
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The amenities at the Dead Sea have improved greatly since I was first there in 1999. Much is made of the elevation, as the bar there calls itself "the lowest bar in the world." Tim needed some convincing to wade in because, after all, "dead sea" doesn't sound very appealing. He enjoyed floating. It was shallow but not muddy or slippery as when I took Tim's older brother in February, 2014. I nearly lost my water shoes on that occasion.
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Remy gave us an hour, an adequate amount of time. There are numerous wooden stairs down to the water and also a significant section of hardened earth to walk across before reaching the water. All things to keep in mind on the return trip to the changing rooms when you are dripping wet.
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I managed to scrape my knee on the hard, scratchy sea bed as I was shifting myself around. A thing I totally expected and had Neosporin and large bandaids for. It didn't heal well, despite my copious care, totally unexpected! The scrape gave me discomfort for the rest of the trip, especially when kneeling or banging it up against the bus seat.
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After our swim, I showered up and sat down in the bar with everyone else waiting for Tim. I gave him some shekels to buy a soda and some Pringles chips.
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We boarded the bus again and went to Tel Jericho. It was a quick stop to see the excavations and the monastery high on the mountains. I tend to be interested with how the sites are presented. It seemed to me that the walkway didn't have railings when I visited with Kenny in 2014. I pointed out to Tim that Jericho is an oasis, the <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Deuteronomy+34:3&version=NRSV">bible calls it <i>"the city of palm trees"</i> (Deut 34:3)</a>. He could see that, a very distinctive cluster of green palms. Our tour guide told us houses there are incredibly expensive.
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We had mass in the Church of the Good Shepherd in Jericho. It is a Franciscan church built by Antonio Barluzzi in 1924. All the Latin Catholic churches in the Holy Land are crisply clean. We were feeling mellow from the Dead Sea salts we'd absorbed. Our tour guide was busy during the brief service adjusting the air conditioning in the little church. He climbed up to reach an air vent above the entrance. I was startled to look back and see him up there. I jotted down keywords from the Scripture readings in an attempt to identify them but my scribbles aren't clear. "Isaiah out of Egypt I called my Son," "Psalm O Shepherd of Israel," and "Matthew cure the sick, raise the dead, Sodom and Gomorrah" (Matthew 10:5-15ff)
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We visited next the Church of Lazarus in Bethany. Our guide referred to them, Mary, Martha and Lazarus, as "the dear ones" and "the dear friends of Jesus." I was at the same time touched by our guide's sentiment towards these biblical figures and also jealous of his statement of their intimacy with Jesus. Our guide exhibited no such jealousy. There was a mass in progress and we didn't stay long.
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Then we went for lunch in Bethlehem. The goal of Franciscan pilgrimages in the Holy Land is to patronize Catholic places of business. Seating was outside and, given the elevation of Bethlehem<sup>1</sup>, it was pleasant enough to sit at tables under awnings. I was sandwiched between the two Franciscan priests with Tim seated across from me. This probably worked out well because they ate up all the meat that was served and I ate the vegetables. Fr. Jim was talking up the bananas we'd have for dessert.
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"Bethlehem bananas," he recalled from a previous experience, "are small and sweet." With a recommendation like that, I <b><i>had to have one.</i></b> The skins are thicker than we're used to and I have an ideal "banana shape" that I find appealing. But these Bethlehem bananas were worth the extra work of opening them up and overcoming my esthetic tastes. Some chose not to have any, so I took an extra one.
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While we were eating, sadly, a few from our group were going through luggage under the bus looking for a lost wallet. For all his warnings to the contrary, Remy still found himself going through suitcases. I pointed out to Tim as they opened the door to the cargo hold and began hauling out suitcases in the direct sun, "See, that's what that looks like. Not good." They didn't find the wallet and missed lunch for the most part. When Neva sat down at the end of our table, she demanded that all left over hummus and pita be sent her way. And we dutifully turned this over. She was that kind of gal. Hummus and pita seemed to be her staple the entire trip.
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Pita bread varies from place to place, as pizza dough does in this country. Some of it was soft and chewy and some was like cardboard. The hummus was always good, everywhere. We heard the call to prayer loud and clear since we were eating outdoors and this was Bethlehem. Fr. George said he became very familiar with the sound while in Africa. I instructed Tim to listen closely as he's not likely to hear it so clearly again. It was a recording, most definitely. I don't know the language but they say it's the entire prayer, not simply a call to prayer, to facilitate its recitation.
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Drinking water had been hard to come by in Jordan. The travel company gave us only one bottle a day and we couldn't buy any extra. The hotel offered two bottles per room at check in and the tap water was not potable. Tim and I were popping a daily Imodium tablet as a precaution, but that's no reason to ignore the concierge's advice. If Fr. Jim hadn't kindly given his hotel bottles to me, I might have been worse off. A couple of vitamin C pills relieved the sinus congestion I had, though my body needed to recover the lost fluids.
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The other resource we pilgrims seemed low on was cash. Remy took us to the only ATM in Bethlehem that dispenses US dollars. A few people made use of it. Strangely, we stopped two other times at this ATM during our brief stay in Bethlehem for different pilgrims (or perhaps some of the same ones) to get money. Tim and I happened to be seated on the bus behind the woman who lost her wallet. She was blaming her traveling companion, her friend, for the loss. <i>"No, I'm not blaming you but if you hadn't of distracted me when I was packing ..."</i> This was the same person who had asked me not to sit near her because of my cold. I actually did pray that she'd find her wallet because it's a pretty awful thing to lose something so important, especially when traveling.
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I liked our Bethlehem hotel room very much. There were three twin beds and a balcony. After the Dead Sea swim, my hair needed conditioner but this hotel was the only one without any samples. They compensated with tubes of Dead Sea skin products. I rinsed out our swim suits and water shoes so these would have a chance to dry before we checked out. The room key was needed for the lights and A/C to work and we received only one room key. Tim declined dinner again, so I left the key with him while I went down. He just had to agree to stay awake to let me in when I returned. It was Thursday night and things were quieting down on the Bethlehem streets for the weekly Muslim holy day. I stood on the balcony and listened to the call to prayer, then went down to dinner.
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<sup>1</sup> In a matter of hours, we'd traveled from Amman, at an elevation of 3,300 ft above sea level, to the Dead Sea, at 1,300 feet <i><b>below</i></b> sea level, to Bethlehem, at 2,500 ft above sea level. Our ears were feeling it!
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-85950394005453345642018-09-15T11:41:00.000-04:002018-09-15T14:31:05.221-04:00<div align="justify">
We spent the entire morning at Petra, a wonder of the world, an UNESCO World Heritage Site and a well-maintained national park. Looking at the map, our guide explained the approximate round-trip distances to the different points of interest.
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At least, I wanted to see the facade featured in the last scene of <i>Indiana Jones</i>. Neva sought - and found - a walking partner to the "Monastery" in the young teacher and runner, Anastasia, from Florida. I felt confident that I could walk seven miles<sup>1</sup> but not the twelve miles needed for the "Monastery." I had turned my ankle very badly two weeks earlier on the first day of our family trip to New York and Toronto. I underestimated how serious the sprain was but, at the time, I couldn't keep off it or care for the injury. And we walked a great deal, especially in Toronto: one day we walked seven miles!
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To protect my ankles in Petra, I wrapped them in these wonderful bandages that Kenny's athletic trainer had given him when he turned his ankle at sport's practice in December. I had also bought last minute some fantastic walking shoes with ankle support. Advice to travelers includes shoes that are broken-in but, being laid up with my ankle injury for several days at home, I couldn't. These shoes needed no breaking-in.
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The itinerary's exposition of this day offered <i>"riding on horseback (no riding experience required) ..."</i> As it turned out, our guide strongly discouraged us from the horseback option, although some insisted on it because of the itinerary.<sup>2</sup> I suspected our guide's concern was based on the reputation of the handlers for animal cruelty. Signs were prominent listing ways to report observed or suspected violations.
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Our guide suggested that, despite the "you can't get lost, it's one-way in and one-way out" nature of the place, we stick with him for his explanations. Timmy, feeling independent, walked ahead and very soon disappeared from sight. The guy from Arizona said it reminded him of the American Southwest.<sup>3</sup> The sun was not high enough to reach into the narrow Siq and gusts of wind blew outwards. The warning sound of a single horse trotting echoed periodically from behind or coming ahead before passing.
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Young boys plague you to buy their postcards, jewelry. Old men sweep up droppings of horse, donkey. Bedouins offer camel rides. Generally, it's a carnival in front of the "Treasury."
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This was as far as the guide was going. Tim met up with me again at this point, wanting to show me things ahead. Our morning was only half spent, so I went ahead with him. He showed me the tombs he had explored. He ably bounded up stone stairs like a mountain goat. I climbed the stairs as well but slower. Out of the bedouin shops along the way would come the soft-spoken, encouraging voice of an unseen proprietor, "Almost there, Mum." Again, how they knew I spoke English ... "Necklaces, scarfs ..." uttered in the next breath.
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<center><small>Notice the wooden paneled restrooms (right)</small></center>
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<center><small>Bedouin shop</small></center>
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We turned around here though there was more to see. Being in the open sun had a stimulating effect but I resisted the impulse to continue forward for caution's sake. The few miles walk back was slightly uphill and Bedouins followed me the entire way on their horses offering a ride. I stubbornly refused because I had been training for this day's walk and I wanted to do it on my own.
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While waiting for the others to return, Tim and I bought headscarves. Tim selected the traditional red color and the salesman put it on him as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93EsWAywDiQ">you see in this video</a>. I bought a handmade green one.
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Leaving the park, our guide took a head count by having us pass in front of him as he counted. He stopped Tim, who by now was no longer wearing his tour group name tag, and asked, "Are you with me?" It was a bit funny and somewhat typical of Tim's general life experience. Before beginning our three hour drive to Amman, we ate lunch in a restaurant. I had hummus and soup, and Tim took the buffet for the spaghetti.
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I never thought to get Jordanian dinars so it was good that they accepted US dollars. Jordan felt expensive<sup>4</sup> compared with Israel and it felt wealthy. I had budgeted 80-100 NIS a day for our lunches but here I was in Jordan not using shekels to buy lunch. So I ended up with extra shekels that I had to spend at the olive wood shop later in Jerusalem. Live and learn.
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Poor Neva who walked to the "Monastery" and back was unable to get off the bus for lunch. We could see her from our seats in the restaurant sitting on the bus. Maybe someone brought her back something but I noticed early on that she was a picky eater. Overall this trip did not seem to be agreeing with her despite her enthusiasm.
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Amman is very much a Western city. Gabriel, our guide, told us it's the Prince's goal to commercialize the capital and make it attractive to international companies. There was a billboard for the World Cup. The hotel had the most convenient electric outlets for charging devices we'd seen.
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Our guide took us to the chapel in his parish for mass. Two laywomen had switched off doing the mass readings, one of whom was Neva. Apparently she wasn't up to it after walking too much, so Father George asked for a volunteer. My hand shot up before I even knew it, a surprise to me. He looked surprised as well. He laid his phone with a Breviary app open to the readings on the ambo. I didn't look it over beforehand. When I went up, I saw that both readings were in fact quite familiar to me, Jacob wrestling with the angel (Genesis 32:23-33) and Psalm 17. I felt I read them well and people did comment afterwards that I did. All those years of reading aloud bedtime stories to my children turned me into a personable, measured public reader.
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<center><small>Catholic chapel in Amman</small></center>
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<center><small>Martyrs of Jordan church</small></center>
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After mass, Gabriel offered us small cups of hot tea. Then he took us into the main church and we met the pastor, etc. At the lovely, opulent hotel, Tim had me dust the red dirt of Petra from his only pair of shoes. My ankle bandages were too dusty to wear again without washing.
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Tim was too tired for dinner so I went down alone. I sat with three other women and ate quickly because one of the women was concerned for her health around me. When I excused myself from their company after eating, her parting words were, "You're sick, you know, you have a bad cold. And my health is poor, I have a heart condition, so it would be best if you kept away. Please don't be offended." I'd agree she has a heart condition and I did my best to avoid her the rest of the trip.
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<sup>1</sup> It ended up being around 5 miles, according to my watch.
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<sup>2</sup> <i>"But we've paid for it!" "It's <b>included</b>!"</i> That sort of thing.
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<sup>3</sup> I've since seen friends' pictures on Facebook of Zion National Park and, except for the complete lack of water, it looks very similar.
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<sup>4</sup> e.g., Admission to Petra was $70USD pp
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-15389131550964748982018-08-07T22:13:00.001-04:002018-08-07T22:13:12.168-04:00<div align="justify">
I learned the names of only a few on the Holy Land trip. Tuesday morning, I ate breakfast with James from Phoenix. Prior to becoming a Catholic in the week before Pope Benedict resigned, James was a rosary-prayin' Episcopalian. He, as well as a few others, could be spotted from time to time with rosary in hand.
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Tuesday's itinerary was light on account of our crossing into Jordan. Our Israeli tour guide, Remy, reiterated over and over again the crossings we'd be taking, to leave Israel, the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jordan_River_Crossing">Sheikh Hussein Bridge</a>, and to return on Thursday, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allenby_Bridge">Allenby Bridge</a>. Leaving Israel was easy enough. We left the bus, went inside, received the exit "stamp" - a separate slip of paper - at passport control, passed through the duty-free shop and got back on our bus after showing a guard our passports and exit permit.
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Our bus driver was allowed to bring us across where we unloaded everything, left it and entered the customs building. All the visas and taxes had been taken care of by the travel agency. Only the Kenyan passport among us caused a significant wrangling with officials for our Jordanian tour guide, Omar, a.k.a, Gabriel. He had us line up, ten at a time, to hand over our passport, stand for two iris images that required us to stare without blinking for longer than most could do, then wait. I realized how long it was taking and walked out to the parking lot to bring in my backpack with my camera and iPad because of the heat. Shortly, we all left to wait in the parking lot. Omar brought out our passports and distributed them. He warned us against removing the bar code fixed to our picture page that included all our information about this entry.
<br><br>Then we walked across the parking lot to feed our luggage and ourselves through the X-ray machines. We boarded our new bus and met our new driver, Abdul. Fr. Jim talked Omar into taking us to the baptismal site at the Jordan River right away which we did although it was nearing lunch time.
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jTjWtJdxp4o/W2e7Kqr3-zI/AAAAAAAAC5g/2PKo9mMX8p8y5i6g7ri617RVUDWuRrSxQCLcBGAs/s1600/P1000248%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jTjWtJdxp4o/W2e7Kqr3-zI/AAAAAAAAC5g/2PKo9mMX8p8y5i6g7ri617RVUDWuRrSxQCLcBGAs/s320/P1000248%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1067" /></a><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pShOhTzBazY/W2e7Kn4LTAI/AAAAAAAAC5k/13EOIZbmeys3qPvSd0jGfWefVhAuur1BACLcBGAs/s1600/P1000250.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pShOhTzBazY/W2e7Kn4LTAI/AAAAAAAAC5k/13EOIZbmeys3qPvSd0jGfWefVhAuur1BACLcBGAs/s320/P1000250.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1067" /></a>
<center><small>Looking across to Israel</small></center>
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We renewed our baptismal vows, a common thing to do on such occasions. A stone font had water in it, refreshed daily. I might have dipped my hand, I can't remember. Many people took water. Friends back home wanted water from <i><b>both</i></b> the Sea of Galilee <i><b>and</b></i> the Jordan River. You realize it's the same water.
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A number of churches in the vicinity because the site commemorates Joshua's crossing the Jordan, Elijah's ascension to heaven and Jesus' baptism.
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vGOWQzf2oIo/W2e_8n9Z6II/AAAAAAAAC54/e-6RHySgNIUAS4xV9l9PW3sTIabsXUdgwCLcBGAs/s1600/P1000249.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vGOWQzf2oIo/W2e_8n9Z6II/AAAAAAAAC54/e-6RHySgNIUAS4xV9l9PW3sTIabsXUdgwCLcBGAs/s320/P1000249.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1067" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fydin6K241o/W2e_8bK0X9I/AAAAAAAAC50/V9RvOh5IYYgNsOwa3pIn68O861Sr-VUgwCLcBGAs/s1600/P1000255.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fydin6K241o/W2e_8bK0X9I/AAAAAAAAC50/V9RvOh5IYYgNsOwa3pIn68O861Sr-VUgwCLcBGAs/s320/P1000255.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1067" /></a>
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Back to our regular itinerary, we needed lunch, stat. Gabriel got a friend to deliver forty turkey and cheese sandwiches with chips, banana, soda for us - $10 each - at the top of Mount Nebo. Turkey & cheese - I was <i><b>so done</i></b> with kosher.
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I noticed, kind of all at once, that Hebrew was gone from everywhere. Signs were only in Arabic and English.
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So, with not really enough time to digest, if you know what I mean, we walked up to the Moses Memorial, a Franciscan basilica that sits on Mount Nebo for mass. Unequivocally, I liked this church the best. The incorporation of the preserved archeological artifacts made it a living museum. I liked the desert colors, tans and yellows. The wood paneling above the stone foundation was like a barn, but in a warm, cozy way. To call a church "a barn" usually means it's too big but I am talking specifically about wood framing on stone, although barns are usually based on cinderblock.
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<center><small>Such treasures</small></center>
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As a small group, we all fit within the sanctuary. I had figured out by now that the selected readings were not based on the church calendar but on the biblical significance of the site. If I remember correctly, the readings were Numbers 21, and John 3, so probably what is read <a href="http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/091414.cfm">on September 14, the Exaltation of the Cross</a>.
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I found the winding road to the right more interesting than the view towards the Dead Sea. But the Dead Sea is visible near the center of the picture below.
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We began the three hour drive to Petra. As we set out, we picked up an armed tourist policeman near his home. He was on our bus for our two days in Jordan. He was so discreet that some were unaware of his presence. He stood in the stairwell and smoked during our stops.
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Highway traffic control in Jordan is different than in Israel. Israel uses roundabouts to slow traffic. Jordan uses what appeared to be metal cuffs embedded in the roadway. I noticed our driver slowing and resuming speed.
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The hotel in Petra, a Marriott, was amazing. I was so comfortable there. The service was incredible. Our bags went through screening. Dinner that evening was a traditionally Bedouin tent dinner. Tim loved it. There was live music with singing, and they cooked in the ground. A pleasant night to eat outside. Plenty of hookah pipes on-hand; everyone in Jordan smokes.
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-44326034970261129762018-08-05T20:11:00.000-04:002018-08-05T20:11:34.599-04:00<div align="justify">
Hotel wake-up calls were hit or miss. I set an alarm on my phone <i>and</i> on my watch each night.
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We went straight away Monday morning to Cana in Galilee for couples to renew their wedding vows.
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<center><small>Cana church, exterior</small></center>
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Neither Tim nor I had any stake in that and, overwhelmed by the number of people - two other groups also visiting the small church - Tim wanted to hang out just within the walled courtyard. He told me that when he had seen enough, he was capable of walking to the tour bus on his own. I didn't allow that. He learned two things about group travel: (1) the leader takes a head count before leaving an area and (2) the bus never remains where you left it.
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<center><small>Cana church, interior</center></small>
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We went to the Church of the Annunciation in Nazareth next and had mass in St. Joseph's Church nearby.
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<center><small>Church of the Annunciation</center></small>
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It was refreshing to keep the church doors open and groups visited while our mass was in progress. But ropes kept them to the back and our tour guide also hushed them. He couldn't hush the call to prayer, however, that began during Father Jim's homily. Fr. Jim couldn't compete with it so he tried to wait it out. But he eventually gave up. It was lunch time anyway.
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<center><small>St. Joseph's Church</small></center>
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We drove to Tanureen for their famous St. Peter's fish, a whole tilapia. Tim had chicken. The woman next to me refused any entrée, making them take it away, eating only hummus and pita bread. Remy treated us to baklava as we scrambled into our whirlwind afternoon tour of four northern places: (1) the Mount of Beatitudes, (2) Tabgha, (3) Primacy of Peter, and (4) Capernaum. It was do-or-die because the following morning we would depart the north altogether for Jordan.
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At the Mount of Beatitudes, we were told that we were only the tenth bus of the day. Usually by the mid-afternoon, sixty buses have been through. It's peaceful and quiet, the grounds are well-maintained. When everyone went inside the church, I took Tim up towards the retreat house and an outdoor seating area.
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<center><small>8-sided Church of the Beatitudes</small></center>
<br>Then we walked towards the water and, by the time we were ready to view the church interior, everyone was out.
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<center><small><i>"From here one can see virtually all the places in which Jesus lived and worked"</i>
<br>Jerome Murphy-O'Connor</center></small>
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Tour guides make their presentations about a site outside so as to maintain respectful silence inside but at Tabgha, there is no shade. Relying on our wireless audio headsets, we entered and sat down on the plain benches.
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<center><small>Church of the Multiplication (of Loaves and Fishes)</small></center>
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Remy whispered his information to us, keeping a nervous eye to the back of the sanctuary where a Benedictine sister was shushing him repeatedly. He told us about the fire that was set three years ago, <a href="https://www.timesofisrael.com/galilee-loaves-church-arsonist-sentenced-to-4-years/">a story I remember</a>. I went out of the sanctuary to the courtyard near the koi pond and viewed the reconstructed roof.
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At the Primacy of Peter, Remy played the twenty-first chapter of St. John's Gospel from an audio Bible. The level of reflection at a site never exceeded this, a bit of Scripture recitation. Some made for the church, others shed their shoes and rolled up their pants to wade into the Sea. I tried for a clearer picture of my favorite sculpture:
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In it, St. Peter is so shattered. <i>If only he could get his mind off himself!</i> He grasps the bottom portion of the Lord's crook. Christ raises his hand in blessing and commission. Tim and I were the first ones back to the bus.
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Finally, Capernaum. Our two Franciscans priests wore their brown robes, with short pants underneath, for our day in the Galilee. Many sites displayed this banner:
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<center><small>a <i>major</i> anniversary</small></center>
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A thing I did not know. There were also signs about appropriate attire at these sites:
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Despite it being July, modesty knows no season. Most women kept a scarf handy, wrapped around shoulders or draped over knees, as needed. Our group had three women who bucked at covering their shoulders and knees. One, dourly, even veiled her head instead, a misplaced propriety I found bewildering. Capernaum is stricter than the rest. I managed to snap a picture of the very neat church there above the excavations of an ancient dwelling:
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<br>
Inside the railing at the center is a view through a glass floor into the ancient house. It was nearly "closing time," and the Franciscans on-site were ready to shut it down. Neva took our picture inside the remains of an early synagogue:
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I love the basalt stone used everywhere. It's so distinctive.
<i><blockquote>"One more tel?"
<br>
<b>"Ho</b>tel!"</i></blockquote>
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-84482285119493618442018-08-03T21:21:00.000-04:002018-08-03T21:21:39.927-04:00<div align="justify">
<blockquote>"One more tel?" he'd ask.
<br>
"<b><i>Ho</b></i>tel!" came our emphatic reply.</blockquote>
Not everyone understood Remy's clever joke, a tour guide full of good deals. Bottled water for a buck. Lunch buffets, ten US dollars. Who to trust with our credit cards, "What's said on the bus, stays on the bus! Good deal?"
<br><br>
Connecting flight at Heathrow in the wee hours. Tim enjoyed a window seat, both take-offs in local time daylight. Starting to recognize the same faces of co-travelers, some already wearing their <a href="http://www.georgesintl.com">branded name tags</a>. Tim and I met Robert, the man whose Kenyan passport would snag our immigration into Jordan, while checking in at JFK. He found his way into the background of many of my pictures. We ate dinner together while in Amman, but my conversation was no match for his friends' texts.
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Upon arriving in Netanya, our room was not ready due to the sabbath, so I took Tim out a short distance to the Mediterranean.
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<center>Many shop signs in French. </center>
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The ruckus in Netanya that evening over the World Cup was all for Russia (but they lost). The shabbat hotel elevator took us to the top floor, then down a floor at a time. We were on 3. Tim liked that the TV welcomed us. We stayed in six hotels over nine nights and several greeted us this way:
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Tim slept on a made-up sofa bed.
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<br>
I set the air conditioner too cold and by Monday developed sneezing, congestion and eventually a cough.
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That first morning I had no appetite. I didn't find the dining room sufficiently cold for the cheeses and other dairy products that constitute kosher breakfast.
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We drove up the coast to Haifa and visited two sites associated with Elijah: Stella Maris Monastery (his hideout cave) and El-Muhraqa (his confrontation with the prophets of Baal). It was difficult to visit churches because, being Sunday, they were in use. We were a week ahead of the optional Marian feast, OLMC, that falls on July 16<sup>th</sup>.
<br><br>
Tim took an interest in the Latin Vulgate inscriptions on the monuments. We became aware that one man in our group was a professional photographer. We paid attention to things he found interesting. Lunch was chicken shawarma for Tim and falafel for me. Surprisingly, it was the only time we ate this typical food.
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A man named Kerke approached me after lunch, dragging on a cigarette, to inquire whether my son was safe. He said, as a former teacher, he was always on the lookout for special needs students. I told him he had nothing to worry about and thanked him for his concern.
<br><br>
On the flight over, Kerke and his bride had seats immediately ahead of us. They put atrocious programs on their TV screens, reclined and fell asleep. Then woke up to cuddle. She knew nothing about receiving holy communion at mass. The first time, back in the pew, she asked him, "Have you eaten yours already?" as she held hers. On all subsequent occasions, she picked it from the priest's hand. I thought Kerke could have coached her better so she could pass, but he seemed fairly lapsed himself. Besides, she wasn't the only non-Catholic receiving communion every day. One of the Franciscans tried to persuade her to get her husband to give up smoking. The last evening, with an open bar, he touched my knee a couple of times to make a point, and she saw another side of him.
<br><br>
Mass that day, Sunday, was inside the Church of the Transfiguration on Mount Tabor. Another group asked our tour guide to take their picture. At first, they spoke together in English but switched easily over to French. I am so impressed by the ability of those in the tourist industry to identify others and address them in their own language.
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The taxi ride up and down the mountain can be unnerving due to switchbacks. It felt as if we were up there on that mountain a very long time. Then we made our way to Tiberias for a boat ride on the Sea of Galilee. The hotel that evening had a small beach access to the Sea. I waded in after dinner, chilly and fish nibbled. But the sunset against the hills along the Sea was still, calm, peaceful and despite the summertime heat, I slept well.
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-70793524830356912172018-06-12T23:24:00.000-04:002018-06-12T23:24:00.921-04:00<div align="justify">
I had read enough reviews in advance of seeing <i>First Reformed</i> that I was afraid I had ruined the movie for myself.
<br><br>
"Take and Read" calls out below a rack of pamphlets in the church vestibule, pamphlets unlikely to convert anybody.<sup>1</sup> Better witnesses, four books on a nightstand: letters of Thomas Merton, <i>Heretics</i>, <i>The Cloud of Unknowing</i>, the American Standard Version of the Bible.<sup>2</sup>
<br><br>
In his conversation with Mary's husband, Michael, Rev. Toller seems to prevail, but it becomes gradually apparent that Michael's influence upon Toller is ultimately greater. Interiorly, Toller likens their back-and-forth to that of Jacob wrestling with the unnamed angel.<sup>3</sup> Michael's agitation during the conversation may be explained as the typical uneasiness of a non-religious person<sup>4</sup> in the presence of a clergyman. Or even fear his violent plans are found out. But Michael's death<sup>5</sup> is a hit by the oil company, Balq Industries. Had Michael remained in the Canadian prison for his non-violent environmental protest, he would have been sufficiently neutralized to satisfy Balq. If not for his expectant wife. Michael turns the conversation to martyrdom,<sup>6</sup> naming <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dorothy_Stang">Dorothy Stang</a> and others. The Rev. Toller tells him of his son who died in an unjust war. Thick irony: a suicidal father getting argued out of an abortion by a mourning father. Toller instructs Michael to hold hope and despair in balance with courage. How Toller dare speak to Michael about courage!
<br><br>
Toller is ineffective.<sup>7</sup> He persuaded his son to enlist, killing him. His wife left him. Even his extra-marital affair failed. He can't pray. He talks of "the sickness that leads to death"<sup>8</sup> metaphorically, but it is literally his situation. He pees blood and vomits uncontrollably. He is literally being poured out as a libation, 2 Timothy 4:6. He can't stand up to Balq<sup>9</sup> or even Jeffers. Clues<sup>10</sup> lie around him everywhere of what Christians used to be. He isn't blind to them: the Underground Railroad trap door in the old church, the bullet holes from the Skirmish of Snowbridge. Looking over the program booklet for an upcoming church anniversary, Toller marvels at the portraits of First Reformed's pastors, with his own last. He wonders if God gave them courage.
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The worship at First Reformed: the Sunday service includes recitation of the Heidelberg Catechism,<sup>11</sup> a Scripture reading and the Sacrament of Communion by intinction. With the pipe organ out of order, there's no music or singing. The church architecture isn't a style that I'm familiar with, seeing mostly Greek Revival Presbyterian and Reformed churches in the part of New Jersey where I live.
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I believe when Toller tells off Esther, he is in fact speaking directly to the Reformed tradition. "You bring out the worse in me. I despise you." Esther represents that Calvinist tradition that writer and director Paul Schrader was raised in. Not surprisingly, Toller writes in his journal the following morning that he's never felt better, clear-headed. Amen.
<br><br>
Obviously, Jeffers represents the megachurch phenomenon. And perhaps Mary, with family in Buffalo, could stand for Catholicism, the only Christian tradition to still produce radical activists in our day. Funny how Toller drops everything when she's around. Mary casts quite a spell. She's there for him at the pearly gates in rapture.<sup>12</sup>
<hr>
<sup>1</sup> St. Augustine hears "Tolle Lege" and his eyes fall upon Romans 13:13-14.
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<sup>2</sup> "with Helps," though in the film, Rev. Toller makes greater use of the porcelain American Standard.
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<sup>3</sup> Who is probably the archangel Michael, "Who is like God?"
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<sup>4</sup> Recall that Michael refers to Abundant Life as being more like a corporation than a church. Michael has perused online Balq Industries's financial statements; he knows it's fact. Funding Abundant Life's church programs so congregants keep busy in-house and don't take interest in anything real world. How Jeffers dare speak to Toller about the real world!
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<sup>5</sup> Michael intended suicide, yes, but with the vest, not a shotgun.
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<sup>6</sup> For Christian martyrdom contrasted with suicide, see Chapter 6 of Chesterton's <i>Orthodoxy</i>: <i>"Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of a readiness to die."</i>
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<sup>7</sup> 1 Corinthians 9:26 "So I do not run aimlessly, nor do I box as though beating the air"
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<sup>8</sup> The inverse of what John 11:4 says.
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<sup>9</sup> Add to this, Ed Balq at their first meeting remarks rather callously that a man whom Rev. Toller was counseling took his own life. But we know what really happened, and this is an example of Balq's skill at neutralizing his adversaries.
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<sup>10</sup> Clues, aka witnesses, aka martyrs
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<sup>11</sup> <b>"1 Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death?</b> <i>A. That I am not my own, but belong—
body and soul, in life and in death— to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ."</i>
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<sup>12</sup> <i>Leaning on the Everlasting Arms</i>, Number One Funeral Hymn <a href="https://www.funeralbasics.org/top-10-hymns-funeral-ceremony/">Top 10 Hymns for a Funeral Ceremony</a>
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-32211973538845962612018-02-08T13:01:00.000-05:002018-02-08T13:18:07.403-05:00<div align="justify">
A number of churches in the area sent buses to the annual March for Life in Washington, D.C. last Friday.<sup>1</sup> I traveled with a fellow parishioner whom I have come to know through various, local volunteering situations. Neither of us attended the march previously.
<br><br>
Early start for a long day: dressed before 5 o'clock and made the two highschoolers' lunches. Dropped the son who catches the out of district bus at his stop and arrived back home <i>nearly in time</i> to meet my ride to St. John's church. Jeff had a busy day in my absence, taking our son for an interview at a prospective high school, going ice skating afterwards and then a sporting event in the evening.
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Not much happened on the drive down to D.C. After a brief rest stop at Maryland House, the deacon and his wife led a rosary. I've not met a deacon yet who can flawlessly count on a rosary, so it may be an ordination requirement that their wife can. They traded off the decades with her adding back the <i>Aves</i> he left off, to our collective relief. Around 11, we rolled into the Basilica's parking lot but there was no time to visit.
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It would take a solid hour to hoof it across campus to the Red Line and walk more from Metro Center. Not to mention stopping <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angelus">for the Angelus</a> which I've never before prayed on a public street. It was a showy display to satisfy the fastidious in the group.
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As soon as we hit the Mall, my companion and I lost our traveling group. The <a href="http://marchforlife.org/2018-mfl-speakers/">program was in progress</a> and Sister Madonna was being introduced. <a href="https://www.c-span.org/video/?c4710281/sr-bethany-madonna">C-SPAN clip</a>. She was very sweet. As we were beginning to speculate that we had arrived too late to hear the president speak, our attention was directed towards the jumbo screen where <a href="https://www.c-span.org/video/?439973-1/president-trump-addresses-march-life-rally">the vice president appeared live from the Rose Garden (C-SPAN video)</a>. He introduced the president. They are both good speakers. I could listen to his New York accent all day long.
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The crowd was overwhelmingly Catholic. And young. The clergy, exclusively male.<sup>2</sup> We stayed in place until Speaker Paul Ryan finished, then the crowd began moving down Madison Drive. We missed most speakers that followed Ryan, hearing only bits and pieces of Rep. Chris Smith and Rep. Jaime Herrera Beutler.
<br><br>
But the crowd did not move much and I began to doubt we'd reach the Supreme Court. We had a rendezvous with our group, the 5 o'clock Latin mass at <a href="http://www.saintmarymotherofgod.org">St Mary's</a>, so we bailed on the march to arrive <i>just</i> in time. En route, we encountered an instance of anti-Catholicism:
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Also, a fellow rolled down his window long enough to complain that our presence interfered with his commute home.
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The tiny church, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/oldsaintmarysinwashingtondc/">St Mary Mother of God</a>, was jam-packed. The line for the confessional rivaled the line for the head. We stood along the back wall until someone asked whether we were in line for confession. We stepped forward a bit to make use of the kneelers behind the last pew. So tired, kneeling felt more comfortable than standing!
<br><br>
The pews were raised some off the floor so just about everyone stumbled coming out of them. The incense completely overpowered the small space. The schola sang beautifully, absolutely beautifully. Like most Catholics my age, I know only the basic responses. This was a high mass but people ignored the difference.
<br><br>
Leading up to communion, the woman next to me whispered,
<blockquote><i>May I ask, do you know how many times in one day someone can receive holy communion? Is it twice?</i></blockquote>
Reflexively, I told her yes and thought to myself two things: (1) anyone asking that question knows the answer and (2) she wants me to know she's received communion once already today.
<br><br>
At communion, our priest, Fr. Carter of Holy Innocents, kept a lightning pace, so we crossed the aisle to his short line. Too quick! He ended up flipping the host intended for me to the floor!<sup>3</sup> Walking from the rail, I muttered, "That wasn't my fault!" It was his speed coupled with my desire to utter "Amen" instead of just waiting there with my tongue out.
<br><br>
Almost immediately upon taking our place at the service, I spotted a Facebook friend sitting several rows up whom I have never met in person. After the service, I went forward and greeting him just very briefly because we had to catch our bus. It was neat.
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On the bus ride back, we watched "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers," a favorite with the older generation on board. I can just imagine the casting call for it! Though it may be based on <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rape_of_the_Sabine_Women">a classic, old story</a> and star Julie Newmar, I just wasn't into it. It ended literally when our bus pulled into the church parking lot.
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Jeff sent me a picture of the fencing meet that I missed.
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The entire 45th annual March for Life program is available <a href="https://www.c-span.org/video/?439812-1/lawmakers-address-march-life-rally">here</a>. It's worth watching.
<hr>
<sup>1</sup> January 19<sup>th</sup>, 2018
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<sup>2</sup> There must be anti-abortion female clerics but they were not visibly present.
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<sup>3</sup> He promptly picked it up and consumed it.
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-77548433048289946812018-01-14T06:11:00.000-05:002018-01-14T06:24:05.094-05:00<div align="justify">
The autumn hiking series through the county parks left me in pretty good physical shape that I intend to maintain through the winter. The only winter program open to join happens on Sunday mornings from 8 to noon, every other Sunday, starting last Sunday. Several inches of powdery snow had fallen a few days before and the cold temperatures kept the snow intact. I checked the park's cancellation line repeatedly, before my morning swim, and after, but no update. Despite temperatures around 0° and below, the walk was on.
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A small group, myself and one other participant, plus a hike guide and a volunteer, set out in snow shoes and poles for a couple of hours. I'm not experienced on snow shoes and fell three times, from stepping on my own shoe and finally from fatigue. However, being out there was a pleasant time and after a week I can't now remember how cold my feet were.
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At bible study on Wednesday, a question about how creation will "be liberated" (from its futility, Romans 8:20-21), with a leading follow-up question of how the Christian discerns a God-honoring environmental outlook that does not overemphasize nature's importance or humans' ability to conserve. For sure, I saw the latter part of the question as indoctrination but to my shock, everyone was already ideologically on board! Or perhaps the unsure ones kept silent. And I concluded it's our own distance from nature, our lack of interaction with the outdoors, that makes any substantial regard for its conservation seem like idolatry. Of course, either position can be out of whack, but human nature assumes "the other side" is.
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I mentioned to my spiritual director that I took in the linens from the emergency housing program at the local Catholic church to wash. She's very familiar with the program but never considered that aspect of its operation, the need for clean sheets and towels. I also mentioned the Sunday morning hikes that keep me from showing up for choir at least until Palm Sunday. On that score, she said that, depending on how I feel about it, I might consider attending a Catholic mass on Saturday evening to make up for Sunday morning:
<blockquote><i>You know, they have those, a service on Saturday evening, every week. When I was pastoring, I would attend those and, you know, the pastor was aware, I'm Protestant, and he was fine with it.</i></blockquote>
I thought this was an unusual recommendation.
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-12164533751692346402017-12-19T01:15:00.000-05:002017-12-19T01:15:00.142-05:00<div align="justify">
I volunteered to deliver Christmas gifts donated by church members. At choir rehearsal, I saw a number of bags in the pews.
<br><br>
The next day the coordinator called me with the name and number of my partner. I reached out to my partner and we decided to get together the following day to deliver. Meanwhile, she put it to me to retrieve our few bags from the church. And we would need to contact the recipients to arrange a delivery time.
<blockquote><i>Do you have a key?</i></blockquote>
I don't have a key. I called the church office. No answer. I sent email to the church secretary asking to be let in the church. No reply. I looked at a recent church bulletin, from a few weeks ago, and saw a boy scout meeting on the calendar.
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I drove by the church in the early evening and saw cars in the parking lot and lights on. I entered purposefully and, with the direction of the coordinator via cell phone, I located the assigned bags on a back church bench. I called my partner to share some of the recipients' numbers with her so we could divvy up notifying them. Except she already had the list!
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She offered to meet at eleven o'clock the next morning but then changed it to noon. She needed to food shop first because her sister is coming right before Christmas. I indicated that I would have to pick up my kids from school and would she mind riding back with them in the car. She didn't understand so I explained it again. She said that would be alright. In any event, she was a bit late to our noon rendezvous and spent a good deal of our travel time to Route 36 texting her adult daughter.
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But we had time for small talk, too. She could not get her head around private school. I told her facts from my daily life, like having to drive my kids to their bus stops or even all the way to school because they don't qualify for a bus. "Hmmm, the bus always stopped right at our house, in the morning and again after school." When I mentioned that my oldest son now drives himself to school, she exclaimed, "The 8th grader drives?!" Oh, I have two in high school. "I thought you only had two kids!"
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There were so many misunderstandings. The superficial nature of small talk does not command the participants' full attention. Each is only half-listening and the conversation necessarily runs to explanation.
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To expedite our delivery activity, I had already entered the addresses in my Waze phone app as well as created and printed a map. I gave her the map to look at. She recommended we start at the farthest point and move back towards home base. That would have been fine but I wanted to end up near my kids' school. So we ran it the other way, hitting the closest house first. Route 36 is a divided highway, so there was some backtracking involved. I said I was glad we were delivering during the day so we could find our way. She said there was no way she'd consider delivering at night anyway.
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We delivered to all the homes in forty minutes. As she saw that things were going quickly, she took more time visiting with each person. She made a point of mentioning the church name and town, neither of which was likely familiar to anyone. The last location had first holy communion pictures on the wall and rosaries mounted on display. Leaving, I said to her, "Well, there was a Christian home." She wished them happy holidays.
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We stopped at the donut shop near the kids' school so my partner could eat something. She mentioned having heard of a Catholic school in Red Bank. Had I looked into that school for my kids? As we drove past the kids' school, she asked whether theirs is a strictly Catholic school and I said, rather vehemently, that it's not a Catholic school. She recognized the county road that the donut shop was on and asked, "Which way is Red Bank from here and which way is Eatontown?" I answered her<sup>1</sup>. She mentioned Sam's Club and was I a member? "Not everything is in bulk there, you know. Where on earth do you food shop?" I pointed out the store across the street from the donut shop and said, "I was there this morning, buying groceries. You must wonder how I live!"
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We pulled into the parking lot and students were walking from their final classes. She remarked on their uniforms. She was still probably thinking it's a Catholic school. When the kids were ready, they came to the car and I introduced her. They had seen the bags of gifts in the car that morning and asked me about them. She announced to them, "Hi kids, your mother and I attend the same church!!" I thought that was a rather awkward thing to say. I mean, if it were true, then my kids would already know it.
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On the way home, she asked me whether I would be joining any church committees. And I told her that I'm not actually a church member. She mentioned a thriving church in the next town and recommended that I check it out. I had actually been wondering where everyone was on Sunday mornings lately; I think they're there.
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<hr>
<sup>1</sup> Relating this to Jeff later, he said, "Ah, yes, towns she's heard of."
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-59301632255698907782017-12-05T22:08:00.001-05:002017-12-05T23:16:16.537-05:00<div align="justify">
Exiting L'Enfant Plaza station, I spied a young family who looked the part: quiet and clean-cut, sporting message wear. They stood together in the alcove of a building on 4th, not exactly moping but in a kind of holding pattern, as if trying to decide their next move. Or simply waiting. They were, in fact, a hint: we would soon be in their same situation. But I didn't know that yet. It was almost noon, the day after Thanksgiving.
<br><br>
The line into the museum was not long but neither was it moving. An employee bore the ire of a man who had just been told in a polite British accent to come back around 1 or 4. Preferably 4. That is, unless he had a ticket. The employee then turned to us with the same message. We heeded him and set off to the Mall a few short blocks away. My kids secretly hoped not to return.
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We passed the next three and a half hours walking from the Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial and back. We took our sweet time. And then we returned to the museum. The entry line had queued up now on the building's far side that abuts the train tracks. I was as ready as the kids to bail. An energetic man repeated the earlier promise of gaining admittance at 4 o'clock. He appeared energetic, not because he had any affiliation with the museum but because he was underdressed for the late November chill. He distributed slips of Scripture.
<br><br>
My kids promptly settled on the sidewalk to wait. The young mother of the family ahead of us, with the same number / ratio of kids, said she felt she was seeing her future. The queue built behind us, pickup conversations started. I passed the time completing them under my breath: <blockquote>
<i>Well, uh, yes, we're Catholics, but, uh, just ... [culturally, you know, going to Mass on Christmas and Easter].</i> <br><br>
<i>I wish this place had been around ... [when the kids were younger].</i> </blockquote>
I even imagined the other one returning to his men's Bible study the following week and reporting how he nearly converted a Catholic to Christianity while waiting on line at the Museum of the Bible in Washington, D.C.!
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As we made our way in, we saw huge panels gracing each side of the entrance. The lettering looked backwards and I thought it was perhaps German. But it is Latin, the opening of Genesis.
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Those of us with pocketbooks that needed screening went to one side and placed our articles in a chamber of a huge hexagon with green and red lights. We passed through a metal detector, then reached into the other side of the chamber for our things. The chamber on the very top of the hexagon was largely out of reach for most women. So I used it, then rejoined my group. An employee politely directed us to start on the sixth floor but, with limited time, we went to what interested us most. <a href="https://www.museumofthebible.org/explore#13">The History of the Bible</a> on the fourth floor.
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We noted immediately how high-tech everything was. My kids, who pretended to have no interest, were soon trying this activity and touching that interactive screen.
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The irony of those world languages still longing for their own Bible translation with those volumes of extinct or dead languages.
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My oldest son was engrossed in a video shot in Capernaum. Whatever the teen equivalent of <i>Been there, done that</i> is. The other kids worked together to complete the canons of various Christian sects. My daughter pretended to be a biblical scribe, and I made sure she understood that, as often as not, the sacred texts were read aloud to a group of scribes who wrote them out accordingly. What a luxury if each scribe had his own exemplar! I stressed this with her, all too aware that Protestants think a simple demonstration of the game of Telephone debunks oral transmission.
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I complained about the dim lighting but perhaps the fragile collections require it. Or the high-tech needs it!
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My son excitedly brought me to look at the "She" Bible which translates Ruth 3:15 as "she returned to the city" instead of speaking of Boaz. As I dug out my phone's Bible app to verify the passage, I muttered about <a href="http://www.reformedapologeticsministries.com/2012/02/catholic-misuse-of-genesis-315.html">a similar thing in Genesis 3:15 of the Vulgate</a> and what a coincidence. But my ESV Bible app was no help - it uses "she."
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Running short of time, we went down a floor and waited a bit in the New Testament theater to watch a twelve minute video of the whole New Testament. So, where the actual exhibits might reflect some scholarly impartiality, I found the videos to be more imbued with evangelical presuppositions. Take, for example, a post-resurrection, upper room scene: the young St. John is depicted as joting down notes of the proceedings!
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On our way out, we ducked into a small exhibit hall off the lobby of loans from the Vatican. Everything was a facsimile. They are supposed to swap things out over time.
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The Museum of the Bible was a worthwhile visit. Now that I have some idea about it, I can think about a return. Next month I've reserved a seat on a bus to Washington for the March for Life. But I'd rather spend the day at the Basilica or even at this museum again.
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<a href="https://www.google.com/maps/@38.8848587,-77.0175522,3a,75y,91.66h,102.69t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1sfh5EdwdAJviw-PpWHbG9Sg!2e0!7i13312!8i6656">Museum - Google Earth</a>
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<a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2017/11/18/the-museum-of-the-bible-opens-to-the-public-saturday-near-the-mall/?utm_term=.d439e2ddb3b4">"‘I had to be there’: The Museum of the Bible opens in the nation’s capital" - Washington Post, November 18, 2017</a>
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-49236688765026293502017-10-28T23:20:00.000-04:002017-10-29T20:43:11.717-04:00<div align="justify">
One thing I had forgotten was how busy North Easton Road could be in the middle of the day, on a Friday afternoon. I was already late - "icebreakers!" - no rush. Passed the hotel - check in later this evening - and <a href="http://www.jacobsmusic.com/jacobs-music-piano-store-willow-grove-pa.php">where we'd bought our piano</a> so many years ago, if you can believe it.
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In preparation, I had gone back over my materials from previous Bible workshops, from 2008 and later, reminding myself of people and topics past. How different would it be? I drew ideas exclusively from my copy of Sarna's JPS commentary (Exodus) and brought it for security. The Moleskine-esque English Standard Version (ESV) was too taxing on my older eyes; its plain, black cover conveyed no affiliation. I opted last minute for <a href="https://www.puritanboard.com/threads/reformation-study-bible-vs-the-spirit-of-the-reformation-study-bible.31472/">Sproul's Reformation Study Bible</a> (ESV) and <b><i>this turned out to be the correct choice!</i></b> Others had the same edition, in leather.
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I hadn't anticipated references to this 500<sup>th</sup> anniversary of the Reformation. Of course it's a big deal. Martin Luther kicked things off, “A plowboy with a Bible knows more than the pope,” or something like that. The tone was set, I thought. We sang some of his compositions and a few other things, no problem. It was even noted, at one point, that "not everyone here this weekend is Reformed." A quote from the Rule of St. Benedict as well as <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/161892-give-us-o-lord-a-steadfast-heart-which-no-unworthy">one of Thomas Aquinas' prayers</a><sup>1</sup> rounded things out.
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The general session speaker, Dr. Karen Jobes, was excellent. She tried to keep things simple but college teachers usually get on a roll and lapse into their lecture style after so many minutes. She talked about genre and then turned to theological matters, like knowing Christ and sin and love. She worked from John's letters and the Gospel. I had my copy of her book ready to be signed immediately afterwards and I waited as patiently as possible for someone to ask whether she could bring hers tomorrow because she had forgotten it. Then I won a book for being the first one to register for the workshop.
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Our name tags include our hometown and church name. Church affiliation is a great curiosity with this group. They <i><b>must know</i></b> where I attend church on Sundays. If reading my name tag seemed to bring them up short, I would speak the church name to them without apology.<sup>2</sup> They make up their own minds about it and that says more about them than me. For instance, a woman approached me, read my name tag and announced to me that her family used to attend a church that wasn't Bible-teaching but they now attend a Bible-teaching church.
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Of greater interest to me than the general session lectures or the small group presentations on Scripture was the music. In this area, I've developed slightly since taking piano lessons and singing in choir. The workshop has <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubRlJj8xkds">a theme song</a> that is familiar to me. We sang also the well-known <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Come_Thou_Fount_of_Every_Blessing">"Come, Thou Fount"</a> but many of the songs were new to me. I tried to jot down titles to look up later. "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqWiIp_KLUc">Come Behold the Wondrous Mystery</a>," "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUGXP9gbQoM">Lord, I Need You</a>," "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPi5mnGNERQ">All I Have is Christ</a>," "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uHCylb2EQxs">How High and How Wide</a>," "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uw89qxcfDV8">Let Us Love and Sing and Wonder</a>," "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTOP304FOG0">Here is Love</a>."
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The Catholic church across the street had exposition all day, so after dinner I walked over. I heard the bells toll seven o'clock, such a gentle reminder of the passage of time. The next morning, I watched with a degree of uneasiness a man walk around and around the nave of <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/olhcabington/home">OLHC</a>. Every time he passed me, he said, "God bless you, my dear." I've attended daily mass my entire adult life but lately I've noticed that my fellow daily communicants seem a little bit off their nut. How long has this been going on and I'm just seeing it? And more importantly, how do I keep it happening to me?
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We began Saturday in small groups with presentations on Exodus 12:1-30 and 14:5-31. Both of these passages made me glad to have the one that I had. After the presentations, our small group leader talked about resources and references. She showed a very thick commentary on Exodus by Ryken; it was thicker than a Bible. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Ryken">Ryken is personally familiar</a> to many at this workshop. Since I had brought Sarna's commentary, I showed it and offered to pass it around but no one was interested in seeing it. We were asked in advance which English translation we would work from and I almost said the JPS translation just because it tries to preserve the idioms.
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After lunch, I had just enough time to excuse myself over again to the Catholic church across the street for confession. I must have sounded to the young priest as a scrupulous person since it had only been six months. He told me, regarding my lying, that not everyone needs to know everything all the time. I had written out the prayer of contrition for my reference, but a printed copy was available inside the confessional and there was just enough light to make it out.
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Back to our small group with presentations on Exodus 19:1-25 and 23:1-20, my conscience was feeling light and refreshed. I may have even been smiling. Seated around the table, for nothing, the participant to my right mentioned the Roman Catholic sacramental system and what a burden that must be! To which the woman at my left said, "Oh, and the guilt! I could never get rid of the feeling of guilt when I was a Catholic!" I took a long sip of my hot tea and let the steam fog my glasses.
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I was the last one to present, on Exodus 33:12-34:11a, late on Saturday afternoon. I summarized the "God truth" of the verses as God's transcendence, that I'm left waiting for God and that any attempt to conjure God up would be a golden calf from the previous chapter. I was surprised at how well everyone took these ideas.
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Here are the pages that I distributed as I presented.
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I was able to attend the anticipated mass that evening before driving home. I haven't been in touch with anyone from my small group since.
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<hr>
<sup>1</sup> “Give us, O Lord, a steadfast heart, which no unworthy affection may drag downwards; give us an unconquered heart, which no tribulation can wear out; give us an upright heart, which no unworthy purpose may tempt aside. Bestow upon us also, O Lord our God, understanding to know you, diligence to seek you, wisdom to find you, and a faithfulness that may finally embrace you; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” - St. Thomas Aquinas
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<sup>2</sup> As if to make myself acceptable, I let it be known that I sing in a choir at a Presbyterian church.
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-54042440353690215792017-10-28T22:40:00.000-04:002017-10-28T22:40:43.170-04:00<div align="justify">
I'm the type of person who sees things fitting together when they don't.
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This morning, I dropped my son at a high school entrance exam and looked to pass the wait time, first at mass. I checked three nearby parish bulletins online before finding a church with a suitable start time. Even still, I was too early but baffled as time passed without any cars appearing in the parking lot.
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There were lights on inside the building so I entered and glimpsed a folded linen on a back pew. The emptiness of the church drew me uncharacteristically towards the very front of the well-appointed sanctuary. I wanted to take it all in.
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I admitted to myself, during prayer, that I'm not very attuned to hearing God in my everyday life. I found myself at a loss, still while at prayer, for how to rectify that. Hearing God seems to come so easy for other people. For me, judging by the outcome, I'm habitually "way off target."
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Slowly the room filled but it was now past the anticipated liturgy start time. A cantor arrived, well-dressed, whom I mistook for the lector. She busied herself at the altar as the organist also arrived, her car keys jingling softly as she hastily set them on a music stand. She changed the numbers on the hymn board, first on one side and then on the other. The first song was "On Eagle's Wings." The deacon brought a censer, the acrid smoke drying my nose. I could taste it. I'm taking in these hints that something out of the ordinary is taking place, but it's just barely registering in a conscious way. Instead, I'm rolling along with the clues, still expecting an ordinary mass, even if <a href="http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/102817.cfm">it's a feast day</a> in an upscale town.
<br><br>
A bell began tolling at quarter past the hour. Then the priest entered, along with the bereaved and the casket. Reacting, the couple right behind me moved immediately several pews back but I didn't feel as if I could gracefully relocate. I do not tend to sit right on the aisle anyway, but I did my best to move even further in, realizing that the family would be directly in front of me. Already I was sizing them up to see whether there were enough seats in those front rows to accommodate them.
<br><br>
As I surveyed the family, I recognized an old acquaintance and one-time neighbor who had recently moved out of state. I glanced about her to verify that her immediate family was accounted for. I almost felt better about accidently attending a funeral for knowing the family.
<br><br>
Everything was very beautiful, the Ave Maria, the homily, the prayers of the funeral rite. I felt that those of us in attendance simply for a weekday service may have aided or supported those intentionally attending a family funeral with our prayers. If nothing else, we didn't need to be reminded when to sit, stand or kneel but the monsignor gave those directives gently. As awkward as it was, and if the family felt we parishioners were intruding, this is how it's supposed to be. After all, arrangements are generally announced publicly in advance.
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-81769348968177949042017-08-24T00:58:00.001-04:002017-08-24T00:58:41.131-04:00<div align="justify">
During the twelve or so weeks of summer, I make plans, right, on how to spend the time, not only with the kids but also on my own. And, lately, the past three or so summers, I mark a mid-week church service in the Calendar app. I feel the need to keep up "meeting together" (Hebrews 10:25) when the school-year programs go on break.
<br><br>
But for whatever reason, I hardly attend a mid-week service except for maybe once. Tonight, I was early, as usual. The parking lot was jammed but I'll be damned if I knew where everyone was. They weren't in the gathering space and they weren't in the sanctuary. Their wall clock in the gathering space is ten minutes slow but everyone goes by it. So, the few singers were still rehearsing and we let them finish up.
<br><br>
I sat towards the back thinking I would need to leave early. I thought they were ending James but they already had. The pastor wanted to do ten psalms, chapters 11-20; they had done 1-10 last summer. But first he wanted to hear whether anyone had experienced a miracle of God in the past week. A couple of people shared that God had provided opportunities to speak with their neighbors about him. "Divine appointments," they called them. I thought that was just a euphemism for when you're running late.
<br><br>
Not to be outdone, a woman named M--- shared about a friend who was going through a tough time with personal loss. As soon as she mentioned his association with Villanova University, I braced myself. The friend was a Catholic and M---, being a former Catholic herself, had all the answers: "How can a loving God ...?" "But they chose it ..." "I've never heard that before ..."
<br><br>
Somehow we have it all backwards, we believe folks who tell us things we've never heard before.
<br><br>
Then M--- related that the friend said her words sounded better than the Catholic Church and she said, "That's because <i>this is better than the Catholic Church</i>," and so on. And I listened, thinking, do people still say such things? They do. I looked at my watch, only five minutes into the service and someone was bragging on witnessing to a Catholic. 'Bout right.
<br><br>
Psalm 11 is short, only seven verses. The pastor read from the King James but the pew Bible was NIV. I followed along, flipping around as he took us to the end of Isaiah, 1 Thess. 4:11-12 (lead quiet lives, etc) and 1 Timothy 5:13 ("busybodies"). The idea about psalm 11 is that the Psalmist, taken to be David himself, was getting bad advice, in a way similar to Job. But rather than focus on present circumstances, that one person posited may be exaggerated in order to manipulate, the Psalmist reaffirms personal faith in God's sovereign position (in his holy temple, on his heavenly throne).
<br><br>
I thought the pastor glossed over words and phrases that are problematic, notably "the righteous" (in sharp contrast with "the wicked"), and when someone asked about it, he seemed uncomfortable that he didn't have a pat answer. He also stumbled over the strong language in verse 5, that the LORD "hates with a passion" (NIV). He wanted to insist that God hates the violence committed but not the person. Naturally, someone mentioned Jacob and Esau (Romans 9:13) and began to explain that since we are in the image of God and we have emotions, then God also has emotions. The anthropomorphism was getting a bit uncomfortable. And the emphasis on God's justice. I felt an impulse to give the pastor <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mercy-Essence-Gospel-Christian-Life/dp/0809106094/">Cardinal Kasper's book</a> but maybe that wouldn't do any good.
<br><br>
My own idea about this psalm and the psalms in general is that, as wisdom literature, they overstate matters, draw sharp contrasts between wicked and righteous, attempt to model godly living but at the same time the psalms aren't the most consistent place to begin at synthesizing a systematic theology. The psalms are filled with human emotion which is why they speak to us and soothe us.
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Ultimately, there was an admonition to try to give good advice to others. Things wrapped up in about an hour and I didn't even need to leave early.
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-88676742203759949492017-08-14T01:13:00.000-04:002017-08-14T08:51:49.805-04:00<div align="justify">
It wasn't exactly Broadway.
<br><br>
A Manalapan church chartered a bus to Sight & Sound, located in Lancaster, PA but couldn't fill it. They opened the outing up to the PCUSA congregation in my town, and I signed on. I received scant specifics about the day, despite some effort on my part to learn the details and, as a result, missed the departing bus by a minute or two. Fortunately, I was able to board at the host church's location in Manalapan which meant I had a seat in the very rear of the coach near the pastor's teenage grandchildren and their friends.
<br><br>
The movie shown on board to pass the two hour drive time was <i>Heaven is for real</i>, which is something I was interested in seeing but wouldn't necessarily make any effort to. I like Greg Kinnear as an actor even though I've only seen him in <i>Little Miss Sunshine</i>. I always wanted to see his <i>Sabrina</i> remake but haven't. Sitting where I was, I caught only snippets of the movie here and there. I was already under the impression that the factuality of the events had since been denied by those involved but I may be confusing it with a different movie. Either way, I substituted any "beyond belief" experience as I watched and just pondered the characters' various reactions. I wondered whether the heavenly host's prolonged laughter at the boy's request to hear "We Will Rock You" was some slight on the popular notion of various rock stars jamming together in heaven. As if angels need any mortal's help.
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Our first stop after reaching Lancaster, or more specifically, Intercourse, PA, was at <a href="https://lancasterpa.com/shopping/kitchen-kettle-village/">Kitchen Kettle Village</a>. The woman leading this church outing was shy about using the bus public address so I approached her personally after exiting the bus and asked, "What are we doing now and what's next on the itinerary?" I may have still been smarting from the experience of being left behind earlier in the day. So she told me to explore the shops and return in 90 minutes. I looked around for a Birkenstock outlet but there was not one at this location. Failing that, I shopped for locally-made souvenirs and found them few and far between. At a Christmas-themed store, I picked up a 2017 wood tree ornament and a small music box. I also got an Amish nativity (which Jeff joked was Orthodox Jewish, eh) and, feeling guilty about being away from home on my son's birthday, a personalized bottle opener.
<br><br>
I had a small book with me and after making my purchases, sat down to read. Soon enough, we were back on the bus heading to our meal at <a href="http://www.goodnplenty.com/">a family-style restaurant</a>. We were way early for our late afternoon reservation. Some became vocal about their hunger and thirst, showing restrained impatience. The staff seated us and brought out pitchers of iced tea and lemonade, plates of homemade bread, applesauce and a relish that someone called <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chow-chow_(food)">"chow-chow"</a> but was more like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giardiniera">Giardiniera</a>. Where condiments are concerned, of course, there are many recipes under the same name.
<br><br>
Now, let me say that the table manners required for family-style eating have apparently fallen into such disuse that some folks cannot call them up even on occasion. So, for instance, a man picked up a slice of bread from the serving platter, then changed his mind and put it back. I waited until someone else helped themselves to that slice before I had one. A woman passed me her glass for some iced tea but when I asked her for some lemonade she ignored me. The teens at our table did not know to pass the serving plates but they did as we asked. The same man who put back food also taught the young girl next to him to load up the middle of her mashed potatoes with corn, in other words, to play with her food. It's entirely possible that I'm too fussy about it, actually, but I was so busy passing food to others that my plate looked like this:<br><br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qEobVA6j0UA/WZEXaBYImuI/AAAAAAAACrs/C4S0sKLe56cjf2oZne09Lsq8i0amHi5KwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_8498.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qEobVA6j0UA/WZEXaBYImuI/AAAAAAAACrs/C4S0sKLe56cjf2oZne09Lsq8i0amHi5KwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_8498.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a></div><br>Starting behind, then, I was the last to finish eating. I decided either <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allegory_of_the_long_spoons">this parable is pure wishful thinking</a> or this is hell. Still, I'm asking myself, "What's the hurry? Why the race?" For heaven's sake, enjoy the meal.
<br><br>
We left the restaurant and arrived at Sight & Sound just as the matinee show was exiting. We were 75 minutes early for the evening performance. Maybe if we had stalled another 15 minutes at the restaurant, it would have given the visitors at the theater's earlier show a good chance to disburse. But the restaurant has high turnover. So instead, we waited on the bus, watching the people leave on the one hand and the storm approach with its flashes of lightning on the other.
<br><br>
My first visit to Sight & Sound and a companion took my picture:<br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EL2ulCjx_so/WZEchkrEbxI/AAAAAAAACr8/dWiaS8Lz72sSK6KUkkzn5_lE1_Q5xgECgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_8504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EL2ulCjx_so/WZEchkrEbxI/AAAAAAAACr8/dWiaS8Lz72sSK6KUkkzn5_lE1_Q5xgECgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_8504.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>
<br>We were encouraged to take our seats 45 minutes before the show began to avoid any potential bottlenecks in the case of late arrivals. When they come by the busload, you know. I noted at intermission that the theater was not full.
<br><br>
Sight & Sound has a style all its own. I could not put my finger on it, exactly. Is the theater's facade inspired by Italian church architecture? Does the interior make one think of Egypt ... or the Holy Land? Both and yet neither, definitively.
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I'm no theater critic, certainly. I'm not about to draw any comparisons between the two and a half hour live production and the four chapter biblical story. Suffice to say, there's embellishment. To suggest that Jonah's reluctance to preach in Nineveh stemmed from their having killed his father, Amittai, eh, you know, it added dimension to him. The fabricated characters, sister, mother, grandparents, who knows? In the end, these are apples and oranges. The biblical tale stands on its own and this theater production is its own work, too.
<br><br>
I liked the personality of their Jonah, as different as he was. The special effects were drawn out so that they could be enjoyed for all their worth. I laughed out loud when the mariners' ship hull opened to reveal Jonah peacefully asleep in a hammock amidst the raging storm. I was a bit disturbed that as soon as he was cast into the sea, the raging ceased. And when all the mariners converted on the spot, I thought Jonah could quit while he was ahead.
<br><br>
There was, in some subtle sense, the idea that Jonah, in criticizing the Ninevites, becomes just like them. When Jonah is running from the Lord, not even his fellow Israelites will aid him. This perturbs him. But, when he changes course, he is mystified by their overwhelming kindness. What's the message? At the end, I think it's Jesus who walks out to Jonah and proclaims that obedience brings blessing but not salvation, or something like that. So, to the oft-heard objection, "if salvation is by grace, why obey," the answer is "for the blessing." Consequently, I found the theology on display to be a therapeutic dose of psychology as motivation for practicing Christian morality. "There <i>is</i> something in it for you, right now!"
<br><br>
Nothing was particularly "anti-Catholic" in the production. In fact, on the contrary, the drawn-out forty day period of repentance and prayer that the Ninevites observe had a strong Lenten feel: the scene was repeatedly bathed in purple light and some characters wore purple and black.
<br><br>
On the ride back to New Jersey, the "Moses" video was put on but I couldn't make out much. We dropped off at the Manalapan church first before returning to our town, primarily because it made sense for the bus driver, but I had concern for the teens as well. I was pretty sure that few would make it to church services the following day. And they gave themselves a fine excuse.
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-57767630728319486442017-07-15T02:10:00.000-04:002017-07-15T02:25:03.869-04:00<div align="justify">
A consideration of how Martin Scorese's 2016 movie, <i>Silence</i>, shows the characters Jesuit Fathers Sebastião Rodrigues and Francisco Garupe discerning God's will:<sup>1</sup>
<br><br>
In the three-way conversation<sup>2</sup> at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Paul%27s_College,_Macau">St. Paul's College, Macau</a>, Fr. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alessandro_Valignano">Valignano</a> seems to have his mind made up about the young Jesuits' mission to Japan. It's a no-go. After working through their initial, emotional reaction to possibly redirecting their vocational aspirations, the young Jesuits begin to reason with their superior, even persuade and to argue. It's their persistent agreement, being "of the same mind"<sup>3</sup> about the mission, that leads the older Jesuit to declare that God is motivating them. So he grants permission for their trip, with plenty of warnings.
<br><br>
When the fathers meet Kichijiro in the waterfront tavern in Macau, Fr. Garupe appears as sad for himself as he is for the drunk fellow handpicked to be their guide. Rodrigues's attempt to entice Kichijiro through the offer of money turns Garupe off completely. "We have trusted that man with our lives," Garupe says to Rodrigues after Kichijiro has already, with abandon, plunged from the boat into the surf, to make way towards the land, towards Tomogi Beach, Japan. Fr. Rodrigues counters Garupe with a seemingly imprudent reference to Jesus' trust being even greater.<sup>4</sup> These two are paired up to balance each other. As Kichijiro leaves them shivering and praying in the cave, Garupe supposes he's gone to betray them, a hunch that proves true.<sup>5</sup>
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In the charcoal shed, while discussing options for their mission to find Fr. Ferreira, they cannot reach a workable plan. They dare to sit outside the next day in the sun and, spotting a soaring bird, Rodrigues romanticizes to Garupe, "It's God's sign," as if to say a plan will take shape. But cutting through that, Garupe spots clearly men from Goto approaching and observing them from a short distance. He physically restrains Rodrigues whose impulse is to talk with them. Is this God's will that they go to Goto?
<br><br>
They bring the matter before Ichizo who says he doesn't know whether the people in that village can be trusted. Rodrigues tries to woo him with some flimsy logic about those in Goto also being Christians "like us." Ichizo insists one priest stay behind and Garupe agrees instantly without argument. Ichizo's proposal makes immediate sense to him. And even though Rodrigues has an apparently fruitful time of ministry in Goto and hears something of Fr. Ferreira's whereabouts, upon his return to Tomogi Village, he learns that Ichizo has been taken hostage and returned, only to bring three more hostages back with him.
<br><br>
The climactic scene of discernment is the general meeting of the Japanese peasant farmers as they decide who should accompany Ichizo before the authorities. Garupe makes a declaration that turns out true for Goto: "They’ll keep coming back if we stay. They could destroy the entire village and kill you all while we hide." It is a violent, ugly scene and even though the priests' poor native language skills may not allow them to understand the debate, it's very clear that the group gangs up on the outsider, Kichijiro. One has the impression that the priests have never seen anything like it.
<br><br>
And when Mokichi asks the priests what he should do if asked to trample on the fumie, each Jesuit gives his own answer.<sup>6</sup> And after the peasants are martyred and Rodrigues separates from Garupe as they "run away," as Garupe puts it, Garupe says, "They were right. If we’d left they might still be alive."
<br><br>
In captivity, after what appears to be a successful interrogation of his fellow peasant prisoners, Rodrigues bows in prayer, thanking the Lord for answering him. No sooner have the words left his lips than a samurai beheads the peasant Juan, Monica's husband, in the courtyard. Whenever the Interpreter asks Rodrigues if he knows who's coming, Rodrigues guesses incorrectly. He's convinced the Japanese authorities intend to undermine his will power by indulging his bodily needs, making him physically comfortable. <blockquote><i>
He treats me kindly. Three meals a day. So my body will betray my heart. That is your plan, isn’t it? That’s what you’re waiting for?
<br><br>
Not at all.<sup>7</sup>
</blockquote></i>
Overall, Garupe's discernment, what I would prefer to call his religious instinct because he exercises it with such little apparent effort, is spot on. The only time he's wrong is in regards to assessing himself, while deprecating his own strengths. He calls himself "weak," a "coward," without any hint of false humility. Rodrigues's discernment, on the other hand, is clouded by wishful thinking and overconfidence. Even though he's teasing when he calls Garupe a "bad Jesuit," this epitomizes his general ill judgment. Objectively, Garupe is the finest of Jesuits: he prays the Anima Christi<sup>8</sup> with the peasants, he esteems St. Francis Xavier highly; he screams, "Take me instead," as the peasants are cast overboard and he swims out to them, drowning. He even <i>prays the rosary</i> when he's frightened and shivering in the cave.<sup>9</sup> Sure, Garupe is ultimately a foil to the protagonist, whether you think that's Rodrigues or Kichijiro, but I'm sure the 400 Jesuits in Rome at the private screening were all pulling for him. It's refreshing to see someone for whom Christian virtue comes so naturally even if we personally identify more closely with a Rodrigues or a Kichijiro.
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<hr>
<sup>1</sup> One discerns perfectly and the other does not.
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<sup>2</sup> Or four-way as Fr. Ferreira's presence is felt via his letter and the others' remembrance of him
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<sup>3</sup> Philippians 2:2
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<sup>4</sup> However, John 2:24
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<sup>5</sup> Of course, Kichijiro betrays them both.
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<sup>6</sup> Two Jesuits, three opinions.
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<sup>7</sup> Quotations taken from the <a href="http://www.paramountguilds.com/pdf/silence.pdf">online, working script</a> which does not exactly match the final film
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<sup>8</sup> Incorrectly attributed to Ignatius Loyola because he included it in his Spiritual Exercises
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<sup>9</sup> Like Mt. Carmel?
</div>Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-72506257568425312152017-06-10T13:43:00.000-04:002017-06-10T16:04:12.658-04:00<div align="justify">
Red balloons were tied to the end of each pew; the atmosphere was festive. During the brief children's message, the pastor distributed pinwheels in patriotic colors. With the price tag still attached to each, the kids blew extra hard to get them to spin 'round. Thank God the windows were open.
<br><br>
We're working on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-xEdwzTA9E">a version of "This Little Light of Mine,"</a> that, pardon me for thinking, would have fit the mood. But we aren't ready with it. Instead, we opened with one of the choir director's favorites, "Days of Elijah." He canceled our regular rehearsal Tuesday night for Shavuot, assuming everyone knows the Hillsong praise tune. But I don't. So <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tg1erjHNfCE">I used a YouTube to learn it</a>. When I saw him Sunday morning, I asked how the cheesecake was.
<br><br>
Not only was it a Sunday for communion but also there were candidates for confirmation. People around me were calling it the never-ending service. No one with any lectionary experience would volunteer to read on Pentecost, <a href="https://www.esv.org/Acts+2/">the Acts 2 passage with all those place names and nationalities</a>. But the lector cleverly left off those tricky lines and the reading still made sense.
<br><br>
The youth reaffirmed their baptismal covenant and then the pastor called upon all the ordained members of the congregation to come forward to lay hands. I muttered something like, "Well, that's going to be <i>just about everyone</i>" and I wasn't wrong. Cindy's husband remained in the choir box with me even though the others were calling to him to join. If not for that kindness, I would have been sitting there alone.
<br><br>
They were to say a brief statement of faith as they laid hands but everyone left bulletins that had the wording in their pews. So rather than retrieve the bulletin and come up again, everyone just returned to their seats and said the words from there. I looked the words over and they looked harmless so I said them as well. (I participate as much as I can.) But afterwards the pastor informed us that <a href="https://www.creeds.net/reformed/brief.htm">the words come from the Book of Confessions</a>, so maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. I really thought it was just something the pastor had cobbled together for this occasion and not anything official.
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It did my heart good to sing along on what they call an "anthem," in this case <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Foley_(Jesuit)">Fr. Foley's</a> "One Bread, One Body." They love the song as much as I do. I had been late enough arriving that the pastor followed in right behind. We were caught behind bicyclists and an EMS vehicle on the main road before turning in. She commented that she'd thought a car with a "Catholic Radio" bumper sticker would be heading to St. Joe's. I told her 10 o'clock Sunday is between the services there and I helped her bring in her things. The bumper sticker simply reflects my sense of irony and nothing more.
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That evening, a Pentecost rally took place at an AG church outside Lakewood. I used to drive past this church every week on my way to school. At the time, the church was practically in the middle of nowhere but it's built up now. I meant to stay only long enough to get a sense of the event. I had an impression going in that met with justification. For instance, I observed a worshipper spinning in a doorway that led behind the stage, her arms out and sometimes raised, her head occasionally thrown back when she wasn't looking at her reflection in the door's glass windows. She was in the minority, however. Frankly, Pentecostalism has aged as an institution. And given its timeline, that would be expected.
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I knew there would be a collection for a couple of sponsored church plants. I gave a nominal amount, not thinking about Catholics but rather about the pastors of already existing AG churches that would feel the new competition. I noted flags from around the world on display, Israel and the USA were on center. Should I anonymously donate a Vatican flag? Were they aware of <a href="https://cruxnow.com/vatican/2017/05/02/pope-plans-pentecost-celebrations-charismatics-pentecostals/">the pope's Pentecost plans?</a>
</div>
Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-42586345874593517992017-05-27T22:58:00.000-04:002017-05-29T19:55:09.514-04:00<div align="justify">
Watching and listening again to Martin Scorsese's <i>Silence</i>, things come to mind that I want to put in words.
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The <a href="http://www.ignatianspirituality.com/24156/application-of-the-senses">five senses play a part in Ignatian spirituality</a>, I learned while attending an <i><a href="https://shop.ascensionpress.com/t/category/study-programs/catholic-prayer/oremus">Oremus</a></i> workshop this past week. Even before learning that, however, I caught references in the movie to seeing, smelling, tasting. The movie's soundtrack is practically overwhelming with the sound of crickets!<sup>1</sup>
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Consider these examples from the movie that mention the human senses. When the Jesuit priests encounter the Japanese peasant Christians, they recoil, presumably because of the odor from an inadequate hygiene. On top of this, Kichijiro smells from his alcoholism, "I know, I smell of sin."<sup>2</sup> At the Buddhist temple, the interpreter asks Fr. Rodrigues whether he is affected by the smell of incense burning or perhaps the smell of meat being offered. The trip to Hirado brings them close to the sea, "I am sure the air must feel good." The most significant mention of the senses, however, is during Kichijiro's pre-confession confession, what he remembers of his family's execution<sup>3</sup>.
<blockquote><i>"Wherever I go, I see the fire and smell the flesh."</blockquote></i>
Kichijiro is haunted by this eight year old memory, of course! Almost certainly, the memory has become a part of his meditation, his prayer life. He admits how the priests' arrival began to change this for him:
<blockquote><i>"After I saw you and Padre Garrpe for the first time...I thought...I started to believe...that God might take me back. Because in...in my dreams, the fire was no longer so bright."</blockquote></i>
During the boat ride to Goto, Fr. Rodrigues brings sea water to his lips while mediating on Christ's crucifixion, “I imagine Your Son, nailed to the cross. My mouth tastes like vinegar.” The human senses augment the priest's spiritual imagination. The overly salted fish served up by Kichijiro makes Fr. Rodrigues thirsty and weak, "The fish was so salty. I...I thirst."
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During Fr. Rodrigues's initial encounter with the Inquisitor, Inoue, he looks him steadily in the eyes as he speaks to the Japanese peasant Christians in their native language. The Japanese peasant Christians do not dare raise their faces up to him. After the peasants are dismissed, Fr. Rodrigues answers whether he understood the Inquisitor's words by saying, "I saw your eyes." The Inquisitor calls Rodrigues's bluff, an attempt at covering up his poor language skills, but his regard for him is evident. Characters look to heaven occasionally as they speak. They look upon religious images, they touch and fashion crosses and rosaries, they take communion.
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The concern of the Christian peasants of whether God sees them, even though they "hide the Kirishitan images ... Even though we do not have a priest? ... God still sees us, yes?" is contrasted with the repeated use of the words "hidden" and "hide."<sup>4</sup> An aspect of the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises is expressed as "looking at God looking at you." This is why Fr. Rodrigues speaks to God from the position of a son, out of his belief that God sees him as a son. And unless the Japanese Christian peasants are convinced that God sees them, their spiritual imagination is stuck.
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<a href="http://www.ignatianspirituality.com/20621/repetition-in-prayer">Repetition as a practice of the Exercises</a> comes through in certain scenes: when Fr. Rodrigues is leading his cellmates in devotions, he repeats with them the phrase, "I shall never be shaken." In his personal reflection, he imagines Christ saying to him, repeatedly, the promise "I will not abandon you." Words and phrases are repeated until they are internalized and become personally meaningful.
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On that last point, the word "abandon" occurs throughout the movie. Fr. Ferreira is the first to use the word when he writes that Japanese officials expect Christians to "abandon God and the gospel of his love." In his letter to Fr. Valignano, Fr. Ferreira promises that he will not abandon their hidden Christians in Japan. Fr. Valignano reads aloud Fr. Ferreira's words to FF. Garrpe and Rodrigues<sup>5</sup>, essentially making the words his own. Fr. Garrpe doesn't want to abandon their mission. Kichijiro begs the priests to take him home to Japan, "Don’t abandon me here, Father, please!" Kichijiro confesses that he could not abandon his family during their execution even if he had abandoned God. In the meeting between the apostate Ferreira and Fr. Rodrigues, the interpreter gets angry with Fr. Rodrigues:<blockquote><i> He is Ferreira only to you. He is Sawano Chuan now. A man who has found peace. Let him guide you along his path. The path of mercy. That means only that you abandon self. No one should interfere with another man’s spirit. To help others is the way of the Buddha and your way too. The two religions are the same in this. It’s not necessary to win anyone over to one side or another when there is so much to share.</blockquote></i>Then Ferreira confides in Fr. Rodrigues, "I’ve been told to get you to abandon the faith."
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I haven't read any online articles that touches upon these things I've noticed about the movie in terms of Ignatian spirituality. I'm not all that versed in the Ignatian program. I would be interested in discovering more ways in which the movie models Ignatian techniques.
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<sup>1</sup> Funny that the <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=*crickets%20chirp*">sound of crickets</a> is our way to say, "Nothingness."
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<sup>2</sup> Kichijiro knows that his besetting sin(s) keep him from being a "pleasing aroma" to the Lord. I think he does get his chance eventually. Quotations are taken from <a href="http://www.paramountguilds.com/pdf/silence.pdf">a working script</a> found online at Paramount which does not always match the movie.
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<sup>3</sup> the way in which Kichijiro's seven family members are lined up as they watch him trample the fumie before their execution reminds me of the Jewish martyrs at the time of Antiochus IV Epiphanes mentioned in 2 Maccabees 7, even though the movie shows a father, mother, two daughters and three sons.
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<sup>4</sup> the voice that speaks to Rodrigues, that approves his trample of the fumie, says, "Your life is with me now," so similar to Colossians 3:3, "your life is hidden with Christ in God."
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<sup>5</sup> the opening scene is a little amusing with all of them addressing each other as "Father," especially because it is clear that they do not all have the same rank even though they have the same title.
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Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-60955588276890662472017-05-17T23:08:00.000-04:002017-05-17T23:08:06.126-04:00<div align="justify">
I thought it was required that at least one parent attend a "call to prayer" event at my son's diocesan high school but I was mistaken. Maybe I just wanted to anyway, an excuse to get away. Picking among the offerings was an easy process of elimination: I cannot <i>stand</i> living Stations and I already had a lessons & carols event in my calendar. Something new and original.
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Granted, the flyer's description was vague, only the promise of visiting Princeton. I registered in mid-September for the early May day, hoping to keep it. Jeff flew to Finland that night for a few days on a business trip but there was no schedule conflict.
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The high school's parking lot had a number of cars when I arrived the morning of the so-called "art spirituality" day. The back door that led directly to the chapel hallway was propped open but I decided to enter through the main entrance. Even though this was a Saturday, students were on campus, prepping for AP exams, so I was curious what sort of security they had. A guard greeted me as I entered through the main doors, but I didn't mention my business to him. As I entered the chapel, I nearly bumped into one of the coordinators who was dashing out briefly to bring in stragglers. When she returned, she gave me a folder with the day's schedule and a blank sheet of paper, and a paper with a song based on Wisdom 11.
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She offered me a ballpoint pen but I said that I had my own. A woman turned around from a row ahead and said, "I always take the freebies, for what we pay in tuition. And wait until college!" I couldn't see any economic logic behind her attitude and it made practical sense only because my own pen seemed dried up. We didn't write much at all!
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We moved into the next room and completed a hand-crafted Thank You card while listening to John Michael Talbot on CD and eating homemade chocolate chip cookies. We sat now facing each other instead of rows as in the chapel so I got a better sense of the participants. One woman had with her an old hardcover, tan AT&T lab book so I asked her which location she worked at. Understand that most locations are a considerable distance to the north and east and that employee rolls are now a far cry from the glory days. In reply, she began with an emphatic, "Where haven't I worked?!" then gave me a blow-by-blow of every position and AT&T location she's been. More information than I needed but I learned at least her approximate age, that she's two years older than my husband. We talked for so long that we were the last ones to our cars for the drive to Princeton.
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Traffic around Princeton on a late spring weekend morning is horrendous but I had a plan. I would not park in a garage but rather in a faculty/staff lot off Washington near the University Chapel that was unrestricted weekends and evenings. I'd only ever parked there at night so I was surprised to see the back of the James M. Stewart '32 Theater. That's right! Now I remember that one of my favorite all-time actors was a Princeton graduate! Too hurried to take a picture for <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/23961090123/">his Facebook fan page</a>, I hoofed it over to the university art museum, thinking myself so late. When I saw no one waiting in the lobby, I was disappointed to think they'd left me. Then that one from AT&T arrived and went through the same steps as myself: asking the gift shop employee and the security staff whether a group of women had just passed.
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I was incredibly impressed with their collection. I'm partial to mosaics.
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We spent just enough time at the museum to whet our appetite <strike>for lunch</strike> for a return trip with the family. The restaurant was ready for us with a table set up in the front window. We could watch the bustling Princeton side streets. One of our leaders held up the server, who was ready to take our drink order, to say grace. I picked the least expensive menu item after the eggplant parm (always the cheapest) because I wanted that dish. But it was not good and I took home the uneaten portion.
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Our mealtime conversation was about interactions with police while driving, that is, our experiences in getting pulled over. I thought it was a slight step up from the usual health and medical nightmares people our age relish sharing. The most outspoken among us worked, I learned, for a law firm. She spoke confidently of driving 80 mph on the Turnpike because "the speed limit is already 65." Meaning, I think, the tacit implication that drivers go faster. She indicated that she was accustomed to talking her way out of tickets but one time before she could even begin her spiel the officer said, "You are getting a ticket!"
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I could contribute to the topic so I broke in with the story of my son's first day of high school. Not sure whether buses were running, I drove him. We left in plenty of time but traffic was already heavy. I watched the police car enter the highway and pass us, but then he dropped back and behind. I was incredulous and he approached the passenger side where my son was sitting. He asked about my headlamp, yes, I had known for about a week that it was out. He wrote up a paper about it and told me to get it fixed. I had so much trouble getting back on the highway because of the traffic. It was terribly inconvenient and I immediately switched off my daytime running lights. If they had not been on - but I have them on for safety! - he would not have pulled me over. The officer's note helped motivate my husband to replace my headlamp.
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Women at my lunch table told me that I should have played dumb with the police officer and pretend that I had not noticed the light was out. That made absolutely no sense to me. I'm no model of integrity but I can muster enough to be straight with a police officer.
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My AT&T friend was having none of this conversation. She was hoping for a more spiritual discussion so she brought up <a href="http://www.dioceseoftrenton.org/documents/2017/5/Fatima%20Indugence%205.5.17.pdf">the indulgence that Pope Francis had announced the previous day for the Fátima centennial</a>. I was the only one who had heard of it besides her. She wanted to know where she could find a statue of Our Lady of Fátima by next Saturday. Off the top of my head, I knew none. I imagined pastors across the diocese and around the country scrambling in response to the papal declaration, maybe even muttering frustration at Francis's apparent capriciousness. <i>Who knew he was such a Marianist, that Jesuit?!</i> I pictured church secretaries checking closets and cellars, peeping under draped cloths for long-lost Fátima statues. Fátima isn't now as popular as Lourdes, if she ever was.
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The business of the restaurant check came and, as usual, splitting it equally was proposed first. No, everyone should pay for what they ate. I'm not so charitable as that. I had figured mine out with tax and tip: $11 meal + 7%<sup>1</sup> + 20%<sup>2</sup> = about $14. The woman next to me came up with $23 for her $19 meal and she asked me to validate it. I said, "I'm putting $3 on an $11 bill and you're putting $4 on a $19 bill, so what do you think?" Yes, she was ok about it so I threw in another dollar to cover her.
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We walked to the University Chapel to conclude our spirituality day but the chapel was in use. We could not enter. Some went for ice cream to return to the chapel later but I went home.
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<sup>1</sup> our sales tax is actually 6.875%
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<sup>2</sup> our party size put us in the 20% gratuity categoryMoonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-12769068873313149882017-04-10T21:02:00.000-04:002017-04-11T21:09:10.540-04:00<div align="justify">
Despite the rehearsals, I had no intention of singing the cantana on Palm Sunday. I woke up with a stiff neck and my swollen lymph nodes made it painful to swallow. I had good reason to skip. But I reported to the church on time, even early, and donned a choir robe almost immediately. There seemed to be no way out of it.
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Seated next to the tenor section, one of the men mentioned to me that we have a mutual friend. I said her daughter had babysat my kids when they were little. I had told her recently that I'm singing here, with them. He said, "Well, now word is out and it's all over town." I'm quite sure he's joking! He thanked me for singing with them. And his wife also thanked me.
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In the ninety minutes before the service started, we went through the entire work of music. I had practiced on my own with an instrumental CD of the alto part. My goal was to memorize at least the words but I could not. Except for those portions lifted directly from sacred scripture.
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Someone proposed that we pray together before the service started. That seemed like a novel idea so I encouraged them. We all moved to the kitchen and held hands. It was quick. Taking our seats again, someone said that, in recent memory, only one person had ever passed out. I mentioned that my oldest son, who is 16, passed out last night during the reading of the Passion at church. (Jeff caught him.)
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Our thorough warm up raised my confidence and the music was so beautiful that I simply found myself singing the piece without realizing it. A couple of times I heard my own voice which is never a good thing in a choir. And another time my voice cracked. I felt that the middle songs were weak; we were sloppy.
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But I hear it was well received by the fifty or so attendees, the congregation. Still, I don't know a soul there, not anyone from our "big" little town. People claim the church as theirs, including my piano teacher. But she hasn't been, she hasn't picked up her envelopes yet for the year. I'm tempted. To. Bring. Them. To. Her.
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The whole thing runs about 30 minutes. The finale is based on Philippians 2:6-11 which happened to be <a href="http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=30">the second reading in the lectionary</a>.
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We did not sound like this, of course:
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About the only thing there was time for afterwards was the offertory. We sang the doxology:
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Moonshadowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11277057132720569896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21224805.post-17624297563275661392017-04-10T20:31:00.001-04:002017-04-10T20:31:44.284-04:00<div align="justify">
Not one but two cars in the retreat center parking lot had left their lights on overnight. The Ford was close to the building entrance, but facing towards it, giving me the faulty impression that someone was getting picked up early. The other was parked just to the far side of mine, and mine was the farthest possible from the building. I approached with caution, in the pre-dawn darkness, dragging my wheeled suitcase across the crushed stone, unpaved lot. I didn't dare venture to that far side, inside piling my things into my car from the near side. Consequently, I didn't realize the car was empty and even unlocked. It was a BMW from a Princeton dealership. I even had an idea of whose it was.
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I was the first and for some time the only one to mount again the spiral staircase to the third floor widow's walk for what the retreat schedule termed "sunrise prayer." The sun would not be up for another hour. Stairs lit from the floor below.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DmctzyaAJD8/WOU1ntlXMpI/AAAAAAAACn8/e1GDFeSDx64HQVn8aL8CGoHwfLGCgF2uQCLcB/s1600/IMG_7642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DmctzyaAJD8/WOU1ntlXMpI/AAAAAAAACn8/e1GDFeSDx64HQVn8aL8CGoHwfLGCgF2uQCLcB/s320/IMG_7642.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div>
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I brought the book I was reading with me, forgetting it's too dark to read. A woman who had also just returned from placing her belongings in her car joined me. And then two more women. We sat in silence for a time until one of the women began saying she never thought she'd be where she is today. And she began to sob, talked about exorcising demons from everyone around her. Not knowing what sort of tears hers were, I brought the beach-themed tissue box to her in the darkness and made a gentle offer. I could do little else for her. The first woman began an out-loud, extemporaneous prayer which I had little stomach for. I largely tuned it out. When she ran out of words, she went downstairs.
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It was time for the next scheduled event, "morning reflections." I went down also. It would be my final retreat event before checking out and leaving. I sat directly next to the guest speaker whose talks I was skipping. As the other women gathered in the second floor lounge, one came flying in and crashed into a couple of the retreat coordinators. She was distraught because she had word that her father was having a medical emergency. I thought she might rather go to her family and when someone offered to drive her, she laughed and said he was in Central America.
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As we sat there together, I caught the guest speaker craning to see my book's spine for its title but the print is small on the long name. I doubt she came up with it, and she didn't ask me for it. The woman who had prayed aloud upstairs repeated the very same words to this new group. She must have thought the words good.
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I was the first to check out, the three at the front desk told me. I mentioned the two cars in the lot with their headlights on but raised little interest among them. "You have the makes and models and probably the license plates of the retreatants who drove. One is a BMW and the other is a Ford. You can learn whose cars these are." Unmotivated. Their working weekend was over. Before getting into my own car, I switched off the lights in the BMW next to me, now that it was daylight and I could see that it was unoccupied. Why doesn't a BMW's lights turn off automatically when left on accidentally?
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I drove to mass at St. Francis. There was a pancake breakfast right before which I thought strange considering the fast. The church was packed and I figured everyone on the island was in attendance. Fr. Kevin seemed impatient with the cantor, as if he wanted to speed through things. Local police stopped traffic on Long Beach Blvd so parishioners could exit the parking lot. Again, isn't the entire island here?
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In my Facebook newsfeed, a fellow retreatant posted several group selfies and also this one. I can't say that I caught her in the act of bible reading, up in the widow's walk. But, God, I hope she did.<br><br>
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