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Sunday, December 30, 2012
Saturday, December 29, 2012
When you enter the shrine at Fátima, you may pass an artifact encased in glass, a section of the Berlin Wall. We met there amid on-again, off-again rain on All Saints Day, uncomfortably near a begging man. I soon learned to keep a few euros in my pockets.
Fátima has become JPII's "place:" the portion of the Wall he's credited with toppling, an imposing monument to his Marian devotion and the keeping of the bullet.
Still, it's its own place. A new church faces the old church across the plaza. A few pilgrims walked on their knees. I didn't think anyone did that anymore. A woman in our group said she has some promises to keep to friends back home. She lit a candle here and again in Lourdes. I suspect she spent the night in the plaza on her knees for her intentions and those of her friends. Some people flip out on pilgrimage. I've seen it happen before. This lady had all the earmarks. She wasn't eating, either.
We entered the beautiful, old church. Presently, a second group came in. They lined up on the altar as if they were posing for a picture. But instead they sang a very beautiful song and their voices filled the air. I lingered to listen as the rest of our group hurried out of the sanctuary. I imagined they'd practiced and prepared for just that moment.
It was late afternoon when the local tour concluded and we had time to shower before mass and dinner. There was more than enough time for that, so I delayed and returned to the square with the local tour guide. She showed me the new church in which mass was being celebrated and the location of the perpetual adoration chapel underground, near JPII's monument. I entered on my own and said a rosary. How many Fridays before I'd thought about praying the Fátima prayer in Fátima!
After a rather long shower at the hotel, I gathered with the others in a conference room off the lobby for All Saints Day mass. We were supposed to hold mass at a chapel near the Fátima church but many pilgrims were already tired and complaining of sore knees. The rainy, slippery conditions caused Father to keep things close, but I was exceedingly disappointed about mass in a dreary hotel conference room with folding chairs, steps from a decades old church in Fátima, Portugal!
At mass, I sat in the back of the room against the wall, in the corner really, and leaned against the wall whenever I stood. Father Williams is charismatic but offered a low-key mass. Father asked for reactions to our trip so far and I shared my experience of praying the rosary, with its Fátima prayer, in the underground adoration chapel. Several asked me after mass where the adoration chapel was located. I took one woman there after dinner.
Dinner was ok. I shared a table with the most cliquish group, a trio from Spring Lake. I was not able to fit in with them and managed to avoid joining their table for the rest of the trip. Except one morning, I had breakfast with the hungover husband, a retired judge. He was mild and polite.
I got out early the next morning and snapped more pictures. The rain had finally stopped. I sampled the water from the faucets, remarkably refreshing. I hadn't expected that. I didn't keep any. Taking my seat on the bus behind Father well before anyone else was on board to leave for Santiago, I asked whether he would hear confessions.
"Of course," he said.
"Tonight, then," I said.
Fátima has become JPII's "place:" the portion of the Wall he's credited with toppling, an imposing monument to his Marian devotion and the keeping of the bullet.
Still, it's its own place. A new church faces the old church across the plaza. A few pilgrims walked on their knees. I didn't think anyone did that anymore. A woman in our group said she has some promises to keep to friends back home. She lit a candle here and again in Lourdes. I suspect she spent the night in the plaza on her knees for her intentions and those of her friends. Some people flip out on pilgrimage. I've seen it happen before. This lady had all the earmarks. She wasn't eating, either.
We entered the beautiful, old church. Presently, a second group came in. They lined up on the altar as if they were posing for a picture. But instead they sang a very beautiful song and their voices filled the air. I lingered to listen as the rest of our group hurried out of the sanctuary. I imagined they'd practiced and prepared for just that moment.
It was late afternoon when the local tour concluded and we had time to shower before mass and dinner. There was more than enough time for that, so I delayed and returned to the square with the local tour guide. She showed me the new church in which mass was being celebrated and the location of the perpetual adoration chapel underground, near JPII's monument. I entered on my own and said a rosary. How many Fridays before I'd thought about praying the Fátima prayer in Fátima!
After a rather long shower at the hotel, I gathered with the others in a conference room off the lobby for All Saints Day mass. We were supposed to hold mass at a chapel near the Fátima church but many pilgrims were already tired and complaining of sore knees. The rainy, slippery conditions caused Father to keep things close, but I was exceedingly disappointed about mass in a dreary hotel conference room with folding chairs, steps from a decades old church in Fátima, Portugal!
At mass, I sat in the back of the room against the wall, in the corner really, and leaned against the wall whenever I stood. Father Williams is charismatic but offered a low-key mass. Father asked for reactions to our trip so far and I shared my experience of praying the rosary, with its Fátima prayer, in the underground adoration chapel. Several asked me after mass where the adoration chapel was located. I took one woman there after dinner.
Dinner was ok. I shared a table with the most cliquish group, a trio from Spring Lake. I was not able to fit in with them and managed to avoid joining their table for the rest of the trip. Except one morning, I had breakfast with the hungover husband, a retired judge. He was mild and polite.
I got out early the next morning and snapped more pictures. The rain had finally stopped. I sampled the water from the faucets, remarkably refreshing. I hadn't expected that. I didn't keep any. Taking my seat on the bus behind Father well before anyone else was on board to leave for Santiago, I asked whether he would hear confessions.
"Of course," he said.
"Tonight, then," I said.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
It's a busy time of year for everyone.
I missed the ECP's Lessons and Carols last Sunday night because of the Natalie Merchant concert, which was a lesson in itself. And certainly a very good time.
Like Vacation Bible School, "Lessons and Carols" is a suitcase event, a predetermined program that just about anyone can implement. So my own parish put one on last night. In the absence of any alternative, the program is very welcome, indeed. But for the past two years the diocese has held increasingly successful Christmas Carol Festivals. There's no reason to reinvent the wheel, rather use a package deal whenever possible. But I can't understand favoring something Anglican and mainline Protestant over a very similar thing that's diocesan and even homegrown.
The St. Joseph singers had decent voices that were too few in number to fill the church. Granted, their collective sound was better than any of them solo, but another twenty would have sounded better. Three hymns appeared in full in the pamphlet under the heading "ALL," strongly suggesting these were to be sung communally. A woman seated behind me did just that and had an excellent voice. A gentleman seated ahead of me kept glancing back at her with a puzzled look, then whispered something to his companion.
I brought my Bible to the Lessons and Carols in order to follow along with the Scripture readings. Fortunately, I brought the "correct" version as I was able to follow word-for-sacred-word in the ESV I had. Some programs suggests drawing passages from various English translations but the many that stick with just one usually choose the ESV. The final reading was John's Prologue and all the lectors joined in together, so I also read along aloud. It was nice and nearly got to me.
I missed the ECP's Lessons and Carols last Sunday night because of the Natalie Merchant concert, which was a lesson in itself. And certainly a very good time.
Like Vacation Bible School, "Lessons and Carols" is a suitcase event, a predetermined program that just about anyone can implement. So my own parish put one on last night. In the absence of any alternative, the program is very welcome, indeed. But for the past two years the diocese has held increasingly successful Christmas Carol Festivals. There's no reason to reinvent the wheel, rather use a package deal whenever possible. But I can't understand favoring something Anglican and mainline Protestant over a very similar thing that's diocesan and even homegrown.
The St. Joseph singers had decent voices that were too few in number to fill the church. Granted, their collective sound was better than any of them solo, but another twenty would have sounded better. Three hymns appeared in full in the pamphlet under the heading "ALL," strongly suggesting these were to be sung communally. A woman seated behind me did just that and had an excellent voice. A gentleman seated ahead of me kept glancing back at her with a puzzled look, then whispered something to his companion.
I brought my Bible to the Lessons and Carols in order to follow along with the Scripture readings. Fortunately, I brought the "correct" version as I was able to follow word-for-sacred-word in the ESV I had. Some programs suggests drawing passages from various English translations but the many that stick with just one usually choose the ESV. The final reading was John's Prologue and all the lectors joined in together, so I also read along aloud. It was nice and nearly got to me.
Saturday, December 08, 2012
Sunday Snippets - a Catholic carnival hosted by Rann at "This That and the Other Thing."
I have two posts about cleaning up after Hurricane Sandy:
Today all the downed branches and trees were picked up from the side of the township's roads. One less reminder.
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Today all the downed branches and trees were picked up from the side of the township's roads. One less reminder.
Click to join sunday_snippets
Tuesday, December 04, 2012
The hurricane was followed by a nor'easter snow storm the next week1. The wet, heavy snow brought down an ornamental cherry tree that, to my surprise, had survived the hurricane.
I saw this type of tree down all through the neighborhood and across town. As of Sunday2, these trees are all fully cut down and cleared away. Jeff rented a larger chainsaw than he owns and even cut down a fifth tree that was damaged when a pine tree fell on it. While he worked the chainsaw, I hauled away branches and trunk segments in the lawn tractor's trailer. It was hard work and my arm muscles are still sore. Tree trunks are heavy for their size.
The tree in better days:
1 November 7th, 2012
2 December 2nd, 2012
I saw this type of tree down all through the neighborhood and across town. As of Sunday2, these trees are all fully cut down and cleared away. Jeff rented a larger chainsaw than he owns and even cut down a fifth tree that was damaged when a pine tree fell on it. While he worked the chainsaw, I hauled away branches and trunk segments in the lawn tractor's trailer. It was hard work and my arm muscles are still sore. Tree trunks are heavy for their size.
The tree in better days:
1 November 7th, 2012
2 December 2nd, 2012
Three tall pine trees were blown over by Hurricane Sandy Monday afternoon1. The next day we surveyed the damage:
The kids were shocked when they looked out the window at the top of the back staircase and saw a tree resting against it!
We began cutting down that tree because it was also resting on the garage.
And Ella did what she could.
1 October 29, 2012.
The kids were shocked when they looked out the window at the top of the back staircase and saw a tree resting against it!
We began cutting down that tree because it was also resting on the garage.
And Ella did what she could.
1 October 29, 2012.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
I'm not sure what possessed me to request a ticket to the Pontifical Solemn High Mass offered last night at St. Hedwig's Church in Trenton. It may have been the silly hope that ticket holders would be envied as excitement surrounding the event swelled. But anyone interested in Latin Mass hasn't a covetous impulse in their whole soul.
As parking downtown is limited, the diocese arranged busing from Notre Dame High School in Lawrenceville. Besides having been there many, many times for catechist training workshops, I had just recently visited with my son for a high school open house. No surprise to see athletes still getting picked up when I arrived on campus around 6.
A coordinator held up a shuttle bus for me and then another dozen people climbed aboard for a ten minute ride. From the drop-off point in the rear of the church, I walked passed a television crew, set to broadcast live on EWTN. Inside the church vestibule, I approached an usher desperate for a program. I flashed my ticket, afraid he would collect it, but he instead simply acknowledged it and I went in.
The interior of the church is as stunning as the outside, only more so because it was lit up. It was not quiet so I felt comfortable taking non-flash photos from the back. With as little ado as possible, I casually tied on my handkerchief, the same one I wore inside the Orthodox Church surrounding Jacob's Well in Shechem. Then I found a seat next to two women. Shortly, another couple came to our row and I moved down to make room. Then the row filled from the other end, as another two women sat down. I estimated that twenty percent of the ladies wore head-coverings.
I expected the schola to be singing but there was no prelude. When the bishop entered, the church was not full because it was still quite early1. After kneeling at the side altar, the bishop went into a side room to vest. He was in there a long time. Meanwhile, folks began lining up for the procession. The Maidens of the Miraculous Medal were adorable! The Knights of Columbus, less so. I fancied they never dreamed they'd wear those outfits ever again.
There was likely quite a smirk on my face as I eyed the cross bearer, a traditional priest of the diocese vested as a subdeacon. He seemed to eye me back and I wondered whether he recognized me. I haven't visited his church in a long time.
I was unable to catch up with the printed text until the Kyrie. We didn't make the sign of the cross to begin the liturgy but I had crossed myself when the bishop blessed everyone on his way to the sanctuary. The schola's singing of the Gloria was quite fabulous. I think it was polyphonic and frankly I had expected plainer music. It sounded very like Simon & Garfunkel's Benedictus but with several more voices. Then the Collect and another subdeacon sang the Epistle. I didn't think his skill was much in evidence but it was a brief, familiar reading2 from Revelation 12. The congregation made very few of the replies printed in the provided rubrics, leading me to believe that the expected knee-jerk response has waned with the years. The only response made consistently was the proverbial et cum spiritu tuo.
There was plenty of picture-taking throughout. And flash photography at that. A professional photographer was making the rounds. View his work here. The woman at the end of my row snapped a picture during the elevation of the host. The distribution of holy communion was quite involved. First of all, everyone on the altar had to receive. And there were a ton of folks on the altar! The gesture they all performed prolonged the distribution: a genuflection before kneeling to receive, then another genuflection. It was almost like Irish folk dancing. They'd come from their respective camps on the right of the altar and on the left to the center and back again. Finally, the ushers brought the laity forward, beginning with the little Maidens. Then they brought up the side pews which outraged the woman next to me. She complained to her husband that everyone was going up ahead of her. I've seen it done before, taking the side pews first. It is uncommon but what's one more uncommon thing on top of so many others? I thought for a fleeting moment that I might receive from the bishop himself but then I could see he was working the far side of the rail.
It seemed to me that we're all rusty at taking communion (1) on our knees, (2) on our tongues, (3) at the rail. The worst part is, of course, that upon returning to our seats, everyone is out of sequence. In the N.O., that only happens if someone takes the wine. The two ladies on the center aisle ended up going all the way around the back of the church to their seats. The man next to me entered the pew without waiting for his wife. I stupidly followed him in and the other two ladies followed me. The man's wife showed up presently and had to climb over all of us! Which she did without hesitation. And the pews in this old Polish church are narrow.
I noted some left before holy communion. The two ladies to my left left right after holy communion which, in the TLM makes more sense than in the N.O. because there could be another dozen minutes of service remaining, what with the Last Gospel3 and all. I remember the Last Gospel being read in English at another Latin Mass I attended occasionally when I lived in Dayton, OH. Well, after all, I couldn't hear any of it last night, so I can't be certain what language it was. We all genuflected at the appropriate time during the reading, those of us who remained 'til the end, that is.
I got a real sense that the TLM is a kludge. That "best practices" have been incorporated over theyears centuries. Take the Last Gospel, a private priestly devotion. There was also quite a defensiveness about the mass of the faithful. And I don't mean the presence of the Knights, even though they seemed, in some way, to be handling security. Maybe it was simply the sheer number of people on the altar. Or even when the bishop took to his throne during the homily, surrounded by servers and others, like some club, a club I couldn't join even if I wanted4.
After the mass, everyone posed on the steps of the sanctuary for photographs. One woman nudged passed me, saying, "That's my daughter up there! I need a picture!" That made me wonder how many people attended the mass to see a friend or relative participate. And how many people were like me, just out looking for a good time? I don't know but it might account for the general absence of any air of reverence. The sheer number of photographs taken and the constant chit-chat of those around me suggested they were spectators. I flirted momentarily with reverence myself immediately after receiving communion merely because the communion line was still so amazingly long, I had nothing else to do but bow my head and close my eyes until it passed. That worked. I affirmed to myself, "It's the same communion bread, nothing extra, still just Jesus."
I took all the pictures I wanted after mass and walked outside to pick up the bus back to my car at NDHS. A row of four buses waited at the curb and I got on the first one. Two buses from behind pulled around the lead bus and left. How strange. Still I waited, noticing the bus was not acquiring many passengers. The driver closed the door and began to move the bus, then stopped and seemed to go in reverse, then forward again, then stopped and opened the door to about six people, women and children. The lady asked, "Is this bus going to Notre Dame?" The driver said, "No, to St. Gregory's" and the lady stepped off. I bolted up and down the bus stairs. I had no idea St. Greg's also ran buses to the mass! Imagine if I'd stayed on that bus! And I felt stupid for wasting 20 minutes on that bus when I could have been back at ND already.
I'm not in any part Polish, but I have these occasional brushes with Polish Catholicism:
Jezus pociesza płaczące niewiasty.
"Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem who weep for him."
1 The church never did fill completely.
2 It was the Feast of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, old Catholic calendar.
3 "Gospel - The Last Gospel" from Catholic Encyclopedia, Adrian Fortescue, Vol. 6, 662.
4 The club I have in mind is not the clergy but the entire Latin Mass community / apostolate, yet another closed, church clique.
As parking downtown is limited, the diocese arranged busing from Notre Dame High School in Lawrenceville. Besides having been there many, many times for catechist training workshops, I had just recently visited with my son for a high school open house. No surprise to see athletes still getting picked up when I arrived on campus around 6.
A coordinator held up a shuttle bus for me and then another dozen people climbed aboard for a ten minute ride. From the drop-off point in the rear of the church, I walked passed a television crew, set to broadcast live on EWTN. Inside the church vestibule, I approached an usher desperate for a program. I flashed my ticket, afraid he would collect it, but he instead simply acknowledged it and I went in.
The interior of the church is as stunning as the outside, only more so because it was lit up. It was not quiet so I felt comfortable taking non-flash photos from the back. With as little ado as possible, I casually tied on my handkerchief, the same one I wore inside the Orthodox Church surrounding Jacob's Well in Shechem. Then I found a seat next to two women. Shortly, another couple came to our row and I moved down to make room. Then the row filled from the other end, as another two women sat down. I estimated that twenty percent of the ladies wore head-coverings.
I expected the schola to be singing but there was no prelude. When the bishop entered, the church was not full because it was still quite early1. After kneeling at the side altar, the bishop went into a side room to vest. He was in there a long time. Meanwhile, folks began lining up for the procession. The Maidens of the Miraculous Medal were adorable! The Knights of Columbus, less so. I fancied they never dreamed they'd wear those outfits ever again.
There was likely quite a smirk on my face as I eyed the cross bearer, a traditional priest of the diocese vested as a subdeacon. He seemed to eye me back and I wondered whether he recognized me. I haven't visited his church in a long time.
I was unable to catch up with the printed text until the Kyrie. We didn't make the sign of the cross to begin the liturgy but I had crossed myself when the bishop blessed everyone on his way to the sanctuary. The schola's singing of the Gloria was quite fabulous. I think it was polyphonic and frankly I had expected plainer music. It sounded very like Simon & Garfunkel's Benedictus but with several more voices. Then the Collect and another subdeacon sang the Epistle. I didn't think his skill was much in evidence but it was a brief, familiar reading2 from Revelation 12. The congregation made very few of the replies printed in the provided rubrics, leading me to believe that the expected knee-jerk response has waned with the years. The only response made consistently was the proverbial et cum spiritu tuo.
There was plenty of picture-taking throughout. And flash photography at that. A professional photographer was making the rounds. View his work here. The woman at the end of my row snapped a picture during the elevation of the host. The distribution of holy communion was quite involved. First of all, everyone on the altar had to receive. And there were a ton of folks on the altar! The gesture they all performed prolonged the distribution: a genuflection before kneeling to receive, then another genuflection. It was almost like Irish folk dancing. They'd come from their respective camps on the right of the altar and on the left to the center and back again. Finally, the ushers brought the laity forward, beginning with the little Maidens. Then they brought up the side pews which outraged the woman next to me. She complained to her husband that everyone was going up ahead of her. I've seen it done before, taking the side pews first. It is uncommon but what's one more uncommon thing on top of so many others? I thought for a fleeting moment that I might receive from the bishop himself but then I could see he was working the far side of the rail.
It seemed to me that we're all rusty at taking communion (1) on our knees, (2) on our tongues, (3) at the rail. The worst part is, of course, that upon returning to our seats, everyone is out of sequence. In the N.O., that only happens if someone takes the wine. The two ladies on the center aisle ended up going all the way around the back of the church to their seats. The man next to me entered the pew without waiting for his wife. I stupidly followed him in and the other two ladies followed me. The man's wife showed up presently and had to climb over all of us! Which she did without hesitation. And the pews in this old Polish church are narrow.
I noted some left before holy communion. The two ladies to my left left right after holy communion which, in the TLM makes more sense than in the N.O. because there could be another dozen minutes of service remaining, what with the Last Gospel3 and all. I remember the Last Gospel being read in English at another Latin Mass I attended occasionally when I lived in Dayton, OH. Well, after all, I couldn't hear any of it last night, so I can't be certain what language it was. We all genuflected at the appropriate time during the reading, those of us who remained 'til the end, that is.
I got a real sense that the TLM is a kludge. That "best practices" have been incorporated over the
After the mass, everyone posed on the steps of the sanctuary for photographs. One woman nudged passed me, saying, "That's my daughter up there! I need a picture!" That made me wonder how many people attended the mass to see a friend or relative participate. And how many people were like me, just out looking for a good time? I don't know but it might account for the general absence of any air of reverence. The sheer number of photographs taken and the constant chit-chat of those around me suggested they were spectators. I flirted momentarily with reverence myself immediately after receiving communion merely because the communion line was still so amazingly long, I had nothing else to do but bow my head and close my eyes until it passed. That worked. I affirmed to myself, "It's the same communion bread, nothing extra, still just Jesus."
I took all the pictures I wanted after mass and walked outside to pick up the bus back to my car at NDHS. A row of four buses waited at the curb and I got on the first one. Two buses from behind pulled around the lead bus and left. How strange. Still I waited, noticing the bus was not acquiring many passengers. The driver closed the door and began to move the bus, then stopped and seemed to go in reverse, then forward again, then stopped and opened the door to about six people, women and children. The lady asked, "Is this bus going to Notre Dame?" The driver said, "No, to St. Gregory's" and the lady stepped off. I bolted up and down the bus stairs. I had no idea St. Greg's also ran buses to the mass! Imagine if I'd stayed on that bus! And I felt stupid for wasting 20 minutes on that bus when I could have been back at ND already.
I'm not in any part Polish, but I have these occasional brushes with Polish Catholicism:
1 The church never did fill completely.
2 It was the Feast of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, old Catholic calendar.
3 "Gospel - The Last Gospel" from Catholic Encyclopedia, Adrian Fortescue, Vol. 6, 662.
4 The club I have in mind is not the clergy but the entire Latin Mass community / apostolate, yet another closed, church clique.
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