I awoke at eight o'clock this morning--not too bad for a Sunday. I mostly intended to go to the nine o'clock Mass, though when the time came and I wasn't ready, I knew I had several backups. After a quick dash to the internet to look up Mass times, I found what I was looking for: a nine-thirty Mass at Mary Queen in Friendswood.

Only I didn't know how to get there. So I raced to Google Maps--remember, the clock is ticking!--and found directions to the Church. I zoomed in and clicked to see the hybrid picture, which superimposes the street names over a satellite photo of the area, and saw what could only be the church. Making a mental note, I grabbed my keys, some books for reading afterward, and was off!

Well, the Church was further than I thought, and I was already running late. I glanced at my watch as I pulled into the parking lot: nine-forty! Hopefully I would make it before the readings.

People still seemed to be arriving, so I guess I wasn't that late. I entered the outer door and was greeting by a man in a suit and a smiling woman, who handed me a liturgical program (what does one call such things?). I found the inner door and walked in, though what I found was not what I expected.

I was at the top of a kind of auditorium, which slanted down and inwards toward a stage-like area below. People were sitting in pews, though curiously only in the back. I scanned the front of the room, searching for the tabernacle. Normally, I would genuflect toward the tabernacle, in reverance to Jesus who is truly, really, and substantially present in the Eucharist, which is kept within the tabernacle. Not finding the tabernacle, I did a kind-of half bow toward the front, realizing that, as I was doing it, there was no altar, either, to which I would bow.

Where was I? I looked at the program I had in my hand, and it looked normal enough, but somehow something was missing. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, though. I looked to the front, and in place of the altar, I only saw people standing or sitting in various places, behind music stands, or a podium. Somehow I didn't think that I was in Mary Queen Catholic Church. Feeling rather dislocated, like Will Barrett "waking up" from a fugue state in Walker Percy's The Last Gentleman, I thought for a moment that perhaps I should just stay there. The moment passed, though, and feeling some chagrin, I crept from my pew and out the back door. The smiling woman and the man in the suit gazed at me with quizical looks, so I smiled apologetically and mumbled, "I've got to go."

I was out the door and down the steps and walking vigorously to my car, feeling more than a little strange and out of place. Not that I had any negative feelings toward my separated brethren. Rather, expecting to walk into Mass, albeit a bit late, I walked into something very different from Mass, though it had most of the same external feel to it. Way weird! (Where did I get that expression from?) It was like walking into a house to find the whole family sitting around the breakfast table eating eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, and coffee, only to realize that it was the wrong house and the wrong family! There is something very intimate about the Mass--which I didn't realize until today--whose absence I immediately sensed while in the auditorium. We are made part of Christ's body through baptism, of course, and so my separated brethren are united to me in a way that transcends any earthly bond. But in the Mass, we receive the very body and blood of Jesus in the Eucharist, which brings about an intimacy, a common bond, which builds upon and proceeds from baptism, like the trunk of a tree that grows out of the roots. We call the Eucharist "holy communion" not only because it brings about a deeper communion between Jesus and the recipient, but also because it brings about a deeper communion among the recipients themselves. St. Paul expressed this in one of his letters (1 Corinthians 10:16-17):

The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because the loaf of bread is one, we, though many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf.

I found Mary Queen around the corner. There was a rather obvious sign in front that read: "Mary Queen Catholic Church." I felt a rush of relief as I parked my car and headed for the church, noting that, as late as it was, there were still other people arriving.

What then took place at Mass I wouldn't call irony, but just a good dose of a "God-incidence" (as opposed to mere coincidence).

After the homily, two men were received into the full communion of the Catholic Church. They had been baptized as Christians, though in some Protestant denomination. They stood at the front of the Church while the whole assembly recited the Nicene Creed. Then the two men made a profession of faith, and afterward they received the sacrament of confirmation. Then, during the communion rite, they received the Eucharist--the body and blood of Christ--for the first time.

This is Thanksgiving weekend, so I think that I am most thankful for the gift of the Eucharist. Not only is Jesus really and substantially present in the Eucharist, but it is the re-presentation of the very sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross, where he gave his body and blood, literally, in reparation for the sins of all human beings that would ever live. And when I receive the Eucharist, not only am I receiving Jesus, be he is receiving me. I am thus brought deeper into the mystery of his passion, death, and resurrection. Through the paschal mystery--most especially through my participation in the celebration of the Eucharist and how I then live the Eucharist in my life--I learn to die to myself, so that my sins, as well as everything that brings me unhappiness and leads to death, may be transformed into something that gives me life, so that I myself may be transformed into a new creation, a "new man in Christ." Jesus took something unimaginably terrible--his torture and death--and transformed it into the means of bringing eternal life to all who would believe in him (cf. John 3:16). So, too, through the Eucharist, every moment of my life--from the death of my mother, to having cancer, to whatever suffering is to come--is transformed into something that gives me life. Nothing else in the universe has this power, except the Eucharist. The Eucharist is the sacrament of transformation.

In the great American tradition, then, I am very thankful for this absurdly amazing gift. I always think to myself, when people talk about Thanksgiving, "Yes, but, to whom are you thankful?" Thankful to God, of course. Is it mere coincidence, then, or perhaps more likely a God-incidence, that the very word "Eucharist" comes from the Greek word, "εὐχαριστία", (transliterated, "eucharistia"), which means thanksgiving?

"Sanity, remember, does not mean living in the same world as everyone else; it means living in the real world. But some of the most important elements in the real world can be known only by the revelation of God, which it is theology's business to study. Lacking this knowledge, the mind must live a half-blind life, trying to cope with a reality most of which it does not know is there. This is a wretched state for an immortal spirit, and pretty certain to lead to disaster. There is a good deal of disaster around at this moment."

Indeed, ideas have consequences. If right thinking leads to right action, then certainly wrong thinking leads to wrong action. So how do we come to "right thinking"? By seeking the truth--that is, trying to "see" all that is, and not overlook any aspect of reality. To do this, Sheed maintains, we need to purify our concepts, especially our concept of God, of the influence that imagination has played on them, since some concepts, like that of God, are beyond what one can imagine--though not beyond what one can conceive.

For many people, God is like a "venerable man with a beard, rather like the poet Tennyson, or perhaps Karl Marx." Because of this, it is difficult to take seriously the notion that God is an infinite being--that, as Creator, He is totally transcendent to His Creation. This image, then, has produced a curious tendency among people of today to treat God as an equal.

First, the tendency to treat God as an equal, the failure to grasp the relation of the creature to the Creator, may be stated very rapidly. It is commoner in the semi-religious fringe than among practicing Christians, but it is liable to show up anywhere. The commonest form of it is in the feeling that God is not making a very good job of the universe and that one could give Him some fairly useful suggestions. Another deadly effect of it is in the diminishing, to the point almost of disappearance, of the sense of sin. In the past, Catholics have not been much affected by such ideas; but in recent years those ideas have taken root. At any rate nothing would be lost by some kind of examination of intellect in this matter of the dwindling difference between the Infinite and ourselves. To take an obvious example. When some man well known to us who has lived a full and devout Catholic life for fifty or sixty years falls suddenly into serious sin, somewhere amoung our reactions will be the feeling that it is rather hard on him, after having given so much to God for so long, now at the end to lose all. It is a natural enough reaction and might seem to do some credit to our heart, but it does no credit at all to our head. The man has not been giving to God all those years: he has been receiving immeasurable gifts from God all those years. The malice of his sin is far greater precisely because of the immensity of God's gifts to him.

We all do things we know are wrong. I do more often than I like to admit. But this short paragraph of Sheed cut me to the heart, for I know that he speaks to me as did Nathan to David: "Thou art the man" (2 Samuel 12:7). Even when I do something I know is wrong, I don't think of myself as such a bad person. But the reality is, when I deliberately choose to sin, my ingratitude is all the worse--for I have received many gifts from God.

Nathan continues saying to David: "Thus says the LORD God of Israel: 'I anointed you king of Israel. I rescued you from the hand of Saul. I gave you your lord's house and your lord's wives for your own. I gave you the house of Israel and of Judah. And if this were not enough, I could count up for you still more. Why have you spurned the LORD and done evil in his sight?" (2 Samuel 12:7-9).

Is this not what Sheed is talking about? The modern response is to think, "Poor David, he was so close to God and served Him so well. Just one slip and he has lost so much!" But what does David say? "I have sinned against the LORD" (2 Samuel 12:13). David is living mentally in the real world because he grasps the reality of what he has done; and he admits his sin for what it is.

After the coming of Jesus the Christ, I have more for which to be grateful than even King David. By baptism I have been joined to Christ and made a partaker of the divine nature (see 2 Peter 1:4). The divine nature! And yet it is still only like a seed within me, "for what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing" (Romans 7:19).

At the very least, then, like King David, I can begin to "live mentally in the real world" and see my sin for what it is--an abuse of the freedom that God has given to me. And in seeing this, I can cultivate gratitude for what I have been given. So the next time I am tempted to sin, I can thank the Lord for His gifts and reject the tendency to live in my own little world. How much larger, how much more free and wonderful, is the real world. And that is what theology helps to give us.

If you want to see something better than World Cup action, check out this soccer match between the (ancient) Greeks and the (relatively recent) Germans. Courtesy of Monty Python, who are English, of course.

How can I describe it? I had no expectations when I began to read; it was just another book, I thought. But slowly, over the course of the narrative, I began to experience something that made me wonder. I began to experience a kind of bonding, a kind of closeness to Jesus that I had never felt before. The book drew me into contemplation, into a prayerful gaze of admiration and awe at who Jesus was--and is. To know is to love, and this book has helped me to love Jesus more.

Indeed, this book has helped me to see that Jesus, even now, still has the heart of a child. And yet he is not a child. "Ever ancient, yet ever new."

"Christ the Lord" is historical fiction, but it has a power that transcends the written word, a power that brought me face to face with a real person--a power to move me from a knowledge about Jesus, toward a knowledge of Jesus himself, a knowledge that is experience, that is relationship. Read this book with an open mind and an open heart. That is what I did, and I am grateful for it.

My brother-in-law just took this photograph. You see, I came to League City last Wednesday to visit my sister and her family for Thanksgiving. I think that her cooking has had a salutary effect on me, because I'm feeling quite happy. Does it show in the picture? Of course, there are other reasons for feeling better, but no one should discount eating well, sleeping well, and relaxing well! Actually, I've made considerable progress in discovering the direction in which I want to continue with my life. If that doesn't cheer a man up, I don't know what will!

Back in August I received an email from a gentleman in response to my blog entry entitled "Time Travel." Below is a portion of his email to me, and what follows is the email that I wrote back to him...albeit three months later!

John,

I used some of your "time travel" post in the following-- that I sent to family and friends-you will see it below...

Would love to keep abreast of what the LORD's doing in your life. You're a great conversational writer! Pardon my "Southern-ese" in the following, used to get my southern relatives attention...

Peace be with you,

Ray

Subject: A "New Kitten" and Prayer, Time Travel & the Fourth Dimension

. . . [cut] . . .

Time travel: well, um-- is it possible, maybe... Theoretically, some think so, although there are certain mathematical issues and practical issues like avoiding blowing up or setting off a nuclear reaction in the process if we ever figured out how. Plus, time travel, from one perspective says, "you can go 'back'
in time, but not 'forward.'

HOWEVER, there is one way. One way to travel forward in time is prayer! And YOU can do it!!

YOU CAN AFFECT THE OUTCOME of events by intercession, by agreeing with God's ideas about the matter at hand, BEFOREHAND. IN THIS WAY, YOU ARE TIME-TRAVELING if your prayers are in line with the Father's ETERNAL PURPOSES.

Dear Ray,

Thanks for writing me. SORRY for not replying in, well, almost three months. Like I mentioned in my blog, there's hardly enough time for travel--much less anything else!

I appreciate your insight--how through intercessory prayer we can travel through time and affect the outcome of future events.

I have often thought of prayer as being able to affect past events, too, actually. It usually comes up in the context of praying for a friend. For example, many times I have told a friend I would pray for her so that she might do well on an exam at school. I know that her exam is at, say, ten o'clock in the morning--but by the time I remember to pray, it is already three o'clock in the afternoon! Did I just blow it and miss my chance? I don't think so.

God is outside of time. I understand eternity not as time going on and on without end, ad infinitum, but as being "constantly" in the present. Time, in many respects, is a measurement of change. But if there is no change, then there is nothing to measure, and hence no time. God, theology tells us, is immutable--that is, He doesn't change. God is eternal because He is outside of, transcendent to, all that is created. He is the Un-created One, the Creator. But only that which is created is changeable. God is so vast--infinitely so--that He encompasses everything, so that there is no need for change in Him. All that is, is in Him. I hope this is making sense; I'm not just making this stuff up, but trying to synthesize what I know from my studies in theology.

Anyway, the point of this is that for God, everything is in the present. Our past and our future are all part of God's "present." He sees and knows everything at once, in one act of knowledge. Sooo, at ten o'clock in the morning, when my friend is about to take her exam, God knows that five hours later--according to our way of reckoning time--I will say a prayer for her and intercede for her. Knowing that I will do this--not in God's future, but in my future and in the future of my friend--God takes that into account. Now, I'm not saying I know how intercessory prayer works, but I do know that it does work! So, however God takes my prayer into account, even though it hasn't taken place yet in time, He "applies" it and helps my friend.

So, what is it that I say at three o'clock in the afternoon? I usually ask that God, being eternal, will retroactively hear and answer my prayer of intercession for my friend. My prayer is a real act, a real decision I make with my free will to love another person and to love God, and so it makes a real difference in the world and acts as a "channel", perhaps, of His grace. Why God chooses to "honor" our prayers of intercession is another question entirely, of course, but it shows a bit of His omnipotence that He chooses to allow us to play a part in the drama of events in the history of salvation--even if we never leave our couch.

Interestingly, the same blog entry that you quoted from also contains a short passage about St. Therese of Lisieux, commonly known as The Little Flower. I don't know if you are familiar with her, but she was a Carmelite nun in France in the 1800's, and she died at the age of 24, never having left her convent. But she is the patron saint of missionaries, precisely because through her prayer--at the heart of the Church, she called it, which is love--she could reach out to peoples all over the world. Now, theologically, I think it is quite reasonable to extend the power of prayer not only to all places geographically, but to all times, both in the past and in the future.

Thanks for your email. It provoked some interesting questions!

For all of those dedicated fans out there, breathlessly waiting for the next blog update, your time of vindication has come. Tee hee.

I actually updated my blog, after I-don't-know-how-many months. Come to think of it, this little action deserves it's very own Blog Update Party. Hmmm, sounds like the title of my next entry.

Don't get me wrong. I'm actually deep into the job search here at the public library. But one can only concentrate for so long on such things before mental fatigue takes its toll. So, what's a hard-working man to do? Blog!

Now that I think of it, I've just decided to copy and paste this email, wholesale, to the blog. Not that this entry will say anything new. Still, it's fun.

Thanks for listening...

Well, I wouldn't necessarily call it an "hogar," but it's getting close. Why, only after last Friday, my last day of work, did I have time to fix up my apartment a little. That just goes to show how busy I was--and more to the point, how mentally and emotionally exhausted I was. What did I do? I bought lamps for my apartment, for one thing. The place was dim and dreary, and I lived that way for three months because I never "had the chance" to do anything about it. I even bought some new posters and put up the few posters that I had brought back with me from Rome--including a print of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, the original icon of which I was privileged to see while in Rome. Among other things.

All of this is to say that I have a new mailing address, because I'm no longer living with the friend I mentioned in a previous blog entry. In fact, I've had my own apartment since August, but I just never "had the chance" to update my blog. Another sign of being completely overwhelmed by a job that I should never have taken to begin with? Perhaps.

Please email me with inquiries as to my new address, if it is of interest. Thank you!

Yes, that's my Latin professor at the Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome: Fr. Reginald Foster, O.C.D.

Peter mentioned that I should try to blog every day, even if only for five minutes. That doesn't sound too hard! But it does presuppose that I have computer access every day, which is a bit more doubtful.

The reason? I'm no longer working at St. Augustine High School, as of last Friday--and hence I don't have regular internet access. It seems that another door has closed on me, for the present, so I will continue forward by looking for an open window somewhere.

I thought I had a "calling" to be a teacher, but it seems that a number of factors were against me--overwhelmed by a workload that literally kept piling higher and higher on my desk, struggling to relearn material I hadn't looked at in 14 years while desperately trying to be prepared enough for the next day's lesson, trying to perform a role in front of the class every day that just didn't fit my personality. And so on. I think you get the idea?

It was comforting to think that I was teaching at a school under the patronage of St. Augustine of Hippo--doctor of the Church, and one of my favorite saints. It was reading his The City of God during the summer of 1995 that inspired me to take up and study philosophy, imitating in a way that moment of Augustine's own conversion when, hearing a neighboring child cry out "Tolle, lege", that is "Take up and read," he opened the Bible to Romans 13 and found a message that spoke directly to his soul. That was the summer of 386. Now, many centuries later, I seem to have flunked out of Augustine's school--maybe because of my bent for St. Thomas Aquinas who is, after all, the patron saint of students. Not that there's any real conflict between Augustine and Aquinas...but maybe I ought to continue down the road that I started so many years ago, with Aquinas as my guide.

Who knows, maybe I will end up as a teacher again? If I have anything to do with it, though, I won't be teaching math, and I won't be teaching at the high school level!

On May 25th of this year, I moved to Laredo, Texas. Why? It was the nearest place I could find upon leaving Nuevo Laredo, Mexico!

I'm currently living with a friend, whose address should probably remain unknown except to the very Wise. But it will be a moot point rather soon, at least I'm hoping, because I plan to move into a new place by the end of the month, God willing.

This got me thinking. In the unlikely event that anyone would want to send me anything via postal mail, they would probably already know my address, right? And if not, they would probably know my phone number or email address in order to ask me.

In any case, I can still receive mail at the P.O. Box. If you don't know the P.O. Box address, email me!

I never would have believed it, but I now own a complete set of colored pants--Wrangler jeans, to be more accurate. I've got black, red, grey, cream, and two pairs of green. We're talking denim, here. I took my old blue jeans to a friend, whose aunt is a professional seamstress, to be mended. My jeans had two holes, one of which was in a rather unfortunate location, that were getting larger at an alarming rate. My friend conveniently forgot, however, to bring my jeans to her aunt; she gave me the colored pants, instead, which had been donated to her brother, but which were the wrong size for him. Fortunately for me, though, they only needed to be shortened a few inches.

The moral of the story? The holier you are, the more colorful you can become!

I'm thinking of moving my blog--well, the three entries that comprise my blog--from blogspot to this new site.

Already, I can see that the interface is more sophisticated. Pretty cool!

So, let's see what we can do here...

I just ate a muffin. A blue-berry muffin. A blue-berry muffin with cinnamon glaze. A four-day-old blueberry muffin with cinnamon glaze. And it was moldy! I don't notice at first, though. In fact, I was nearly done eating it when, to my shock and dismay, I discovered the mold, blithely covering the piece of muffin on my fork, only inches away from my mouth.

In a fit of repulsion, I haplessly spit out the piece that was still in my mouth, rushed to the bathroom, and proceeded to irrigate my mouth with large amounts of water. What if I got sick? Would I need to pump my stomach? Or would the anti-mildew bathroom cleaner do the trick, if I swirled it around a little bit?

There's a lesson in this, of course. Nothing happens by accident, right?

I think sin is like eating a moldy muffin. After all, there's always something good about sin, just like there was about the muffin. If there weren't, why would we do it in the first place? But there's something bad mixed in with the good, and that's where the sin resides. Muffins are well and good, and it's a reasonable thing to eat them now and then. But moldy muffins--herein lies the disorder. The reasonableness of eating the muffin was transformed into unreasonableness because the muffin was moldy. Why is it unreasonable? Because eating a moldy muffin is bad for your health! At least, it can't be good for you, even if it doesn't do much permanent harm. One could say, then, that it is wrong to eat a moldy muffin precisely because it is bad for you. Hence the converse is not true. That is, it's bad for you not because it is wrong--as if it were simply the breaking of some arbitrary rule--but because it is unreasonable and harmful.

This is how I see sin, then. The ten commandments, for example, aren't just arbitrary rules; rather, they correspond to our human nature and to what comprises healthy relationships--with God and with other people. If I steal, for example, it is like eating the moldy muffin. There's something good about stealing, after all: the actual thing which I acquire by stealing! But the bad which is mixed in with this good is like the mold on the muffin: the thing which I acquire belongs to someone else, and he or she hasn't given me permission to take it! This introduces disorder into the relationship, as well as disorder into the heart of the person who steals. Ultimately, then, it is harmful.

And just like I instinctively wanted to wash out my mouth after I ate the moldy muffin, sin makes us feel the need to repair the damage we've done. This feeling is usually felt as "guilt"--but unless the guilt is followed by some real action that repairs the damage, the guilt is useless. One needs to recognize how the action is disordered, how it harms oneself and one's relationships, and then decide to try to avoid that action in the future. This is what I would call conversion of heart. I've certainly learned my lesson about eating moldy muffins, and I'm whole-heartedly converting to eating fresh, non-moldy muffins from now on! And I'm going to try to avoid the same mistake in the future: look before you bite!