Daily Mass had just finished. St. Bernard’s was a big old church, the kind that echoes when it's
almost empty. Shuffling boots and clacking high heels accompanied the last of twenty
parishioners down the stone inlaid aisle. Alone at last in the welcome silence.
I don’t remember what God and I were saying to one another. What I do remember was a little
boy, about seven-years-old, my brother Robert’s age. He had a very long face topped by
uneven brown hair and a plaid cap. His yellow shirt peeked out from behind a woolen sweater.
His eyes were wide with curiosity. Like me, he probably had time to kill before school.
I heard his trotting footsteps down the center aisle, but opted to burrow deeper into “private’ prayer. He spotted me right away, since I was the only occupant of the building. Obviously, he hadn’t been taught that a kneeling posture and bowed head adds up to “Do not disturb. High level conference in progress.”
He tapped me on the shoulder exclaiming in excited tones, “Say, what is this place anyhow?”
“It’s a church.” I whispered, with one finger over my lips to signal for quiet.
“Is that so? What’s a church?”
Having never been faced with such an awesome question, I just looked at him in amazement. My inabilities at answering didn’t phase him; or maybe he just enjoyed the asking. Anyway, he set off to find out what a church was for himself. Down the aisle he ran, jumping over the altar rail. What else would a young, unacquainted boy do to a hurdle-like object? Then with outstretched arm pointing toward the sanctuary light, he bellowed back to me.
“What’s the candle doing in the jar? Does this place get windy or something?”
I could see my now that this fellow was not going to take no for an answer, and whispering was definitely out. So, with one quick glance to make sure we were alone. Laid my teenage sophistication aside and climbed over the altar rail after him. At the very least, I would have to take a stab at protecting the “holy of holies” from the human whirlwind of hands, arms, and curiosity. I was relieved to discover that the priest who celebrated mass was not around to yell at us for desecrating something or other.
In reply to his question about the sanctuary light, I answered, “The candle is like a store sign that says, “Jesus us here.”
“Here in this room? You’re kidding?” he around for someone in astonishment.
“No, I’m not. He’s sort of in that gold box next to the candle.”
Now we were really talking mystery as far as he was concerned. It would have been simpler if Jesus had walked down the aisle.
“How did they catch him and get him in there?” he wanted to know.
I thought to myself, “I certainly had never caught him, at least not for very long. Who could? Well, of course he doesn’t fit in there. How could something be so ridiculous and so true at the same time?” I was baffled. All I could answer was a feeble, “I don’t know.”
This will be my main purpose --to love Jesus, to seek Jesus, to speak of Jesus and to make Jesus known.
Body Prayers for Babies
Babies help us put aside complicated definitions for prayer. Baby prayers are very physical.
There are no mental gymnastics involved. The urge to pick up a newborn and the desire to
cuddle a baby lead us to a place where we can meet the incarnate Jesus, a place where Go
d touches little bodies and grownup hearts at the same time.
Body part prayers are the first example. They can be used while dressing or during a bath.
Simply invent thank you prayers for each body part as you touch it. "Thank you for these hands
and fingers. Bless everything they touch. Thank you for these two knees, and all the crawling
and climbing they will do. Thank you God for these two little eyes. Thank you God for Brian."
Tiffany was experiencing both joy and grief when she held her newborn because of an earlier miscarriage. So she used body prayers in a different way. Every time pain crept back into her heart during body prayers with her newborn, she would put the baby down, close her eyes and pray brief body prayers for the child she lost. "Thank you for the little hands and fingers that …" Each time Tiffany did this she experienced some relief. Then, over time, when she picked up her baby, a new peace came over her.
There are more ways that moms and dads, grandmothers and grandfathers, can bring little ones into God's presence. For example, before you kiss a child "Good Night," trace the sign of the cross on the baby's forehead with your finger. As the child gets a little older, use the infant's hand and arm to pray, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." This can also be a good way to start a few playful movement exercises in front of a mirror.
Another favorite body prayer for preschoolers involves a crucifix. Take it off the wall and ask, "Where are Jesus feet? Where are your feet? Can you touch his arms? Can you stretch your arms like Jesus? Let's give Jesus a kiss!" Preschoolers can also take turns signing each other and you with the Sign of the Cross.
Finally, play religious music once or twice a week so that baby's ears begin to enjoy a prayerful atmosphere. Choose music you like, so that the child will sense your own desire for God, and will later feel comfortable in sacred places. After a morning song, lift the baby up into the air and say, "Michael is yours, Jesus." When the child gets too heavy, you can both raise your arms and say, "Pick me up Jesus and carry me through this day." And so we imitate Jesus who lifted and prayed with little children in Mark 10:13-16.
The Saint and the Titanic
This description of icebergs comes from an entry in the travel diary of St. Francis Cabrini, written on Thursday, April 24, 1890. She encountered many dangers at sea during her twenty-three international ocean voyages, as the foundress of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart commissioned to serve thousands of Italian immigrants in the Americas.
But her most dangerous encounter at sea involves something that never happened. Early in 1912 her Missionary Sisters in England made arrangements for Mother Cabrini's last voyage to America aboard the Titanic. But because of administrative problems at Columbus Hospital in New York City, Mother Cabrini canceled the trip and traveled a month earlier, aboard the Berlin out of Naples. Her brush with death on the Titanic underlines God's intervention in her life, and her writings give us many examples of her capacity to survive through a deep faith in God, whose arm reaches out over oceans and steers icebergs.
To appreciate the significance of Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini's close brushes with icebergs and with furious storms at sea, we must return to her childhood. When she was seven years old she survived a near drowning in a swift river and was left with a persistent and terrifying fear of water. Then as an adult, her first Atlantic crossing on the Bourgogne in March 1889 set a difficult precedent for her and companions. Sister Gabriella describes a furious storm that caused twelve days of seasickness and many hours of torment in stinking, airless cabins.
"During the night the boat was thrown here and there, and all of us were very afraid" Two years later, St. Frances seems to be struggling with a persistent dread of the sea as she prays before the Sacred Heart; but Jesus seems to promise her, "I (will) protect and guide you with my hands from one sea to the other." She responded by putting her faith in God, over and over again, as she continued to board sea-going vessels for the sake of her missions. During one crossing Mother Cabrini was given the nickname, "sea-lion" by passengers who had noticed her immunity to most bouts of seasickness.
Over time, it became common for her to experience great peace while meditating on deck, no matter how bad the weather was. And after years of travel, the ocean itself became a dear friend. St. Frances could rejoice that the blue of the sky is vividly reflected in the sea, "Just as if the sea were the sky itself." To her the vastness of the horizon had become but a small hint of the creator of the universe, not a place to search for the hope of land. In April 1890 she wrote:
Mother Frances Cabrini died five years after the sinking of the Titanic and her own last ocean voyage to the United States. She had survived years of hazardous sea crossings, dangerous visits into the coal mines, trips into yellow fever infested neighborhoods, a donkey ride down the side of a precipice, and a life-time of poor health. It did not matter where she had to go, or what hardships she had to face, in order to serve her God and her beloved poor.
* quotes are from Travels of Mother Cabrini (Chicago, IL:
Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, 1955)
About eleven o'clock we saw ourselves surrounded by enormous masses
of ice. At first they appeared to be things of no importance, like white doves
resting on the water, but afterwards, little by little, they grew much larger.
They took on enormous proportions... twelve times larger than our ship...
(like) great fortresses with cutting notches.*
How the waves swell and foam... If you could only see the waves! None of us could stay at the stern because the waves swept over the vessel at every moment. At the bow it is not so bad, and, stretched in an armchair, I can write fairly well... God loved us before he created the sea.
Resources for those who care about inactive Catholics
click on title to read each article
St. Frances Cabrini
The Holy Spirit as Guide for Spiritual Journaling
first published in Pentecost Today Oct/Nov/Dec 2006
Ever get locked out of your car? I mean totally locked out, without even a spare wallet key or one of those magnetic cases that stick to the wheel well. It is not a pleasant experience. That’s what prayer is like without the Holy Spirit. That’s what life is like without the Holy Spirit. There is no way to go about our business, no engine, no wheels, no moving forward. When we feel stalled or locked out of our relationship with God, spiritual journaling can help. Through the guidance of the Holy Spirit a notebook becomes a spiritual roadmap, a familiar way to call upon our Guide. “O Divine Spirit, I wish to be before You as a light feather, so that Your Breath may carry me where you will.” (St. Catherine Drexel)
Journaling is a dynamic activity that begins with crying out to the Holy Spirit and with listening for the voice of God. It is a way to capture the dialogue between us and Jesus. God’s Spirit moves us in two important ways through spiritual journaling. The first movement is toward stillness. The Spirit sets us on an inner journey into God’s presence, placed at the core of our being during Baptism. Through the Holy Spirit, prayer becomes a new immersion into the life-giving waters of God’s presence; and recording what happens, helps us think about and remember God’s saving actions. (See Psalm 77:11-12).
The second part of journaling involves movement toward others, and reflection about the important people and activities that are part of God’s call in our lives. As we describe our concerns and replay daily events in the light of the Holy Spirit, we watch for the ways that our companion, Jesus, points us towards the Father. “God is not far from each of us. For ‘in him we live and move and have our being.’” (Acts 17:27-28). Journaling helps us contemplate and rehearse new ways to bring Jesus into the world. Several years of journals can also be revised to become the greater part of a spiritual biography, written for loved ones.
Here are some suggestions for surrender to the Spirit through journaling:
•Begin with an opening prayer to the Holy Spirit, who illuminates the road ahead. Use a form prayer, a song, or praying in tongues as a cleansing shortcut into the depths of the Spirit. Search out the voice of the Spirit who is the author of the spiritual life and the agent of all holiness.
•Enter a line or two from the Scriptures of the day, or from the writing of the saints, or from a book of the Bible, or a meditation book like Prayer Journal for Baptism in the Spirit (Chariscenter USA, 2002)
•Tell God what you are feeling and thinking. Consider recording a small part of your conversation. The act of writing illuminates areas of our lives that need the transforming touch of the Holy Spirit. Don’t worry about your choice of words, repetition, or messy handwriting. These things don’t matter. Be creative. For example, drawing may be more important than writing for some people.
•End with a statement about what you believe, or an act of thanksgiving to God for sending the Holy Spirit. This can be verbal or written.
•Review your journal every three months, or during a day of prayer or a session with your spiritual director. Underline the entries that resonate with God’s voice when you review them. Pray with these entries again. Over time, you will see patterns of thought, prayers and Scriptures, that reoccur, almost like spiritual breadcrumbs that point out the next step in the journey home.
One of my recurring journal entries is from St. Catherine Drexel’s spiritual diary. She explains: “If I can say of an action: I did it out of love for God. Then there is something in it that will last through all eternity. It may have been a failure –but a priceless failure.” Certainly, this applies to spiritual journaling and our meager efforts to record the movement of God’s Spirit. We can be sure that the Holy Spirit does not abandon us, but helps us create a priceless collection of spiritual maps that will give us new hope when we are stuck by the side of the road.
The simple power of Louise’s calling remains in other ways. That same Lillian, who carried cookies home in her apron, also carries on the ministry of Aunt. She grew up to befriend her sisters’ and brothers’ children too. When my mother had her sixth child at age forty, Aunt Lillie simply moved in to help. Then came Lillie’s grandnieces and nephews like me, whether I needed a new sweater or a scolding.
Visiting Aunt Lillie is a tradition for so many of us. The worn-out welcome mat with the plastic daisy on it would tell you that. So would the 110 cards she received for her 90th birthday. Lillian exercises her ministry from a two-room apartment that is simple yet filled with hospitality. Two square pillows sit like bookends on her flowered couch; holding a place for visitors like me. The brass tea kettle stands ready for the task of providing refreshments on a moment’s notice.
One day I noticed a curious, yet crucial part of her calling. A glass reading table held only a rosary and a shot glass filled with coins. What for? I waited for the right moment to ask my question.
In her attention to each of us, Aunt Lillie had cultivated the rare art of listening to things that really mattered. When I bring the children along for a visit, Aunt Lillie finds the time and energy to speak with each of them personally, arthritis or no arthritis. She gets far beyond the usual “my, how you have grown” and into drawing out their wildest dreams, their hidden talents. All this is accomplished from an old turquoise armchair.
“I’ve written a story about a boy who explores the inside of a church,” I tell her. “His questions and his curious hands area the best part. I brought you a copy to add to your collection.” You see, Aunt Lillie has a collection of newspaper clippings, photos, and paraphernalia marking events in our lives. Her appreciation has made her a family historian of sorts. She once gave me a tiny, yellowed Hallmark card. It pictured a teddy bear at a microphone saying, An announcement of great importance…” When I opened the card I realized it was my own birth notice from 38 years ago.
Now was my chance to be curious. “What’s the shot glass for?” I asked.
“Oh that,” she laughed, slowly fingering the clear crystal as if to unveil her latest treasure. “I found it among Aunt Hattie’s things. And you know, it’s just what I need.” She interrupted herself with a few more soft giggles, emptying the glass into her wrinkled hand.
“I don’t want to forget anyone when I say my prayers at noon time. This penny means one Our Father, one Hail Mary, and one Glory Be for Carol. This penny is for Blanche across the hall. This one is for your grandmother. The nickels are for rosaries. One for Claire. One for you. One for Sheila… We haven’t heard from her for almost eight months now… And any way, now I won’t forget. You have to play tricks on yourself when you get to be my age, you know.”
“What a good idea.” Now I knew the source of her particular care, her ministry as aunt, friend, and grandmother. In all these roles, Aunt Lillie places us in God’s care. Stiffened fingers and failing eyesight only challenge her to find new ways to pray for us. No wonder each of us could feel uniquely affirmed.
“You’re the only one that knows my secret,” she cautioned. “I even had Carol and Art bring me my glass in the hospital last year. But I didn’t tell them why.”
“I won’t tell either,” I promised.
I went away from my visit with more than satisfaction for my curiosity. I felt loved in a new way. When I returned a few months later, I noticed the shot glass in its place on the end table next to Aunt Lillie’s high-backed armchair. All was in order. Only now the glass held nickes and quarters. Was this the price of inflation, I quipped?
No. She explained that the pennies and nickels had become too much alike in size for her tired old hands. Quarters would do nicely for rosaries.
“Could I write a story about your shot glass?” I asked.
She thought for a moment, as a smile brightened her face. “If you want to, you can. But who would be interested in an old lady’s prayer pennies?” she asked.
For some women, being an aunt is a ministry. Louise DesRosiers knew that when she adopted her widowed brother’s baby Hattie in 1889. She knew that when she baked extra cookies and donuts for Arthur’s seven other children. Even when Arthur remarried, Louise ministered to her nieces and nephews. One little girl named Lillian still keeps Aunt Louise’s picture on her bureau after eighty years.
