Incorruptibles

Little Rose, I love you.

Little Marie Rose Ferron is a friend of mine. We were introduced through a mutual friend. I had never heard of Rose before, even though she lived 10 minutes away from me. When I first heard of Rose, I just had to go see for myself, even though she died in 1936.

Marie Rose Ferron was a stigmatized ecstatic. She contracted what was probably polio and suffered very much. Rose endured suffering joyfully to show us how to live with Jesus. She recognized that her sufferings were not in vain, but valuable because she offered them for the salvation of souls. She was a victim soul.

Within an hour of hearing Rose's story, I was praying a Rosary at her shrine, in Woonsocket, RI. I couldn't believe that I lived 10 minutes away, for the past 20 years and had never heard of her. The shrine has since closed, but every time I'm in her neighborhood, I visit her grave and offer up a prayer.

Little Rose came to mind this morning, because I was reading about 10 incorruptables on the Amazing Facts Blog. Little Rose's body was exhumed eleven years after her death. Not only was her body incorrupt, but smelling of flowers. That's referred to the "odor of sanctity."

Although Rose Ferron wasn't listed on the Amazing Facts Blog, there were ten others:
St. Veronica Giuliani
St. Zita
St. John Bosco
Bl. Pope Pius IX
Bl. Pope John XXII
St. Bernadette of Lourdes
St. John Vianney
St. Teresa Margaret
St. Vincent de Paul
St. Silvan

Personally, I thought Saint Zita should be taken off the list.

And I was surprised that Saint John Vianney's corpse had black hair, when his pictures show his hair was white.

Interesting, and definitely AMAZING.

Satan

The other night, in Dominican Study Group, we were discussing God's mercy. One of my "cloistered brothers" said that sometimes, when talking with others they'll confess that they feel too unworthy to ever be forgiven. The things that they've done are just too evil to be be forgiven. So he said that he tells them about God's mercy and stresses the point that if Satan, himself, were to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness, that God would forgive him.

This just didn't sit right with me. I recalled that Fr. Aniello once told my prayer group not to waste their time thinking about Satan. He chose to be lost forever.

Fr. Aniello is only an email away. I wrote and he responded: "The biggest difference between human beings and Satan (and his devils) is this: we are still on the way and we are free to say, yes or no; instead the evil spirits made their final choice long ago.

Any human being can repent till he/she lives on this earth. There is no sin that God does not forgive to a human being who repents! God gives us time on this earth so that we can repent...He is very happy when we repent...he makes a feast for a repentant sinner!"

I also wrote to my Chapter's Spiritual Promoter, Fr. Wayne, who responded: "One of the issues is that Satan was never human(mortal). He was an angel who rebelled against God. I think you are thinking where the rich man repents only after he has been judged, too late to help Lazarus, and so too late to change his judgement. Angels don't have mortal lives and therefore can't lose them. It's not clear what the nature of their lives are or how judgement applies to them. It would seem that by analogy, Satan would be in the same boat as the rich man. However, what can we really say with certainty about the lives of angels? Still, I think our "cloistered brother's" basic insight is correct: there is no limit to God's mercy...only the limits we put on receiving it. It would seem unnecessary to correct his hyperbole as long as the point he was trying to make remains the focus, as it should do."

Both responses are food for thought.

Fr. Aniello would say I was wasting my time--thinking about Satan. Since I don't know what to think, I'll take the easiest road.

Forget about Satan. He is a waste.

Final Promise Day

Last weekend I attended a friend's Final Promise Day. I made his acquaintance when I belonged to his chapter. Mr. Thomas Dominic O'Connell, O.P. made his Final Promise in the Lay Fraternities of Saint Dominic on May 24, 2009.

Tom's brother, Father Mark works in the Chancery. He's Vicar of something or other, and managed to get Bishop Edyvean to celebrate Mass. The ceremony was impressive with the two priests, and one a bishop.

It was good to see all my friends in that chapter. Long after the festivities were over we just sat around talking--catching up on our lives.

Community is a good thing.

Mystic CT

I took a day off from work today to go to Mystic CT. I went with my friends Joan, Barbara, and Diana. We went shopping in the village of Mystic. The shops remind me so much of Woods Hole, MA. There is even a drawbridge, which we had to wait for--just like everyone does in Woods Hole.

We went to lunch and walked around some more. But the rest of the time we spent at the Museum. We walked around the Amistad. Our favorite shop was the Chandlers. It was a good day.

Even the weather cooperated by stopping the rain.

Retreat Day Five

In my last posting, I neglected to relate my spiritual direction session with Father Aquinas. It started off funny. Funny meaning odd. You see in January I wrote him a letter and instead of writing a letter back, he telephoned me to come on a retreat and we can talk then. The time finally arrived. He confessed that he lost the letter and didn't remember what I had written. Coincidentally, before I left for retreat, I looked through by computer files, and couldn't find that letter. So instead of being angry or hurt because of AQ's careless negligence of my letter and me, I just laughed. I was content with meeting with him at that time.

It was the best session I've ever had with him. He actually directed me. He gave me suggestions, and concrete practices to perform. He feels that as long as I stay close to the Eucharist, I should be alright.

My last day at St. Joseph's Abbey consisted of prayer and packing and good-byes. I wasn't sad. Most people commented that they wished they could stay there. Not me, I enjoyed my stay, but I looked forward to leaving to tell everyone about it. I guess I was anxious to spread the fruits of my contemplation.

Retreat Day Four

Every day we, as a group, had a conference with a monk. He was Father Robert. We concentrated on John 18 and 19. Father Robert was a man in love with words. He relished them. He rolled them over and over on his tongue. He'd hesitate and then repeat them again. He was obsessed with "Jesus was One with the Father." And He wants us to be One with Him, too.

Father Robert celebrates Mass like that, also. He emphasizes important words, stops, and then you can see him consciously speaking from his heart to pronounce the words for Consecration.

During meals we listened to a tape of Dr. Joseph Shaw. I don't know the name of it but he was talking about the parables.

I went to Father Robert for direction and we chatted about the Second Coming. It just may be that my dying and going to the Father will be Jesus coming to get me. That's a Second Coming.

In the afternoon, I spent my time waling around the other side of the lake. On the road down the hill, I came face to face with a deer. I tried to take her picture but she was indistinguisable from the shadows. Walking around I saw some pretty flowers, including one lady slipper springing up from the dead leaves. I found Grace House and a road leading out to the main highway. I met the deer, again.

I prayed my Rosary while walking because standing still was an invitation for mosquitoes to come feast. May flies were becoming more numerous, too.

In the afternoon, I went to a video, With Hearts Expanded, which is a history of the monks at St. Joseph's Abbey. They have always been counter cultural. They could legitimately be considered as living a deviant lifestyle.

Only two of us showed up for the video, Sister Vivian and myself. A great blessing happened. I asked Sister Vivian what Order she was from. She responded, "Religious of Jesus and Mary." "Mmmmmm", I thought that was the Order my great Aunt Blanche belonged to, but that was so long ago, after all, she was my Grandmother's sister. I asked her if she had a house in "Goffstown, N.H., because I vaguely remembered visiting Aunt Blanche, there. Vivian said, "Yes." So I told her what I remembered of my Aunt. Gradually, I pieced together enough information for Vivian to pop out, "Mother Mary of the Trinity," better known as "Mother Trinity!"

Wow! Guess what my religious name is--Sister Faith in the Blessed Trinity.
My nickname--"Trinity!"

The blessings kept coming. This time for Sister Vivian. She asked me where I was from. Upon hearing that I was from Franklin, she asked if she could ride home with me because she lives in the town adjacent to Franklin, Plainville. "Of course," I was happy to oblige.

That night, since it was my last night, I lingered a bit, after Vespers, looking at the altar, the church, the Tabernacle. I saw the Abbot, Dom Damian walk around turning the lights off. As he came towards me I saw him pick up something and approach me. "What the hell?" He threw something directly at me!

I jumped right out of my skin as soon as it hit me! But I instantaneously knew what it was as soon as I felt the smack. Holy water, the Abbot was blessing everybody. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. The people behind me were chuckling because they saw me jump out of my skin.

Walking back, I asked them if they knew that the Abbot was going to do that. They all were laughing at me and told me that if I hadn't left so soon after Vespers, all week, I would have known that the Abbot does that every night. He goes around blessing his monks and all visitors.

Well, at least I got a blessing the last night.

Who knew?

Retreat Day Three

Wednesday was a new day. Alleluia! Praise God. I woke up pain free. The stomach ache was gone. And! On my way to Lauds, I saw one of my fellow retreatants go in the visitor's chapel, and not in the cloister, where we were told to go. I followed her to tell her that she was going in the wrong place. But! She told me that we didn't have to go into the cloister with the monks; we can go in the visitor's chapel, which is better.

Way, way, way...much, much, much better. The visitor's chapel is adjacent to the altar; so close you feel like you are concelebrating. The priest comes to us to give Communion.

THERE'S NO GAUNTLET OF MONKS TO PARADE THROUGH!

Praise be to God! God is good, all the time!

What a wonderful start to a wondrous day!

After breakfast, I walked. The trouble with St. Joseph's Abbey is that it's on top of a hill, a very steep hill. This means that wherever you walk will involve coming back uphill. I did it. I walked all week. Sometimes when I felt the pressure in my shins I wondered if I was getting shin splints. And sometimes walking up those hills I had to stop because I didn't have my inhaler with me, but I did it. All week I did it.

There's a lake on the property. Today, I walked to the left of the lake thinking of walking around it. The weather was perfect. 80 degrees and I'm walking in the cool woods, it doesn't get much better than that. I passed the hermit's hut. It's abandoned. I was appreciating all the sights and sounds, when I heard some thrashing through the woods. I saw bright blue. It was one of the ladies on retreat with me.

We greeted each other and sat down to talk. Every "silent retreat" should have a session like this. Her name is Kate and she's the mother to a young family. May God bless her and her loved ones. She was telling me about herself and happened to say that she can't take criticism.

She can't take criticism! She happened to be sitting next to me in the stalls when that old crosspatch monk signaled me to take off my baseball cap. I reminded her of that incident and then I told her how it bothered me all day, resulting in severe acid reflex.

We hashed it through. The whys, wherefores, and no wonder he's a monk--the old fart. She had me laughing over the whole episode. Kate was good for me. Thank you, Jesus. You know what we decided was behind the monk's request?

He was a Yankees fan. I was wearing a Red Sox baseball cap.

Seriously, the monk was across the room. He saw a person, 5'7" tall, wearing a sweatshirt, pants, sneakers, and a baseball cap. Get the picture.

He thought I was a man.

The simple solution is the fact, I bet. There, end of the story! I put the entire occurrence to bed. Thank you, Kate. God speed, and may He always be your strength and consolation.

I continued my walk in peace. I went as far as I could go before I was stopped by a small waterfall. I sat down on a rock and prayed my Rosary.

The mosquitoes found me. Here are some pictures I took during my walk.

One more thought: on my way to my cell, after Compline, I heard AQ's voice. I followed it. There he was sitting in his office. Finally, I got my hug and greeting. He apologized for being so absent these last couple of days but the abbot was using him to transport the monks to doctor's appointments. We made an appointment for Thursday, after Compline.

I went to bed much happier than last night and had a peaceful rest.

Retreat Day Two

I was awake for Vigil but too warm and cozy to get up. Then I slept right up to the time when the bells for Lauds rang. I jumped out of bed, threw on my clothes and looked in the mirror and scared myself.

Awk! No time for hair fixing, so I grabbed a hair elastic and put my hair in a pony tail and put on my baseball cap.

As retreatants, we are allowed to sit in the stalls, like the monks, only way, way, way in the back. It's a long church. The altar is way up there away from us.

As I sat and watched the monks come in through the door, one old monk did a double take when he saw me. He pointed to my hat. At first I thought he was telling me that he liked my Red Sox baseball cap. But he motioned for me to take it off. TAKE IT OFF!

OH NO. :-( It's not that my hair was ugly; it's that I am ugly like that. Remember that I had Cronkhite Canada Syndrome and my hair didn't grow back like it was before. I am bald on the sides of my head. My hair grows only on the top of my head, so I just wear it down, or cover my head with a scarf, or hat. Now I had to take my hat off. Why?

I don't know why, but I obeyed. A thousand things ran through my mind: am I breaking some rule that no hats are allowed, men or women's, is it the type of hat I'm wearing that's objectionable, am I showing lack of respect..........why?

So I sat there, bald, wispy head sticking out like an old plucked chicken. I was embarrassed.

It gets worse.

At Communion, the priest didn't come down to us; we had to walk all the way up to him. Remember the monks, about 50 of them, are sitting in stalls gawking at we visitors. I felt like I was walking through a gauntlet of inspecting eyes. To add another humiliation to the pile, I happened to be last. As I walked behind everyone else, I could feel my red face travel all the way to my neck. The back of my neck burned.

It was not a good Communion. I could not take my mind off myself. I did offer my misery up.

This ordeal bothered me all day. Immediately after lunch, I had acid reflex. I was in pain. I tried to pray it away, ignore it, take anti acid medicine, but nothing worked. I couldn't attend None, or Vespers. I didn't eat Supper, and I was asleep by Compline.

One picture is the Abbey Church and the other is the long cloister walk to our stalls in the back. The church is large, cold, dark, and dreary. As far as I was concerned, the church atmosphere, added to my mood. Despairing is all I could think of.

Retreat

Home. I had two bad days and three wicked awesome days, at St. Joseph's Abbey in Spencer, MA. I'll gradually give you almost a day by day description of what I went through.

First:the reason I went there in the first place was that my Spiritual Director was assigned there. I met Fr. Aquinas at Mt. St. Mary's Abbey in Wrentham, MA. He was there for 9 years. He became my Spiritual Director because he said "women should be spiritual directors for men and men should be spiritual directors for women."

January he was posted to St. Joseph's Abbey. I wrote him a long letter which he didn't answer. He just wrote back telling me to come on retreat and we can talk.

But he wasn't there the first day. I had visions of him opening the door with opened arms and greeting me as the long lost friend that we have become. In fact, more often than not, he was not there. What kind of "guest master" is that? There's always a lay person there to help us, however. But it was AQ that I came to see.

It took me that first day to get use to the "silence." It felt "creepy." I thought I was inside a "void." After the first day, however, I didn't even notice it.

There were nine of us: 3 men, one a priest, and 6 women, one a nun. I was most impressed with the Eucharistic Dove hanging above the altar in the retreat house's little chapel. This is an early Christian custom to keep the Eucharist inside a dove and hang it suspended from the ceiling. It was a good visual, this prototype of Christ.

Retreat

OK, I'm off. Fr. Aquinas has beckoned and I'm going.

Be back Friday.

St. Joseph's Abbey in Spencer, MA

Chapter

Our Lady of Mercy Chapter had a business meeting. No fist fights were threatened this time. The only thing closest to that was a long (too long) discussion about wasting paper. Sister Ruth keeps updating the schedule. We have so many copies, that we don't know which one is the latest. Dennis keeps handing out "Readings". It just seems like we're using up too much paper. There's no solution, either. We do use scrap paper. We can't do word of mouth. There's nothing to do about it.

Sister Ruth passed out PAPERS to join the Fr. Lataste Association. Sister Pia Elisabeth, O.P., from the Dominicaines de Bethanie, wrote us a letter explaining that Fr. Lataste was declared a venerable on June 1, 2007. We are to write encouragement and support letters to show that he should be beatified. His remains are in the sisters' Motherhouse's chapel. Many people come to pray at his tomb.

We close the meeting with praying the Office of the Dead for our President Dorothy Murphy, O.P.

Book Club

What a day! This morning I had breakfast with the girls. This afternoon I went to Book Club. Tonight I went to Mass.

The Club went to see Linda's new home. It's beautiful and just right for her. She's an artist, so it includes a studio. We enjoyed it very much.

For this month's reading, we had chosen A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. We contrasted what our thoughts were when we first read it, and what we thought, today.

The most obvious change was how I felt about Katie, the mother. When I first read this book, I was about 18. Then, I thought Katie was mean and unfair. She obviously loved her son more than her daughter. And when she chose that the boy should go to high school, and the daughter go out to work, well that was unacceptable to my 18 year old mind.

Now, I feel differently. Katie worked hard, very hard. She did the best she could. I don't think she loved her son more. She just loved him differently. Perhaps, siblings don't see that, but as a mother, myself, I know that. And Katie was right about the boy going to high school. Francie, the girl was the strong one. She'd get her education. There was no holding her back.

There was something else that struck me now, that I never noticed in my teenaged reading. Francie made a bargain with God to save her mother from dying in child birth. An older Francie in reminiscing about that bargain, happened to say: "But now, she knew God better..."

Isn't that the truth?

As a child, I made a bargain with God to win a softball game. I promised to pray every prayer I knew, every night, for the rest of my life.

Well, we won.

But then, in the playoffs. I promised that if we won that, I would pray every prayer I knew, THREE times, every night, for the rest of my life.

We tied.

A loop hole?

Who said God doesn't have a sense of humor?

Book Sale

Hard covered books $1.00 and soft covered $.50. What a bargain! The Friends of the Library conducted their Spring book sale. I was volunteering tonight and had the first pick.

Wow!

I spent $ 25 on enough books to fill a library. None of the books are fiction. I got some philosophy and religion books, some health books, a lot of poetry and CD's. I'm all set for the summer. My favorite pastime is reading on the beach. Washburn Island here I come.

Can't wait to go to bed tonight, so I can start reading. I always read in bed until I get sleepy.

Good night.

Transformation

Dominican Study Group was tonight. Steve and Doc, from Facing History and Ourselves, came with a DVD and a CD. We watched "The Lunch Date." It was a cute little story of an obviously "well off" lady in Grand Central Station. She had an armful of shopping bags. The camera panned the surrounding area and showed some sordid characters hanging around. When SMACK, the lady was jostled and dropped her pocketbook and bags. A black man stopped and helped her. All the while they were picking up her scattered stuff, she kept protesting "I'll do it; don't help me; you'll make me late for my train..."

She was too late for the train.

Resigned, she went back into the station with an anxious expression. She seemed to look for something (probably her wallet)but didn't find it. She dug around in her pockets and found enough change to purchase a salad. Pushing her shopping bags into a booth, she settled down to eat, only to realize that she didn't have any eating utensils. Leaving her booth she went to get a fork.

But when she came back, there was a man eating her salad! He might have been homeless, because every black man we saw in this station seemed to be down and out. However, this man never speaks. Even when the lady indignantly accuses him of taking her salad. He looks at her as if she's crazy and just continues to eat. She plops herself across from him and glares at him. He continues to impertinently fork the salad into his mouth. Well! She stabs a piece of that salad and forks it into her mouth. And there we go: his mouth, her mouth...he crunches, she crunches...

Now that I think about it, this is funny. But I was focused on something else. Their demeanor changes. The lady relaxes. He wasn't as uptight as she, but he's more relaxed also. When he's finished, he gets up. Next we see come back to the table with two cups of beverage. The lady was pleasantly surprised. He offers her the sugar on the table but she refuses. Then he takes artificial sweetener from his pocket and offers that. She takes it. Steve quipped that it might have been "Equal."

When they're finished they leave. She walks away and realizes that she left her bags, so she rushes back to the booth and they're not there. She looks around. She walks around. As she's rushing hither and yon, we can see her shopping bags in the booth behind the booth she previously occupied. Finally, she sees that, also. But wait! There on that table is the salad she had originally bought. ??????

She had been sitting at the wrong table, eating some one else's salad and thinking the worse of this man who "stole" her salad.

The lesson was how this lady's perception of people was changed. We hope this was a learning experience for her. Her judgement was challenged and that should have been life altering.
Comparing this story to Mark's gospel was interesting. Mark 8: 14-22 is the story of the apostles not understanding. Like the lady in Grand Central Station in the beginning. Their preconceived judgements are set. Then something happens to challenge them. For the lady it was the realization that she had been wrong: about people, about appearances, about her judgement. For the apostles, especially Peter, that being the Messiah wasn't about miracles, or defeating the Romans. Jesus wasn't about their physical situation. Both the lady and the disciples were transformed. But the process isn't instant. It takes time, and it's a two way process. One has to be open to it.

We want to be transformed. And we do this by acknowledging the need to be changed, pray for it, and work towards it. It's a grace.

Then we watched a music DVD of Stand By Me. It was a suitable closing prayer.

Ms. Dorothy Murphy, O.P., R.I.P.

Ms. Dorothy Murphy, O.P. has died of an abdominal aorta aneurysm that burst during an operation. She was the President of the Lay Fraternities of St. Dominic for I don't know how many years, but for as long as I've been involved in the Lay Dominicans. This marks the end of an era.

What I can't get out of my mind is something that happened to me last night. I was awakened with fierce acid reflex. I have never had acid reflex in my life. I wouldn't even know what heart burn was except that I had it when I was pregnant.

Dick has acid reflex and is under a doctor's care. Anyway, I woke up at midnight in severe pain, The pain was excruciating. It was paralyzing. I couldn't move because of the pain. It was centered right below my rib cage. My first thought was Dorothy. Is this what she feels? I united myself with her to offer up our pain together. But the pain was absorbing all my thoughts. Since I couldn't move I tried to talk but it was too weak. Somehow I reached over to Dick's side of the bed and took one of his "Tums," that he keeps on his bedside table.

It didn't help. I gradually and slowly reached out to take another "Tums." It had no affect whatsoever. I wondered how many were safe to take?

I thought of praying. My new guardian angel, the Archangel Raphael didn't help. Was this psychosomatic because Dorothy was going through some pain?

Somehow, I rolled out of bed and walked very slowly and bent over to the living room where Dick was watching TV. He immediately came to help me and I told him about my pain. He said that was acid reflex and he went and got his prescription medicine. I took one and it worked immediately.

As we stood talking about my stomach pain and whether or not it was psychosomatic, he told me that Ray and telephoned and said that Dorothy had died during her operation.

Actually, I was too self absorbed with my own stomach pain to grieve at that time. But all day today, I can't get Dorothy out of my mind.

Damn it all! I'm going to miss her.

"Lord, now you let your servant, Dorothy, go in peace;
your word has been fulfilled:"

St. Mary's Evening Walkers

Yesterday in the church bulletin, I saw a blurb about "St. Mary's Evening Walkers." Those that are interested walk an hour, which comes to about three miles. Tonight there were four of us.

I liked it. The time went fast because we chatted and walked.

That walk brought my pedometer up over 11,000 steps.

Alleluia!

Haibun

Today is Mother's Day. All three of my children came over my house. Hubby cooked. I did nothing except accept everyone's love. What could be better?

Upon reflection, I wrote this haibun about my three children. It goes without saying that this is tongue in cheek.

Blessed

My husband and I are blessed. We have sired three important personages. It didn't start out that way. They were ordinary babies. As children, they were average. Somehow, about the time of puberty, yes, somehow, somewhere, sometime, something happened.

We noticed it first, with the first. Well, that's to be expected. We knew her the longest. She somehow acquired a superior status. Her bearing as she surveyed her domain suggested royalty. A superior attitude held sway over her siblings.

A proper Princess
Perception of privilege
Proud propriety

The second child grew up with classic middle child syndrome. Perceived slighted. She had to be assertive to be noticed. Demanding, even. Vying for attention, demanding, even vociferous, her tone became commanding.

Essa Generale
Thrives on competition
Demands attention

And lest we forget, his Eminence! Being the only boy, the baby of the brood. He's so secure of his rank, he can sleep in contemplation. No need to discern his place. He's sired into his status. He doesn't have to do anything--just exists.

Lofty Eminence
A natural progeny
Youngest of the three

All heirs to our love. The Princess, Essa Generale, and his Eminence, all have their special place. We don't know how we came to be so blessed; we are just thankful to have some little part in their special lives.

Good Bye

St. Mary's Parish had a "Farewell Reception" for Fr. Dave and Fr. Ted. They both have been reassigned.

It's difficult to say good bye. It seems like you just get use to them and they have to go. I can't imagine how they feel.

I hope they have fond memories of us. We gave them a guest book, which is really a nice "coffee table book" of psalms. We used it as a guest book by putting our names next to a meaningful psalm.

For Fr. Dave I chose Psalm 150 and thanked him for his service.

For Fr. Ted I chose Psalm 32 and asked him to learn the song "Faith of our Mothers."

That's kind of a private joke between us. Whenever Fr. Ted celebrated a Mass for a martyr he sang "Faith of our Fathers." It didn't matter who the saint was, that's what he sang. So one day I told him that I was sick and tired of "Faith of our Fathers." "Aren't there any songs about women?"

He thought that was funny and said that if I could find one he would sing it. So I googled "Faith of Our Mothers." There were "loads" of songs with that title. One even had the same tune as Faith of Our Fathers. I gave it to Fr. Ted.

He's never sung it. :-(

What Men Like

I was reading "What Men Like In Church" in CathNews and it said that men like "singing proper
macho songs" in church and feel uncomfortable with hugging, holding hands or sitting in circles discussing their feelings, a British survey has found.

Nearly 60 percent of men who surveyed said they enjoyed singing at church, the UK Daily Telegraph reports.

A majority of men, 60 percent, said they do not like flowers and embroidered banners in church with 52 percent saying they do not like dancing in church."

So, how come no no one wonders what women like in Church? After all, most of the people in church are women?

Regional Meeting

Region One in the Province of St. Joseph, the Lay Fraternities of Saint Dominic, held their Spring meeting today, at Mary Immaculate of Lourdes Church, in Newton Upper Falls, MA. About 30 people attended.

We discussed dues. They're due, but we should give them to our chapter treasurer and let her send them in.

The bookstore is doing well. We were glad to hear about that.

The Province is trying to set up grants. We need to have people to do it, set it up, etc. Grants would go to things like making promotional materials. Getting speakers. And?

We all got scolded about the way we do (or don't do Minutes). That doesn't apply to me because I do do my Minutes conscientiously.

We have a summer student brother. But we might note be able to get him because of the dates he's available and the dates we're available.

Then we talked Budget.

We're poor.