In Book Club we reviewed Mary Oliver's Evidence. We all agreed that this book of poetry is Oliver's best. Of course, we said that the last time. Mary Oliver is our favorite poetess.
We all took turns reading our favorite poems out of the book. We had a special treat, in that the long lost Linda showed up. She's the one who introduced Oliver to us, so it was fitting that she came, tonight. She's been through a lot: new job, working 12 to 14 hours a day, and shingles! ugh!
My favorite phrase is in the "Snowy Egret." The poet describes how the egret has come for forty years to her house. "Don't think he is a casual part of my life."
I'm saving that phrase to tell to someone who needs it. Isn't it beautiful?
How about: "Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed."
Her poetry is so simple and direct. People who say they don't understand poetry would do well to begin with Mary Oliver. We decided to go visit her in P-town. We made plans for May. We'll take the ferry from Boston to Provincetown. We'll visit her book store and give her a telephone call and see if she's up for visitors. Probably not, but that particular book store has her personally autographed books. And P-town is always interesting and fun. It'll be something to look forward to.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Demographics of My Parish
Tonight at the Parish Pastoral Council, we had two representatives from the Archdiocesan Pastoral Center. They explained St. Mary's demographics, which we are to use in formulating a plan to best meet the spiritual needs of the parish in the future, specifically 2014.
ExecutiveInsite devised a really interesting picture of the parish. It integrated a data tables and graphs with narration. It included twelve trends:
Population
Racial/Ethnic
Age
Children
Marital Status
Educational Levels
Occupations
Household Types
Charitable Giving Practices
Religious Practices
On the whole, St. Mary's is average or above. We're doing all right. To maintain and increase will be our goal. Our next meeting, hopefully will be to come up with some concrete, valid, ideas. But presently, we think that just being joyful, excited about our Faith, and practicing what we preach is the best policy.
In fact, our conclusion reminded me of something the Venerable, Father Samuel Mazzuchelli, O.P. said: "A holy cheerfulness, gentleness, and readiness in speaking, a modest and reserved manner, confidence in the Lord, and zeal for the salvation of others are irresistible attractions that almost always draw the bystanders around one who, with frank simplicity, is defending the cause of Catholic doctrines."
IOW, don't hide your light under the basket.
ExecutiveInsite devised a really interesting picture of the parish. It integrated a data tables and graphs with narration. It included twelve trends:
Population
Racial/Ethnic
Age
Children
Marital Status
Educational Levels
Occupations
Household Types
Charitable Giving Practices
Religious Practices
On the whole, St. Mary's is average or above. We're doing all right. To maintain and increase will be our goal. Our next meeting, hopefully will be to come up with some concrete, valid, ideas. But presently, we think that just being joyful, excited about our Faith, and practicing what we preach is the best policy.
In fact, our conclusion reminded me of something the Venerable, Father Samuel Mazzuchelli, O.P. said: "A holy cheerfulness, gentleness, and readiness in speaking, a modest and reserved manner, confidence in the Lord, and zeal for the salvation of others are irresistible attractions that almost always draw the bystanders around one who, with frank simplicity, is defending the cause of Catholic doctrines."
IOW, don't hide your light under the basket.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Faith is Greater than Love
I know that 1 Corinthians 13:13, says that the greatest of the virtues is love. But that was before my time. Paul hadn't met Faith.
;-)
Just kidding. But that passage always went up one side of me and down the other. And I know why. Love without Faith is "eros" love. It's selfish love. You need faith in God to kick up the love, a notch or two.
When you act with charity towards another, it may just be an act of convenience. When you "make love" with another, it may be self gratification, or a fulfillment of personal needs. It is only when you serve the other for the love of God, that the love counts as LOVE. This is called agape.
BUT YOU HAVE TO KNOW AND LOVE GOD!
Thus, "FAITH" comes first. Faith is what turns "eros" into "agape."
I rest my case.
;-)
Just kidding. But that passage always went up one side of me and down the other. And I know why. Love without Faith is "eros" love. It's selfish love. You need faith in God to kick up the love, a notch or two.
When you act with charity towards another, it may just be an act of convenience. When you "make love" with another, it may be self gratification, or a fulfillment of personal needs. It is only when you serve the other for the love of God, that the love counts as LOVE. This is called agape.
BUT YOU HAVE TO KNOW AND LOVE GOD!
Thus, "FAITH" comes first. Faith is what turns "eros" into "agape."
I rest my case.
Chile
What can I say?
the poem VIVA CHILE MIERDA!
Fernando Alegría
(Unauthorized English Translation by Grecia Bate & Marcia Campos)
When the Chilean goes out into the dawn to pull back the stars
And, damp with morning dew, lights the fire in his spurs;
When the red horse leaps the hurdle of the sea
And the lake trembles with a gentle mist of ducks;
When the wizened larch falls and betwixt its branches falls the sky,
I say with nostalgia: “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
When the deep-sea diver lights his suit
And the whales draw close to suckle at the belly of the boats;
When the country’s skeleton sinks to the bottom of the sea
And like a dead cow, is dragged away by an ancient wave;
When they work the mines and set Antarctica on fire,
I say, pensively, “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
When winter comes floating along the Mapocho River
Like a corpse tied with wires, to flowers and jars;
And dogs lick at him, and he shrinks away embalmed with cats
When it carries one child, and another sleeping child in its frost
And it keeps stirring and stirring its soiled bodybags;
I say, enfuriated, “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
When a squatter camp grows by the light of the moon,
When another crumbles and another factory goes dark;
When a Northern port dies and they wrap it in sand;
When Santiago reeks and its white plazas rust;
When the wine is all gone and the widows morgage their houses;
I say, head bowed, “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
I ask myself suddenly and with amazement why
I say, “Viva Chile, Shit!” and not my… er… beautiful country?
Perhaps in my ignorance I repeat the echo of another echo;
“Viva!” says the seeker with the the gold nugget between his fingers;
“Chile!” says the wind to the green sky of the drunken valleys;
“Shit!” replies the frog to the old witch of Talagante.
What is this deep problem hiding in the lines of my hand?
Is my country an illusion that follows me like a dog’s shadow?
My friends: Is there no Life between us without its shit?
The one for the slave, the other for the master
The one for the exploiter of nitrate, copper, coal, and livestock,
The other for the miner whose life is a subterranean death.
And as we grieve through life on our narrow land overlooking the abyss,
Who was the first to shout out the curse?
Was it a soldier wounded in the battle of Rancagua?
Was it a sailor in Angamos? Or a corporal in Cancha Rayada?
Was it a striker in La Coruña? A clenched fist in San Gregorio?
Or an Easter Islander bleeding in the nightfall of his beaches?
Didn’t the troubador croon his solitude unto the divine
While his humanity, hanged himself with the strings of his guitar?
Didn’t he follow the Holy One on horseback, while his knife’s kept the devil away?
Ah! What a giant undertaking for such a measly destiny!
Between snow and sea, with all our heart, we beat ourselves against a pathway that is walled in.
As a result, in the morning, when God ignores us,
When an earthquake’s shudder rouses us at midnight,
When the sea loots our houses and hides in the woods,
When Chile can no longer be sure of its maps,
And we crow, like a rooster that will peck the sun into pieces,
I say, with resolution, “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
And what I say is a battle cry,
A prayer without end, a farewell call, a fierce command,
A bloody digging in of the spurs, with the reins in the air;
The gallop of Chile’s stallion across centuries,
The grinding of tectonic plates, the ring of fire,
The ancient blue wave of impatient icebergs.
My bird-country, green root, corner where the world ends,
Whoever yells it shall have no peace, will move forward only to fall again,
Because from island to island, from the sea to the mountains,
From one solitude to another, as from one star to another star,
The verdict of the earth will go on howling in our ears:
I say finally, “Viva Chile, Mierda!
h/t to the blog on Fernando Alegria
the poem VIVA CHILE MIERDA!
Fernando Alegría
(Unauthorized English Translation by Grecia Bate & Marcia Campos)
When the Chilean goes out into the dawn to pull back the stars
And, damp with morning dew, lights the fire in his spurs;
When the red horse leaps the hurdle of the sea
And the lake trembles with a gentle mist of ducks;
When the wizened larch falls and betwixt its branches falls the sky,
I say with nostalgia: “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
When the deep-sea diver lights his suit
And the whales draw close to suckle at the belly of the boats;
When the country’s skeleton sinks to the bottom of the sea
And like a dead cow, is dragged away by an ancient wave;
When they work the mines and set Antarctica on fire,
I say, pensively, “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
When winter comes floating along the Mapocho River
Like a corpse tied with wires, to flowers and jars;
And dogs lick at him, and he shrinks away embalmed with cats
When it carries one child, and another sleeping child in its frost
And it keeps stirring and stirring its soiled bodybags;
I say, enfuriated, “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
When a squatter camp grows by the light of the moon,
When another crumbles and another factory goes dark;
When a Northern port dies and they wrap it in sand;
When Santiago reeks and its white plazas rust;
When the wine is all gone and the widows morgage their houses;
I say, head bowed, “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
I ask myself suddenly and with amazement why
I say, “Viva Chile, Shit!” and not my… er… beautiful country?
Perhaps in my ignorance I repeat the echo of another echo;
“Viva!” says the seeker with the the gold nugget between his fingers;
“Chile!” says the wind to the green sky of the drunken valleys;
“Shit!” replies the frog to the old witch of Talagante.
What is this deep problem hiding in the lines of my hand?
Is my country an illusion that follows me like a dog’s shadow?
My friends: Is there no Life between us without its shit?
The one for the slave, the other for the master
The one for the exploiter of nitrate, copper, coal, and livestock,
The other for the miner whose life is a subterranean death.
And as we grieve through life on our narrow land overlooking the abyss,
Who was the first to shout out the curse?
Was it a soldier wounded in the battle of Rancagua?
Was it a sailor in Angamos? Or a corporal in Cancha Rayada?
Was it a striker in La Coruña? A clenched fist in San Gregorio?
Or an Easter Islander bleeding in the nightfall of his beaches?
Didn’t the troubador croon his solitude unto the divine
While his humanity, hanged himself with the strings of his guitar?
Didn’t he follow the Holy One on horseback, while his knife’s kept the devil away?
Ah! What a giant undertaking for such a measly destiny!
Between snow and sea, with all our heart, we beat ourselves against a pathway that is walled in.
As a result, in the morning, when God ignores us,
When an earthquake’s shudder rouses us at midnight,
When the sea loots our houses and hides in the woods,
When Chile can no longer be sure of its maps,
And we crow, like a rooster that will peck the sun into pieces,
I say, with resolution, “Viva Chile, Mierda!”
And what I say is a battle cry,
A prayer without end, a farewell call, a fierce command,
A bloody digging in of the spurs, with the reins in the air;
The gallop of Chile’s stallion across centuries,
The grinding of tectonic plates, the ring of fire,
The ancient blue wave of impatient icebergs.
My bird-country, green root, corner where the world ends,
Whoever yells it shall have no peace, will move forward only to fall again,
Because from island to island, from the sea to the mountains,
From one solitude to another, as from one star to another star,
The verdict of the earth will go on howling in our ears:
I say finally, “Viva Chile, Mierda!
h/t to the blog on Fernando Alegria
Friday, March 5, 2010
Changhun's Definition
Finally, we had a chance to discuss "Freedom" in class. I posted about why in my Feb.25 post. We were talking about "dress codes." Changhun had said that he was surprised that in a free country, you couldn't choose to dress like you want.
His expectation bothered me and I wanted to discuss it. But the classes just never seen to go in that direction. Tonight the opportunity arose and we discussed what "Freedom meant."
I was surprised that Changhun laced his speech with "discipline," and "responsibility." He thought that "freedom" was the right to do what we should do, not whatever you feel like. Your freedom is bounded by laws.
The best example was "food." We are free to eat what we want. But is what we want good for you? To be healthy we must choose foods that are healthy. This was something we all could relate to.
Of course, to me, I think "freedom" is God given, and not something imposed on others by selfish people wanting to impose their will on others.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Am I Female?
Just for kicks I had the Gender Analyzer see what they think the administrator of this blog is.
They guessed correctly, but said that 54% thought it was written by a female, however it's quite gender neutral.
Is that good or bad?
I tried it again with the blog I do for my parish and they were wrong. 74% guessed male.
Dumb Asses.
They guessed correctly, but said that 54% thought it was written by a female, however it's quite gender neutral.
Is that good or bad?
I tried it again with the blog I do for my parish and they were wrong. 74% guessed male.
Dumb Asses.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Mother of Divine Grace
Being the most perfect of God's creatures, Mary is protrayed in prints, pictures, sculpture and other modes of expression. "The Lord is with you," Gabriel tells Mary. He says she is "full of grace." God's love fills her and the life giving power of the Holy Spirit comes to fruition within her. God is Mystery; likewise, Mary. She is the Salve Regina, "our life, our sweetness, our hope."
Our hope for glory is Jesus Christ, but Mary is part of that glory so that she is also our hope.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, come to us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Gandhi's Seven Deadly Sins
Wealth without work. Pleasure without conscience. Knowledge without character. Commerce without morality. Science without humanity. Worship...
-
St Dominic and the Devil by Pietro della Vecchia D Don't you just love legends? I mean stories. St. Dominic stories abound. Of cou... -
Yesterday, I posted about a sculpture on the top of a column in the church of St. Mary Magdalen , in Vezelay, France . Meditating upon the...
-
My Lay Dominican Chapter, Our Lady of Mercy, has the best spiritual director. Today he gave us, what my "cloistered brothers" ca...
