Head Covering

When I go to the Latin Mass I love putting my "mantilla" or chapel veil over my head as I walk into the foyer. There is something so feminine, so beautiful and humble about wearing a head covering in the presence of Our Precious Lord. I remember when I came back to the church after some years away, as I walked into Mass that first momentous time, I instinctively put the silk scarf I was wearing round my neck over my head! It was an unplanned action, and I don't know why I did it because I had NEVER worn a head covering at Mass before or even thought of such a thing. I soon took the scarf off, as no one else in the church was wearing a head covering but I still think it was the right thing to do. I wear a unobtrusive hat when I go to the Novus Ordo now but it's not the same as a chapel veil. Sometimes as I put on my veil I think of all those women who for centuries covered their head in love and reverence before their Lord. Holy Spirit, may it come back soon.

Melchizedek

I have long been been fascinated by Melchizedek, every since I began seriously praying for priests. I first read about him in Genesis 14 and was intrigued by his description "Melchizedek, King of Salem and priest of the Lord Most High". What wonderful titles and it is first time the word 'priest' was used in the Bible. He emerged after Abram had won a great victory and offered him "BREAD and WINE' and blessed him! Isn't that amazing? It was usual in those days to offer a sacrifice but he offered bread and wine. Was he a forerunner of Jesus? Was he acually Jesus? What is certain is that it is a foretelling of the Eucharist! In Hebrews it says Jesus is "A priest forever in the line of Melchizedek" We used to hear that phrase in the Mass but don't seem to now. When I am praying for priests I pray to Blessed Melchizedek as well as other saints. Blessed Melchizedek pray for our priests.

Evening Mass

Once a week we have Mass at 5.30pm. I don't often make it but tonight I did and I've been musing on how special evening Mass is. It's currently dark at 5.30 and there's something very moving about going from the dark street to the dimly lit church, the candles on the altar glowing and the dark, silent congregation kneeling and praying. It seems extra quiet in the church at night too, perhaps the people are more tired and therefore more still than in the morning Masses. And Our Lord comes to us in the darkness and stillness; the hidden, terrifying, beloved Miracle of the Mass.

No Life?

Some years ago I had an elderly neighbour who had been a devout Catholic for most of her life. She told me a very sad story. She had always been a daily Mass goer although she lived a very busy life, but she made sure she always went to Mass. One day the priest arrived to say Mass and he had a friend with him. My neighbour heard the visitor ask the priest "Who ARE these people who come to Mass every day?" The priest answered "Sadly, they are people who have no lives. Daily Mass gives them something to do!" My friend was so hurt and angry she stopped going to daily Mass. Within 5 years she had stopped going to Church altogether. Later, in her sixties, she joined a Protestant church. I thought of this recently when I was talking to our Priest and he was telling me that he was thinking of changing the time of the daily Mass. I suggested he asked the daily Mass goers what THEY thought but he said dismissively "Oh no, they can come at any time, I'm going to ask the Liturgy committee." I really felt that there was the same condescending attitude to daily Mass goers as my neighbour experienced. I hope not but I'm praying.

Awe

Last year, in our Parish, I had the great joy of attending a Mass said by a missionary priest who was in the parish to visit his sick Mother. He said Mass with the most solemn reverence and in his sermon he told us that if we really believed, and thought about, what the Eucharist is, we would approach the altar trembling with awe of the great Gift we were being given. I thought of that this morning at Mass, and realised how very true it is. Praise God for His goodness to us.

Simply Praying.

After the Latin Mass this morning I was chatting with a friend when our beloved Fr. Tom came up and said "I heard you coughing have you got a bad cough?" I started to explain that it wasn't really a cough but a symptom of the acid reflux I suffer from, but before I got very far he had put his hand on my head and began to pray for a healing from "Whatever it is Anna suffers from." It was so simple and unaffected, no great show of 'spiritual language' and it was all over in about one minute. I was so touched and blessed. And I haven't coughed since! God is so good.

Missing Mass

On Sunday I went to my beloved Latin Mass. It's only available every other week, so on the alternate week I go to my Parish church. I was very surprised when two ladies at the Latin Mass told me that on the Sundays it isn't available they just don't go to Mass. They said they can't stand the new Mass so they don't go. I was quite shocked as they are breaking a Law of the Church, but just made a light hearted remark about "If Jesus can stand it I can." But thinking about it later I do feel they are very wrong to miss Mass just because it isn't what THEY want. Our Lord IS there and the Church is very clear about the importance of not missing Mass on Sundays. I've been reading the "Screwtape Letters" by C.S.Lewis, much of it is about how Satan encourages us to criticise and judge other churchgoers so that we'll stop going to Church. Satan loves that, as he knows that when we stop going to Church we drift away from God. I'm praying for those two ladies.

Godzone

New Zealanders have an ambivalent attitude to God. On one hand we often call our country "Godzone" which is typical Kiwi shorthand for "God's Own Country." I think it was originally called that because it had a temperate climate, fertile soil and no snakes, poisonous insects, or dangerous mammals. It was so safe that even many of our native birds WALK rather than fly . And our National anthem is "God defend New Zealand.' (Written by a Catholic priest!) On the other hand New Zealand and Australia have been called the most secular countries that have ever existed. All other cultures have had a god or gods, even if it was the sun or an idol, and some are secular now but have had a lingering history of religion of some kind. But we have no background of that sort, although many of the earlier settlers were missionaries. I would say most Kiwis are totally uninterested in religion, not anti, just not interested. Which makes our nickname and National Anthem even more surprising.

Missing Mass

Our lives have been frantic this last week with family members coming and going in quick succession. As a result I was not able to go to daily Mass as I usually do 3 days a week and my prayer time was severely shortened. And how I miss it! As my last visitor left I spent a few moments, not praying but just sitting in the presence of God and feeling how far I had drifted away from Him in those few days. Mea Culpa.

Thomas

At Mass this evening we had the story of doubting Thomas and Alex and I were discussing it on the way home. Alex said he could quite understand why Thomas didn't believe the disciples had seen Jesus. As any Kiwi would say (sarcastically) "Yeah, right!' I agreed that after you'd seen a man killed and buried you would be doubtful. But I love that Thomas grasped the truth even clearer than the other disciples when he said "My Lord and my GOD!" I'm not sure even the other disciples had come that far...yet (though I'm not a Bible expert). For a Jew, to say someone was GOD was unthinkeable, yet Thomas said it.

I love whispering this prayer at the consecration and have done since I made my First Communion at 6 years old. I'm sure he dropped on his knees when he said it.

I love Thomas.

Alleluia!

Alleluia! He is risen!

There is nothing else to say.

Lacking Courage

Our 3pm Good Friday service was wonderful, very moving and very crowded. At the Veneration of the Cross our priest said that if we wished to, we go forward in bare feet. I had never heard of such a thing before, and no one around me made a move to take their shoes off. I thought it was a wonderful idea and so fitting to humble oneself before the Cross, but I lacked the courage to do it on my own. I was already back in my seat before the last people filed up, and they were led by a group of Indian ladies who were all bare feet, and lots of the people behind them had been emboldened to do the same.

I felt disappointed with myself, if I had taken my shoes off maybe others would have had the courage too.

Next year...

Good Friday

It's so near, Good Friday. My thoughts are with Him who loves us enough to die for us. I once read that "if" the perfect man came into the world OF COURSE we'd kill him. It's what we do as humans, we destroy or pervert God's wqonderful gifts. He gives us delicious food to enjoy, and we become greedy, He gives us the joy of sex and we pervert it in every way we can, He gives us the power to create other humans and we kill them before they're born. I could go on, is there any end to the list?

But he loves us, weak and sinful as we are (well I am anyway). So Good Friday is to me a day of sorrow, repentance, awe and joy. He loves us THAT much. It is very near.

Confessional Joy.

I have long been frustrated with going to Confession. I've had priests who suggest that it is really a waste of time coming, priests who have advocated 'celebrating' my sins by learning from them, and a priest who tries to discuss what in my childhood caused these sins. All these have really put me off going to confession; how I have longed for the old days when the priest was hidden and after a a few words of advice would absolve me.

Today, on Palm Sunday, God answered that deep longing. I went to my beloved Latin Mass and we were told that Father would hear confessions after Mass. I was full of awe at God's goodness I went into the confessional and saw that our dear elderly priest was behind a curtain. He listened quietly to my sins, gave me some wise thoughts to ponder, explained ways I could make a BETTER confession, gave me a serious penance, and absolved me.

I left church full of a joy I haven't felt after Confession for years. God is SO good.

The Stations of the Cross.

I love doing the Stations of the cross during Lent. Last year I did them every Friday after Mass (just by myself) but this year, for one reason or another I've been unable to do them. The only time there is an official Stations at my church is at a time I really can't attend. This Friday I was sure I would be able to say them, I had nothing on after Mass and it was my last chance before Holy Week. Mass finished, I prayed while people left then F. an old crippled parishioner came over and asked me if I could take her home! My heart absolutely sank, she lives quite a way from the church and I live a long way in the opposite direction: there was no way I could take her home and then come back to the church to say the stations. Of course I said yes and offered my disappointment to God. F and I had a lot of laughs on the way to her home as we're good friends and I was glad to help her. I try not to be disappointed. It's all in God's hands so we take what he gives us with joy.

Another Suddenly.

So this is another 'suddenly'. I decided today not to continue with these posts about my spiritual journey. Several different reasons but all good. My promise to myself when I began this blog was that I wouldn't be negative and I do seem to get into negativity in these posts. Perhaps I'm just not a very good writer. So it's "Goodbye Spiritual Journey' and "Hallo whaever comes along."

God is good. Amen.

Coming Home

Most of my spiritual lfe seems to have been, what I call "Suddenlies". Suddenly, I lost my faith, suddenly I regained it again. Now I had another sort of "suddenly". I had been fiercely resisting the strong impression that I should return to the Catholic Church but one day I happened to be walking past a Catholic Church, on my way to do some shopping, when I heard a voice in my head saying "NOW!" Ever since my conversion I had tried my hardest to do what I thought God wanted me to do, so I went into the church and there was a priest hearing confessions. I went into the confessional and told the priest it was 16 years since I had been a Catholic. He asked me why I had come back now...and I said...I was SO dramatic in those days... "I can't escape God any longer!" He said incredulouly "WHAT????" So I back tracked hastily and just said I thought I should.

So I was back, I have read so many reversion stories about people coming back to the Church with great joy, and I wish I could say that was how I felt, but I didn't, I just felt I had done what God wanted so I had to get on with it. I was very surprised at how much the church had changed: no Latin, the priest faced the people, everything seemed more relaxed and, in a way, less holy. But I was OK with the changes, and my children and I changed seamlessly from Anglican to Catholic together.

Stepping Out.

So it was about 2 years after I was secretly converted to Christianity that my neighbour told me that the local Anglican vicar had called on her and invited her to services at his Church. "He seems a very nice man, and I'm supposed to be an Anglican" she explained "would you like to come with me?" She had no idea I was a Christian. Although we were friends we'd never discussed religion. I thought "Why not?" I wasn't ever going to be a Catholic again, I was sure, but I supposed I should belong to a church and an Anglican one was as good as any. So I went with her.

The vicar was a nice man as she said, but more importantly he was a very holy one. He was totally dedicated to God and parishioners and had chosen to stay single so that he could serve with his entire heart, I loved being under his spiritual care.
I was a member of this church for about 6 years. Funnily enough I never thought of myself as an Anglican, I just thought of myself as belonging to that paticular Church. Then, to my horror and dismay God began impressing on my heart that He wanted me to move on. I didn't want to change, I was content and at peace but relentlessly the feeling grew and grew that it wasn't what GOD wanted. To make my depression worse, I felt He wanted me back in the Catholic Church, which was, to be frank, the last place I wanted to be. I fought it, I told myself it was just me imagining things. But after about a year of struggle God acted. Again.

My first Steps.

So I was a Christian once more, but not, I hasten to say, a Catholic. I believed in God, I believed in Jesus. That was all.

The first thing I did was read the Bible. Why did an atheist and an agnostic have a Bible in their home? It was by the grace of God of course, but the apparent reason was that my husband, who loves old things and collects them, had found this Bible in an antique shop. It was printed in 1850 and was quite inexpensive so he bought it. We'd enjoyed having it, not because it was a Bible but because it was old.

So I got out this old Bible and read one of the Gospels the next afternoon. (I am an avid and very fast reader). I closed the Bible when I'd finished and thought, with something like despair "No one could live up to that!" But gradually, I grew more familiar with the gospels and grew to love them. I had never read the bible before. And I prayed. Just little, hesitant prayers. I read books about Christianity. The one thing I didn't do, was tell anyone.

I didn't tell my husband or my sisters or my friends. I'm not sure why that was. For a start I was so awed. How could I tell anyone that I had felt the presence of Jesus in the room? They would thnk I was mad. Yet I never lost my certainty that it had happened. So I just read a few books, prayed a little and read my Bible. It was a precious womb-like time. It lasted about two years.

The first step back..

I was 29 and had been a atheist for about 12 years when God acted. I was in a situation, in my own home, when I was very, very frightened. My husband was at work and my two children were at school and I was absolutely terrified. In my desperation, crouching behind a chair and with my eyes tightly shut I prayed "IF there is a God, DO SOMETHING!" Immediately and incredibly I felt a presence close to me in the room. My eyes were closed and I didn't open them but I felt this definite, calming presence near me. It was an unmistakeable and quite definite presence. I don't know how long it lasted, it was probably only a few seconds, but it changed my life. I just knew 4 things, I don't know how I knew but I was totally sure of them:

The presence was Jesus.
He had come when I was desperate.
He was real, God was real.
I was an atheist no longer.

When I opened my eyes I saw that my prayer had been answered and the threat I was facing had gone. But in a way it didn't matter. I realised I'd been blessed in a way that I didn't deserve. Why would God bother with someone so insignificent as me? I was awed and humbled as my new life as a Christian began.

But it was only the first step on a long, long journey.

Being an Atheist

I was a very happy atheist. I proclamed loudly that Christians were people who needed a featherbed to protect themselves from the realities of life. I faced those realities with the calm confidence of youth. I believed that when I died that was the end of me and I was OK with that. I'd just have a good life and go into oblivion without a regret and at least I didn't have to worry about Hell!

During this period I met and married my agnostic husband and we had our first two children. Oddly enough, as we planned our wedding it seemed as though neither of our families would be attending for completely opposite reasons. Mine because I wasn't getting married in a Catholic Church, and my husband's because he was marrying a Catholic! It made no difference that I had left the church. But by God's grace we did finally get married in the Church. My family had been very upset when I stopped going to church and became a very aggressive atheist but worse was to come. A few months before the wedding one of my younger sisters was killed in a road accident. This was a shocking grief to us all but completely devastated my mother. Despite my beliefs I couldn't cause her any more pain, so we had a quiet wedding in our Catholic church.

This was going to be my last ever church service, but the God in whom I didn't believe, had other ideas.

My journey begins.

I've been thinking about my life's spiritual journey and what a long and tortuous path it's been. My closest friend was born a Catholic and has stayed a faithful Catholic all her life. Mine is a very different story, maybe now is the time to write about the road I've travelled. It may take some time.

I was born into a mixed family. My mother was a Catholic and my father was an agnostic. My mother didn't go to church, she said she didn't have time with 5 children, but she always made us go to church and she sent us to a Catholic school.

I was quite a devout child and into my teens and I knew all the arguments why WE were right and everyone else was wrong. My Faith was like a strong wall against the pagan hordes outside.

However, when I was around 17 years old, for about a year, small cracks started to appear in the wall. Nothing bad happened, I just started noticing little inconsistancies over what was said and what was actually happened. Maybe there was a certain lack of logic, but nothing too worrying and after all I had been taught that to doubt was a sin.

But the cracks must have been more pervasive than I realised, because one casual remark from my father made the whole wall collapse. He asked me why I was going to Mass on Saturdays and I explained patiently and confidently about the 9 (I think) Saurdays. He said dismissively "It sounds like something Red Indians believe." That remark stunned me and in a moment of shocking clarity I thought incredulously 'Yes it is!' and my faith disappeared in a cloud of dust. When it cleared I realised I didn't believe any of it. I refused to go to church again and proclaimed loudly that I was an atheist.

Ash Wednesday

"Remember man that thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return'.

This certainly keeps me focused on my sojourner status!

Sojourner

I love the word 'sojourner' and often think of myself as a sojourner in the world. It says in the dictionary it means "a person who is dwelling in a place for a 'little while'" and that's what I am, aren't I? In the light of eternity the time we spend on earth, 70, 80, 90 years, is very short, though of course when one is young it sometimes seems like forever. But as I get older and realise I will probably die in the next 10 years or so, thinking of myself as a sojourner reminds me that this earth is not my Home, so I shouldn't get too settled and comfortable. It's merely a place I am staying 'for a little while'

Word Love.

Words mean a lot to me. Words move me more than music or paintings, though I can love them too. But poetry, or a line from a beloved book are very precious to me. Once a poem cured me of flu! This particular day I was recovering from a bad dose of flu and feeling wretched when I picked up 'Much Ado about Nothing' and read - for the first time - the minstrel's song: It is about how men can't be trusted and contains the lines :

But sigh not so
And let them go
And be ye blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sighs of woe
To Hey nonny nonny.

They made me laugh so much - yes I have a wierd sense of humour - that I immediately felt better and next day was fully recovered!

It's because of my love of words that I love the Bible. I have favourite verses, favourite chapters, favoutite books. I read from the bible every day and am never disappointed. My favourite chapter of all is Romans 12. I once read nothing else for 9 months. To me it is Christianity summed up. I love it.

"Lord I am not worthy hat you should enter under my roof but only say the words and my soul shall be healed."

I love this prayer that we now say at Mass just before Communion. I know lots of people don't, Alex thinks it's stupid and doesn't make sense but I get such joy from it. It is more subtle than the earlier response we used to say and I love it because it was the reply of a powerful but truly humble man; a Centurian. I think the man's true humility permeates this prayer. It is not a prayer made up by a committee or even an anonymous cleric we know nothing about; we know about this man and know how astonishing such a humble reply by a man of a Master Race to an apparently itinerant Jewish peasant.

I also love it because it has been the traditional response by Catholics for centuries and I am growing in my understanding that the Catholic Church is a Church of Traditions. It has a history and deep, deep roots. Better people than us have developed these roots and preserved them for us. I am learning to embrace them.

Building a Relationship.

I once read that being a Catholic is not keeping a set of rules but having a love affair with Jesus! So how do I have a relationship with someone who I can't see or hear? First I had to get to know Him...so I prayed. A friend said to me "I haven't got time to pray." What would she have thought if I said "I don't have time to shower"? Whatever's important you find time for and I'm a Catholic aren't I? I'm building a relationship so I need to communicate.

So I begin to pray. I start with just 5 mins, a couple of favourite prayers and a few seconds silent awareness that I'm in the presence of Love. The relationship has begun. Alleleuia!

What if?

What if I prayed every hour during the day?

What if I made sure I did at least one good deed every day?

What if I whispered the name of Jesus first thing every morning and last thing every night?

What if I saw praying for priests as the essential part of my day?

What if I put God's service FIRST in my life?

What if I truly loved my neighbour?

What if I was constantly aware that God made me to know him, love him and serve him in this life and to be happy with him forever in the next?

Joy!

This is from a hymn we used to sing and also from a psalm

"In the shadow of His wing
I sing for joy."

Isn't that beautiful? Safe, loved and joyful. The shadow...just His shadow - over us is enough. And it's NOW: "I sing" (present tense). I am doing it now, not at some future date when I've become perfect.

It's like that other beloved psalm:

"The Lord IS my shepherd. What have I to fear?"

As a person who is full of fear I pray I'll remember that.

The Arrival

Our three kings who have been walking across our kitchen benches since Christmas Day have finally arrived at the nativity scene in the dining room, although in the new calendar it is not Epiphany until Sunday. But we have always celebrated it on the 6th so we stayed with it.

Light of the Gentiles we praise you. Amen

skirts

I wore a skirt at the Latin Mass after I read that one can't wear a mantilla with trousers. Well one CAN because I DID but have decided the writer was right. So I got out my (only) 2 skirts (both old) and chose one to wear. But alas, I also had to wear pantyhose which I really don't like. But what a tiny sacrifice. So it's skirts every 2 weeks now. I may even get to like it!