The Church Calendar

The Church Calendar is really a wonderful thing. With each passing year it makes more sense and becomes more ingrained in me. It's one of those subtle yet all important things in life - one that influences basic assumptions and guides the year without ever making itself known.

Since Chris and I have been trying to go to daily Mass regularly, the progression of the Church year has become much more evident to me. I find myself drawn into the season, and then expecting the next season. For example, when, for several weeks, you hear Christ repeatedly telling his disciples that he will be leaving and going to the Father, and that he will send the Advocate, you can't but help anticipating Assumption Sunday and the celebration of Pentecost the following Sunday.

At first, the Church calendar didn't make much sense to me; in fact, it felt "off," lop-sided or top-heavy if you will. But last Saturday we heard a short homily explaining the basic structure of the calendar - and it all came together. (The homily was given by a 90-something year old Dominican who has obviously absorbed the Church seasons into his very being)

A basic outline:

Advent - anticipation of the Incarnate Lord

Christmas - the celebration of the Incarnate Lord (The Christmas season lasts for several days after December 25th)

Lent - 40 days of preparation for walking with the Lord through his suffering and death

Triduum - Treading the Paschal mystery with our Lord

Easter - a celebration of Christ's victory over death. The Easter season runs from Easter Sunday to the celebration of Pentecost, 50 days later. (One very small aspect of the Easter season I really like is the continual burning of the Easter Candle. It is lit at midnight of Easter Sunday, and burns throughout the 50 days of Easter - celebrating Christ as the Light of the world) Towards the end of the Easter season the scripture readings and prayers focus around Christs assumption and the coming of the Holy Spirit.

"Ordinary Time" - the long stretch between Pentecost and the beginning of Advent. Many days celebrating the saints are commemorated during this time. The last Sunday in ordinary time is the "Feast of Christ the King" - celebrating Christ's kingly authority as well as looking forward to his Second coming.

So what didn't make sense to me was why the two big seasons (Advent/Christmas and Lent/Easter) were clumped together, leaving this big long stretch of "Ordinary time" where not a whole lot really happened.

Step in ancient priest to explain. . .

The whole of those two seasons is the celebration of God's saving work - Christ's incarnation, life, ministry, passion, resurrection, ascension and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. At Pentecost the church is born - the Great Commission begins - the Holy Spirit animates the Church (i.e. us!) and the daily, "ordinary" life of the church begins. The celebration of Christ's life on earth gives us courage, hope, grace to follow in the footsteps of the saints, and march under Christ's banner. We set forth, holding close the memory of the Incarnation and Passion, breathing in the Spirit, and celebrating those great men and women who have gone before us - setting the example and showing us how to sanctify our daily life, making it holy, pleasing and acceptable to God. And it is capped off by celebrating Christ the King - directing our eyes to heaven.

So, when it's all said and done, the Church calendar makes a lot of sense and it helps us celebrate and live out our faith.

(A long article from New Advent on the Calendar - if anyone is interested)

The Merry Month of May

The month of May is traditionally dedicated to Mary.  I don't know all of the reasons for this, but I do know it has to do partially with May being the season of new life.  The season of spring, captured in the month of May, reflects Mary's life - open and receptive to the rain and seed, bringing forth the Light and Life of the world.

The church offers many different ways to meditate on and celebrate Mary, one of which is going on a pilgrimage.  

Today, I went on a pilgrimage - short, but a pilgrimage nonetheless.  I walked with two other women and their children, starting at "The Tower," around the outskirts of campus, to the priory at the back of UD's property where there is a small statue of Mary under some trees, and then around the other side of campus,  and back to the Tower.  As we walked we offered our "intentions" (ie petitions) to the care of Mary, asking her to pray with us and for us to the Father.  

It was very fitting, walking with two other women, one five months pregnant and pushing a 1 1/2 year old in a stroller, the other pushing a double stroller with a 2 year old and 7 month old - both huffing and puffing up the hills, running after the boys as they got into weeds or puddles - but all the while offering up prayers.  And we walked - an everyday task - and we mingled our prayers with our everyday.  And we were together - solidarity in our walking and praying, in our chasing after children and huffing and puffing up hills, in our petitions for our husbands and families and children.  At the shrine we sang a song - Immaculate Mary.  Three everyday voices, under the trees, rising heavenward.

"You Will Grieve, But Your Grief Will Become Joy"

Jesus said to his disciples:

“A little while and you will no longer see me, and again a little while later and you will see me.”

So some of his disciples said to one another, “What does this mean that he is saying to us, ‘A little while and you will not see me, and again a little while and you will see me,’ and ‘Because I am going to the Father’?”

So they said, “What is this ‘little while’ of which he speaks? We do not know what he means.” Jesus knew that they wanted to ask him, so he said to them, “Are you discussing with one another what I said, ‘A little while and you will not see me, and again a little while and you will see me’?

Amen, amen, I say to you, you will weep and mourn, while the world rejoices; you will grieve, but your grief will become joy.” Jn 16:16-20

In relation to my thoughts on home, the gospel reading for yesterday seemed rather appropriate. Separation, absence, real grief at the loss of something dear.

Grief signifies the value of the thing lost - or so a very wise woman once said to me.

And one of the greatest and wisest of authors understood this - and seems to have had Christ's parting words in mind when he wrote the following:

"Where are you going Master?" cried Sam, though at last he understood what was happening.  

"To the Havens, Sam," said Frodo.

"And I can't come"

"No Sam, not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ringbearer, if only for a little while.  Your time may come.  DO not be too sad, Sam.  You cannot be always torn in two.  You will have to be one and whole, for many years.  You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do."

"But," said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, "I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done."

"So I thought too, once.  But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam.  I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me.  It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, to lose them, so that others may keep them.  But you are my heir; all that I had and might have had I leave to you.  And also you have Rose, and Elanor; and Frodo-lad will come, and Rosie-lass, and Merry and Goldilocks and Pippin; and perhaps more that I cannot see."

"Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-Earth.  Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil."

Weep and grieve for the loss - for it is fitting.  But, go forth in peace.

Dona Nobis Pacem

Mrs. Gregory's Breakfast Granola

3 cups old-fashioned oats

1 cups unsweetened coconut

1/4 cups wheat germ

1/4 cups flax seed (whole seeds or meal)

1/2 cups chopped walnuts

1/2 cups slivered almonds

2 tablespoons butter

1/4 cup orange juice

1/8 cup honey

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

1 cup dried fruit (optional)

sunflower seeds (optional)

Combine oats, coconut, wheat germ, flax seed, and nuts; set aside.

In small saucepan combine butter, juice, honey and spices.  Cook and stir over medium heat for 3 minutes.  Pour over oat mixture and stir to coat.  Spread on parchment lined jelly-roll pans.

Back at 350 30-35 minutes, until golden brown.  Stir 3-4 times.  Cool and mix in dried fruit.  Store in an air tight container.

This recipe reminds me of the early mornings on the Gregory farm - rolling out of bed to be at the farm ready to go - was it by 5 am?  So early!  Spending the day driving through the beautiful countryside of Northern Michigan, from orchard to farm, orchard to farm.  This was the mid-morning snack - maybe over some yogurt and fresh fruit (with cherries perhaps), maybe just a handful at a time.  

The thing I love about making granola is that you can substitute and use what you have on hand.  No Wheat germ? throw in some bran.  Try oil instead of butter.  Use some brown sugar instead of all the honey.  It's so easy. 

Thoughts on Home

Yesterday evening I was pondering the subject of "Home" - mostly the Farm, which in many respects will always be home for me. My parents are selling it and the thought of loosing it is terribly sad to me. I miss it so terribly already - the smell, the feel, the look, the people. The more I remembered, the more I missed it all. I felt rather homeless. Of course, I'm not homeless, but the farm is where my roots are and it is where I grew up and it contains everything that is homey for me.

These thoughts were with me as Chris and I walked up campus to Mass that evening.

During Mass I was rather distracted with more thoughts and emotions flooding in. The feeling of homelessness was so acute. But in the sadness of this loss, and in the stillness after receiving communion, I heard a voice say "I am your Home."

And then . . .

"I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me, because I live and you will live. On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you." (The Gospel reading for the 6th Sunday after Easter)

"In him we live and move and have our being"


"Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me.
In My Father's house are many dwelling places; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. If I go and prepare a place of you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that were I am, there you may also be."

". . .receive you to Myself, that were I am, there you may also be. . ."

Home is where Christ is. Home is Christ.

And I was comforted in my moment of sadness, loneliness - homelessness.
We are never alone, and we are never homeless.

And I was also filled with gratitude that I am a member of the Church - literally "incorporated into the mystical body of Christ"- thankful that I was there, kneeling in front of the Blessed Sacrament, in that physical church - that I had just received Christ into me - that I was with Christ.

Fascinating

Yesterday, while standing in line for confession in the Philosophy department hall, I surveyed a display board with recent publications from the faculty.  One of the titles contained the following word:

Biopsychosociospiritual

Is that legal?  It took me a long time to figure out how to break it up and read it - that middle section is a toughie - and I was hooked on the word "Biopsy" since the word that came after that conglomeration was "medicine."

The first paragraph of the essay (which was all that was posted) talked about how, for hundreds of years, sickness, death and dying took place in a monastic community.  Monks and brothers were the herb masters and doctors and a large focus of monastic life was on caring for the poor and needy - those approaching death especially.  In such a community the dying were tended to both physically and spiritually (thus the big old word in the title).  The monks and nuns had a way of life and view of death that aided those confronting their own mortality.  The author posits that, although sickness and death as well as medicine and patient care have changed dramatically, we have retained some remnants of this sort of care . . . 

and that was all that was posted.  

Fascinating

  

Our little deck