Saturday, March 26, 2005 +

Notes 92 (Obedience)

Life is a kind of hearing. Life is a kind of speaking.

Life is a kind of reading. Life is a kind of writing.

Life is a kind of passion. Life is a kind of action.

Life is a kind of prayer.

02005 03 26 +

Dear Jesus,

We are walking to Emmaus: please walk with us.

We are a warring people: please give unto us your peace.

We have not believed: please let us see.

Your Terri is persecuted: please deliver her from the hand
of her enemies.

Your Peter is carried whither he would not: please carry him.

Please suffer us to love one another as you love us.


Friday, March 25, 2005 +

02005 03 25 +

Prayed the “Stations of the Cross through downtown Albany” with members of the Catholic Worker Community and others. Some peaceniks and liberals will go into the kingdom of God before me.

8:00 PM At the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, kissed the foot of the large wooden cross and received Communion. During the veneration of the cross we sang “Were You There”, and during Communion “Jesus, remember me.” We sang the latter while walking the outdoor Stations this afternoon, except it was “Jesus, remember us.”

After the service, Deacon Ray Sullivan told me he prays that I become a deacon. This is the first I’ve heard of it.

Notes 91 (Sad Friday)

Better to fail at what one should do than to succeed at what one should not do.

If Molière had not written Le Misanthrope, who would miss it? If you had not come down to earth, who would miss you?

If after Communion your body is in me, to whom am I kneeling?

What Luther is to Catholics, Augustine is to the Orthodox.

The shortsightedness of immortals is appalling.

To have followers, it is wise to pretend to know something.

There are no creeds in heaven.

If the purpose of removing Terri Schiavo's feeding tube is to kill her, then it would be less inhumane to give her a lethal injection.

We are the far country that the prodigal son journeyed into.

In my heart of hearts I am evil.

Good Friday

Circles for Good Friday

A Java applet

Thursday, March 24, 2005 +

02005 03 24 +

After Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper and then a soup and bread supper with parishoners, Mary and I saw the nearly full moon illuminating a starless sky dressed in clouds like parchment.


Circles for Holy Thursday

A Java applet

Last and First Supper

Read in St. John’s-St. Ann’s Church, 1997
Read in the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, 2004

We women were with Jesus when he died. The men had run away—except John, who was with Jesus’ mother. We women served him for three years while he went around teaching and preaching to anyone who wanted to listen. And to some who didn’t like what they heard. We served him and helped him with our money.

The end was terrible. I hated the dirt. His pain. The noise of that screaming mob. We women saw it. His mother Mary, Mary Magdalene, Salome, and other women. We stayed with him till it was over, and we prepared his body for the tomb.

I said I followed him, but it was my sons I followed—James and Joses. They left good jobs—put their tools on the ground when he called them. They said there was nothing else to do. I was angry. They could have married, raised families. Children. My grandchildren.

When they began to travel with their teacher, I went along too. Can you blame me? I’m a widow. A woman with no family can’t survive. My sons were supposed to take care of me, and now I was taking care of their teacher.

He called himself the light of the world. He was always talking about love. Love your neighbor as you do yourselves. Love God with your whole heart and your whole soul and your whole mind and your whole strength. Love your enemy. Do good to those who hate you. Love yourself because God loves you. Always love. I began to like being with him.

It was almost Passover. We were in Bethany one evening at Simon’s house—he had been a leper but Jesus had cured him, made him whole again. A woman I’d never seen before entered carrying an alabaster jar. In the jar was expensive perfume. The woman poured the perfume on Jesus’ head. The smell was intoxicating. I thought I could live the rest of my life in that wonderful smell. Some of the men were furious: “Why are you wasting this perfume?” they said. “We could have sold it for over three hundred silver pieces and given the money to the poor.”

But Jesus scolded them: “Let her alone,” he said. “Why judge her? The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me. She is preparing me for my burial. Wherever the good news is proclaimed throughout the world, what she has done will be told to remember her.”

Then Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, stood up quickly. He seemed angry. My son James asked what was the matter. But Judas didn’t answer. He just left Simon’s house without looking back.

On the first day of Unleavened Bread, we celebrated the Passover supper in a large upstairs room in Jerusalem. At the table, Jesus talked about dying. He said that he was going home to his Father. He said, “I give you my word, one of you is about to betray me, yes, one who is eating with me.”

The men all said to him, “Surely not I!” We women—what could we say?—we had served him and learned to love him and didn’t care about power and being on his right hand and being the greatest and judging the tribes of Israel, we women didn’t say anything.

Then he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to all of us. “Take this,” he said, “this is my body.” He took a cup, gave thanks to his Father, and gave it to us, and we all drank from it. He said to us: “This is my blood, the blood of the covenant, to be poured out on behalf of many. I solemnly assure you, I will not again drink of the fruit of the vine until the day I drink it in the reign of God.” Then he said, “Do this to remember me.”

We didn’t understand what he was saying, but we all —the women and the men—we all ate and drank.

Talitha Cumi

From Gospel Scenes

Jesus returns to Capernaum. Jairus, a leader of the synagogue, is in the large crowd of people waiting for him. Going to Jesus, he falls down in front of him and begs for help.

JAIRUS. My little daughter is nearly dead. Please come and put your hands on her. You’ll cure her and she will live.

He goes with Jairus. The crowd follows, jostling them both. Suddenly Jesus turns.

JESUS. Who touched me?

HIS FOLLOWERS. Everybody’s crowding about you and you ask, “Who touched me?”

He continues to look around him. A woman, scared and trembling, steps out of the crowd and falls at his feet.

JESUS. Daughter, rejoice, your faith has made you whole.

The woman had sufffered from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had been treated by many doctors and had spent all she had trying to find a cure but had gotten worse instead of better. Then she heard of Jesus, followed him, and touched his clothes, thinking, “If I can only touch his clothes I shall be cured.”

JESUS. Walk in peace, and be free.

They reach Jairus’ house and see people running about and wailing. Someone comes out and tells Jairus, “Your daughter is dead: send him away.”

JESUS to Jairus. Don’t fear—have faith.

They go into the house.

JESUS to the mourners. Why are running you around wailing? The girl isn’t dead, but sleeping.

The laugh at him bitterly, but he prevails on Jairus to have them sent out of the house. He, Peter, James, and John accompany Jairus and his wife to the girl’s room. A child of about twelve lies in bed. He takes her hand.

JESUS. Talitha cumi: little girl, wake up.

The girl gets out of bed and walks to her parents.

JESUS to Jairus. Tell no one what you have seen. Give the girl something to eat.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005 +

2005 03 23 +

Have a computer again, but with the Easter Triduum coming up, will limit posts to that.

Monday, March 21, 2005 +

Blind Mouths

Sunday, March 20, 2005 +

Circles for Palm Sunday

A Java applet