Thirty reasons why I know God is good.

For the last several months I've been posting reasons why God is good, Gig's. To give credit where credit is due I got the idea from the three incredibly blessed days that I spent at Prayer and Action in Norton, KS this summer. Recently I hit #30 and figured it would be a good time to look back on them. As I was reading through them, it prompted me to reflect back on how God has been working in my life this semester, which was really awesome. I'd been feeling like this had been kind of a quiet semester (compared to Rome anyways) but upon looking back on these reasons I realized God has really been doing a lot in my life. Take sometime this advent to reflect on how God's been working in your life. Anyway these are my first 30 reason why I know God is good:

1. The petition from tonight's Evening Prayer - Guide travelers along the path of peace and prosperity...
2. Realizing just how many good people I'm surrounded by everyday and how many more I have to meet.
3. After coming out of the first Philosophy of Being: Philosophy of the Person class of the semester Pandora plays "less that perfect more than flesh and bone" Matt Maher.
4. He made Kansas.
5. Perfectly beautiful late summer nights
6. Fresh Homemade food on a Sunday evening. Props Matias Hospitality Group.
7. For giving us humans the ability to bring together the labor, research, and expertise of literally hundreds of individuals into my bowl of honey nut cheerios.
8. The newness of creation as the sunsets into a clear sky after 2 straight days of rain. And on Mary's birthday no less!
9. Reconciliation.
10. Dancing all night at the world's largest honky-tonk w/ a great group of UD'ers.
11. Good food, great friendship and a slightly overcooked cake on a Sunday night.
12. A roomate that gets me out running and working out when I have no motivation too.
13. The feast of the Seven Sorrows of Mary. Check out the rosary of the seven sorrows: http://7sorrows.org/7sorrows.aspx
14. For His faithful instrument, Rex, a good Samaritan that
dropped his plans to help us when our alternator quit in the middle of
nowhere Oklahoma.
15. Tonight's gratefulness - for bringing me into the world in a Catholic family, for a 2,000 year old tradition of religious art and architecture, for sacramental grace, and Matt Maher, Addison Road, and 10th Ave North in concert.
16. The first fall chill, beautiful Gregorian chant at mass, and praise and worship afterwards
17. A 10pm, classical piano concert for three in the Church of the Incarnation.
18. Blessed Bartolo Longo and the 'Supplica': http://vultus.stblogs.org/2010/10/o-rosario-benedetto-di-maria.html#more
19. For creating a little town on the side of a hill in Northern Italy as the headwaters of the river of grace, poured out through a poor humble man dressed in rags and his devote followers. Happy feastday of St. Francis! P.S. if you want to check out the blog of my time there last semester: http://quo-vadis-deum.blogspot.com/2010/02/pax.html
20. For friends who always remind me God is good.
21. For healing all ten. Today's Gospel: Lk 17:11–19
22. An indescribably blessed weekend. (TEC 126 Hoot among other things)
23. "You walk with me, you never leave, you're making my heart a garden." Matt Maher for the second time in a month!
24. For His faithful servant St. John Vianney, "The Lord does not ask us to be martyrs of the body but rather to be martyrs of the heart and the will."
25. For reminding me to laugh at myself
26-28. For reminding me what stars are, why I love KS, and for putting me in a gigantic family full of wonderful cooks. Happy Thanksgiving y'all!
29. For making bobcats with cabs and heaters. Unbelievable!
30. His faithfulness knows no end.

Theology of a Sunset

This is an idea that came to me while I was working on the farm last summer. However it most definitely has its roots in the awesomeness and beauty that we were surrounded by while in Italy last semester (Watching the sun set into the Tyrrhenian Sea from the Alban hills just south of Rome is pretty cool, as is the Umbrian sunset from the top of a castle in Assisi, as is seeing the sun go down into the Adriatic while sailing to Greece, etc. etc.) Like I said though, this idea didn’t come to me until the hottest, driest three weeks of the summer. I’ve held off typing it out because I felt like it wasn’t quite time yet; the ideas hadn’t worked themselves all the way out. After talking it through with my good friend Sara Gudde, who came down to visit me here at UD last weekend, I feel ready. In addition, after Sara and I had visited, the sunset Sunday evening was perhaps the most amazing I have seen thus far in TX. I felt like that was God’s little way of saying it was time. Anyways enough prologue, here it goes; I may revise or add to it later but I think the time is right.

I’ve realized after coming to school here in Texas (where we have some small hills and trees and stuff), that one of the beauties of growing up in a place so flat as the flood plain of the Big Arkansas River is that you can watch the sunset. Here at UD the last 20 min of the sunset the sun is behind this big hill and a bunch of trees, but back home, if you stand in the right spot, you can watch the sun go all the way to the horizon. This makes for a different type of sunset. This summer it got really hot and dry for three weeks straight. Something about that weather consistently produced the most amazing sunsets. My friend Sarah Brenner and I had been texting each other whenever we saw a really good one and it seemed like we ended up texting each other each night for several weeks. Since I was working on the farm I got to watch them every evening and after a while an idea started to take hold. It started to sink in how much each individual sunset was an absolute masterpiece, no less than the Bernini’s or Michelangelo’s we studied in Rome. And yet these sunsets lasted at their most brilliant for only about 30 seconds before they began to fade down to dusk. If that’s how it worked with human masterpieces, that they only lasted for a few moments before fading; if Caravaggio’s only lasted for a split second, people would never cease lamenting such a tragedy. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the story of the Prodigal Son called instead the story of the Prodigal Father, the idea being that the father is so generous and forgiving with his love that it is almost wasteful, prodigal. I feel like God is that way with sunsets. Each one is a masterpiece, a treasure perfected by God’s own hand and yet we only have a split second to appreciate them before they are gone forever. As much as we may want to capture them and hang on to the beauty, we can’t. Even the best picture can’t capture the shear creative splendor and the power of experiencing an awesome sunset firsthand. All that we can do is thank God for the love He makes manifest so presently to us, and move on knowing that each evening He repeats this breathtaking spectacle of His love for us.

This idea applies to more than just sunsets or even the beauty of the natural world though. Sarah Gudde said she felt like her life was full of “sunset moments.” Whether they are the awesome view from a mountain top, the friendly smile of a stranger, or a sweet, brief friendship, these moments all pass, they are not ours to keep. We should not despair at the transitory state we live in, but rather thank God for the new gifts He is constantly giving us. Imagine if the sky was always the flaming red of a brilliant sunset, would we be able to appreciate its beauty? No; it is because it lasts only for a split second that the sunset is so remarkable to us. If we spend our time wishing we still had those gifts that have already passed we will miss all the ones God is surrounding us with in the present. In one of my favorite prayers from St. Augustine, he addresses God as “Beauty ever ancient, ever new.” I think Augustine is hitting at the same idea, God is forever (eternally) making present His love for us in new, creative ways. If each sunset was the same beauty or if life was a perpetual sunset we would not have the opportunity to realize constantly God’s love in new and completely unique ways.

This is not to say that this transitory life is perfectly satisfying. It’s not. There is some part of us that longs for permanence, for stability. I think that this is by design though, His design specifically. Without this longing we might be satisfied merely by created things rather than longing for a relationship with the creator himself. This inner longing cannot be satisfied by anything in this world but only by our God who is “ever-ancient, ever-new.”

I want to finish with a quote given to me by a friend.
Every wonderful sight will vanish; every sweet word
will fade, but do not be disheartened.

The source they come from is eternal…
growing, branching out, giving new life and new joy.

Why do you weep?
That source is within you as well…
-Jelaluddin Rumi

Take a second to appreciate the “sunset moments” in your life today, or better yet make an effort to be one for someone else. God Bless!

Let everything that lives and breaths praise the Lord -Psalm 150

This week as I was trying to come up with something worth writing a blog entry about, God in his great faithfulness bailed me out yet again and gave me an awesome experience to write on. Last Tuesday, the feast of All Souls Day, the Cistercian Abbey of Our Lady of Dallas had their annual Requiem Mass. Here's a link to the Kyrie of the Anerio Requiem that was sung so you can get an idea: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NhrUkI3X30&feature=related

The Collegium Cantorum from UD that sang the polyphonic chant for the mass was truly amazing. I once read a reflection of priest about his guardian angel, he said that his guardian angel was always drawing him to the Mass, and was most perfectly in a state of bliss during the celebration of the Eucharist. He said it was almost as if he could hear the flutter of wings when the host was elevated at the consecration. If ever there was a liturgy to evoke the fluttering of wings it was this Requiem. The simply awe-inspiring music was enhanced by the significance of the feast we were celebrating, in offering the mass for all the souls of the dearly departed. The universal church, militant, suffering, and triumphant seemed especially present in the standing room only church that night. It was as if you could feel physically the " so great cloud of witnesses surrounding us" Hebrews 12:1. What an honor and blessing to be part of something so profound.

Finally, I thought it was an awesome testament to the Catholic faith that the last two things to provoke me to post a blog entry have both been music, radically different types of music, and yet radically the same in their praise and honor of God. In our church we bring together centuries old traditions like Anerio's polyphonic chant with the contemporary praise of Matt Maher. How blessed are we that God didn't just give us one way to praise him through music, but an infinite myriad. May he be forever praised in the Kyrie's and the Hold Us Together's.

You're Making My Heart a Garden

First, I must apologize for, as my blogging accountabilty partner has reminded me, I have been doing a deplorable job writing regularly. Lucky for me though the Matt Maher concert at the Univeristy of Dallas Ministry Conference tonight so was amazing that I couldn't help putting up a blog right away.

While the whole concert was wonder-full, (Matt Maher has such an awesome testimony, message and an incredible gift at leading worship) there was one point in particular at which I was just stunned by God's faithfulness. I'll do my best to paraphrase how he introduced the song, or at least how I took it:

You know us humans have it pretty good. We were made; not only that but we were made on the sixth, the last day that He worked. And then He rested on the seventh day, He went on vacation, and we got to go along. We didn't have to do any work and yet still we got to go along to the garden where God walked with us. But we left that garden and ever since then God's been trying to get us back. He sent prophets, judges, and kings but to no avail. Finally, He, God Himself, took on our flesh so that He could also take our sins upon himself to make the situation right again. And because of that sacrafice He made for us we're all able to be here tonight. Because of that sacrafice we can return to the garden and walk with God once again. However, that garden is no longer so much an external thing as it is an internal thing. God cultivates that garden inside, in our hearts...and maybe as that change takes root it changes the way we look at the external world too.

He then proceeded to play "Garden" listen to it -> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9P9RkwLK-0

While he was playing I was thinking about his introduction for the song especially the part about how when that change begins to take root in our heart maybe it will being to change the way we look at the external world and we be'd walking with God. That's when it struck me that I'd had that esperince before. One time on a narrow paved road, on an early summer's night in the middle of nowhere Israel, at the base of Mount Tabor I walked a few miles down to a bus stop just visiting with a good friend. We shared a few two-pence peices of bread between us. The weather could not have been more perfect, there was the gentlest breeze blowing over a field of hay that'd just been cut, and we were heading to Jerusalem the next day to celebrate Our Lord's Passion, Death, and Resurrection. It was probably the most beatiful night I have ever had the privalege of living through. I remember thinking at the time that it was like God had transfigured creation for us that one night, just as His Son had been transfigured upon the mount we had so recently descended.

Standing there among all of those young adults on fire for their faith I realized that on that night at the base of Mount Tabor we had been walking with God. Talk about chills. I also realized that I can walk with God anytime, whenever I realize His hand in all the little creations He has surrounded me with. Whereever He's leading me I am more committed than ever to going becuase I know He'll be walking with me. Quo Vadis? Where are you going? God Bless!

He Married Kansas

It may have been apparent from my "reasons to love Kansas" facebook statuses over the summer, but I am more than a little grateful for having been born and raised in such an blest land. A while back a friend sent me an article that her brother-in-law had written and had published in the Salt Lake City Diocesan newspaper while he lived out there. I feel obliged to pass it along because it is just so dang awesome. Enjoy (and if your not from Kansas I'm sorry if you don't get it, you'll have to come and experience it for yourself sometime):

I Married Kansas

by Kase D. Johnstun

When hills turn to valleys along the flat landscape of the Missouri river, she starts to get excited. Her voice inflections while reading Harry Potter become more exuberant, and she glances more often off the pages at the stringy flapping corn rows and the "Beef, it’s what for dinner" signs that contrast the feeding cows behind them, unknowing of their inevitable fate – they’re for dinner. Once corn becomes drastic slants and curves of rocky-northern, dust bowl shards of land, she knows she is home. Conversation becomes focused. Autumn is playing golf and doing well at it. Chelsea’s back-hand springs are getting better. Kristen and Doug have a new puppy. Mom is threatening to quit her job, because they treat her like crap. Dad has been doing concrete in Kansas City.

The nighttime glow of the cities is gone and the stars from my childhood reappear. They’re still out there, vastly spanning and sparkling across the entire sky, and the feeling of minuteness of childhood returns – they are still there and I am still small. In the scope of the universe, I have not grown. She looks up at them too. To her, the stars mean home, a home with stars that have not gone away, stars that are a cradle of comfort in the deep Kansas night that stretches for miles of quiet miles. The quiet, expansive miles surround me as I look for a non-existent horizon and I feel tiny again.

Everything is 15 minutes away by car. How far until we get to Pittsburg? 15 minutes. How far away is your grandma’s? About 15 minutes. How far until Wal-Mart? About 15 minutes. Any idea how long it is going to take to get everyone in the car? Easily 15 minutes.

At nine, at 12, at 18, and at 22, I could have never trekked the trails of my mountainous imagination and seen the mile-by-mile roads of Southeast Kansas, the deep and life-long connection I now have to it, the new family that waits for us to visit, the upstairs bed that creaks, and the random cats the creep outside during the night. I married Kansas – the cold, windy Christmas mornings, the small town festivals, the cake walks, the fried chicken, the hospitality, the friendliness, the eternal optimism of Christian living, the dead silent nights, and the howling coyotes – I married Kansas.

I married Kansas, the stories about eight man football, the large American flag in front of the high cross in front of the VFW, the church where all social events are held, from rowdy wedding receptions to elementary school birthday parties. I married long pauses between words, making sure everything has been said, as to not rudely interrupt, calmly listening until I have made my point, as to make sure I felt I had something important to say.

When I stood at the end of the stretching Cathedral Aisle, Kansas walked to me, clutching her father’s hand, looking as beautiful as a harvest sunset. Kansas took my hand and sat next to me during the service and said, I do. The small creatures that roam the night in the fields and the tornado shelters looked up at me and cried and walked back down the aisle with me holding my hand tightly, waiving to our families. I married Kansas, a love for family that roots in the rich soil of soy beans and wheat and grows strongly with every season, popping out proudly and strong above the dark, clay-like detritus of her mother. The doors of the Cathedral opened and together, the warm love and comforting smile of Kansas and I walked out together. Kansas kissed me, and I said I will love you forever, Kansas.

Pay it forward

Driving back down to UD this Sunday I felt like a had a pretty good idea for a blog entry about my weekend in Kansas. God had different ideas. As we were nearing Blackwell, OK about an hour and a half away from home in Kansas and four hours away from home in Texas, my truck started doing funny things. First the radio quit which was soon followed by the speedometer. At this point I thought maybe a wire had come loose as I'd been having some problems with the dash, that was until I noticed that my dashboard lights were really dim and upon further inspection of my gauges I realized that the voltage was not reading at all. For a gasoline-powered, internal combustion engine this is a problem. So as we passed Blackwell the truck began to stutter and as I pulled up the exit ramp of Hubbard Rd, three miles south of Blackwell, it died completely. Thus David and I were left sitting just off I-35 in the Middle-of-Nowhere OK with a dead battery and burned out alternator. I got out of the truck, popped the hood, poked around a little, called my dad, and we decided that it was most likely that the alternator had gone out (the part that charges the battery so the spark plugs can spark and thus power your engine). My dad got in the truck to come and help us fix it and David and I were about to settle in for a good long wait when a little car pulled up the off ramp. A middle-aged man got out and asked if we needed any help. He must have decided at the very last second to stop because his car was already halfway around the corner onto Hubbard Rd. After I told him the problem he offered to give me a ride back into Blackwell, which had a few parts stores, as he was on his way there to pick up some kids for youth group. I ran the idea by my dad who was still on the phone and then got in the car while David stayed behind to watch the truck and work on homework. He dropped me off at the O'Reilly's in town and they had refurbished alternator that would work.

Over the course of the drive to and from I got to know this good Samaritan named Rex. He grew up on a farm and still did a little farming while he wasn't at his job in sales support for Conoco-Phillips. In fact we stopped by his farm after dropping off the youth group kids to pick up some tools. He had one adopted son who had actually majored in Politics (my major), had gone to law school and was now a staffer for an Oklahoma Senator in DC. He came from a tight-nit farm family and was a devoted Methodist. He had grown up near Nordin, and was watching people slowly move away, off the farm, and the resulting gradual decline of rural Oklahoma. As we got on I-35, headed back to the truck the conversation really got good though. He led off by saying that he didn't want to offend but that he felt he needed to say that it didn't matter what we call ourselves, Methodists, Catholics, etc, it was out belief in Jesus Christ that made us Christians, which I agreed to (religion had come up earlier in the drive due in part to the large white cross in the middle of my shirt which I suspect was part of the reason why he stopped). He went on to tell me how God seemed to give him all kinds of opportunities to help people, us most recently. He had been on his way to Ponca City to pick up a kid for the youth group, when the leader called to say that guy wasn't coming and could he go to Blackwell to pickup a few other kids. He'd just passed the Blackwell exit when he got the call so he drove on up to the Hubbard St exit to turn around and when he exited there David and I sat. We hadn't been there for more than a minute or two when he pulled up; the timing of God never ceases to amaze me. When I tried to thank him for dropping his plans to help us, he told me not to thank him because he was just the instrument and the only plan he was trying to carry out was God's (reminds me of some other friends back home). About that time we got back to the truck. The old alternator came out out surprisingly easily and the new one went in just as well. As Rex was hurriedly collecting his tools so he could get back to the youth group, I thanked him again and tried to give him some money for his time and gas, but he wasn't about to take it. He told me for the second the only person I had to thank was God, and I promised him I'd pay it forward. I also thank God for my dad who dropped everything on a Sunday afternoon to drive an hour just to have us get the truck fixed shortly before he got there.

Since Sunday I've been trying to realize the little opportunities of charity God has given me to carry out that promise, and in a way I hope this post is one of those little acts. I hope the story of our little adventure will bring you the same kind of feeling of awe at the goodness of God's plan that David and I had, and that it will encourage you to look for your own little ways of touching others' lives. Our unexpected breakdown ended up being the highlight of a great weekend and a motivation to grow in charity. How is God working through the unexpected in your own life? God Bless and until next time quo vadis, where are you going?

By the Sweat of Our Brow

The thought that I'm going to try and bring out in this post was prompted by a conversation with a good friend almost a year ago, but most of the ideas came to me while milking cows just before coming to school this summer. I finally decided to sit down and write it firstly, in honor of Labor day yesterday, and secondly because in his homily yesterday Fr. Macguire, OCist., put the capstone on my thoughts. Anyways here goes:

As I was saying this line of thought was started about a year ago by a conversation with a good friend who was trying to figure out what to do with her life. The conversation came around to me and what I thought I might end up doing. I jokingly said that for all I know I might end up farming the rest of my life, God seems to have an ironic sense of humor like that, and because I really didn't have (and pretty much still don't have) any idea what He wants me to end up doing. My friend was a little taken aback (she's the type that wants to cure cancer, or be he first female president, etc). "Farming?" she said "Come on Seiler you're called to something bigger than that." Not that she had any disdain for farming but she was of the opinion that we have been given so much at UD through the Core, the Rome program, and the unbelievable Catholic identity all of which combines into a world class liberal arts education and if we have been given so much it was only because we were expected to make full use of it and do grand things. Change the world so to speak. She was supported in this by scripture too, "Much will be required of the person entrusted with much" Luke 12:48.

I wrestled with this idea for a while because instinctively I felt that there was something not quite right about it, however, I wasn't able to put my finger on just what. After a while the conversation slipped from my mind and I wasn't reminded of it until I was milking cows one afternoon a few weeks ago. (Quick tangent: Over the summer I really developed an appreciation for milking cows. It's a great time to think because the basic actions don't require than much mental engagement but yet you are constantly moving for the full three hours. Thus, your mind is pretty much free to think about whatever you want and you don't get sleepy because you never stop moving long enough to.) Anyways back to the topic, as I was thinking in the barn the Gospel from a few days before came to mind. It was the one in which Jesus is in Nazareth and they try and throw him off a cliff after he says how a prophet is never accepted in his homeland. It has always seemed remarkable to me that we have almost no information about Jesus's life between his birth and baptism. Thirty whole years, the vast majority of His life, and we know practically nothing about them. His life during this time was so unremarkable that even His neighbors and the townspeople of Nazareth in the Gospel story didn't notice anything extraordinarily different about Jesus as is evident when they didn't believe he could be the Messiah. Then out of nowhere the conversation I'd had with my friend came back to me. Here was the Son of God, gifted above all men, full of grace, possessing of everything that was the Father's and for thirty years the best, most perfect thing he could do was learn and practice the simple trade of a carpenter. Here was the most perfect human to ever live and the most perfect thing he could do for the first part of His life was humble, poor, manual labor. As I was trying to make sense of this in light of Luke 12:48 I thought of a quote by Mother Teresa that I had just heard that week: "God does not measure our faithfulness by our success but rather He measures our success by our faithfulness." Thus Luke 12 is right, great things will be expected of us who have been given so much, but that which is expected is not necessarily great deeds in the eyes of the world, but rather great faithfulness.

This idea of the simplicity of faithfulness in our vocations had been stirring around in my head as we started school and then in an act of pure Providence Fr. Macguire used the readings from the feast of St. Joseph for Mass on Labor day. The first reading for the feast of St. Joseph is the account of the 6th and 7th days of creation and most powerfully for me the Gospel was the story of Jesus in Nazareth telling the people that a prophet is never accepted in his native place. Father then gave a whopper of a homily (it was a 50 min daily mass all together) but it was right on the mark. It centered on the idea that we were called to imitate God and perfect creation. While this sounds a little strange at first, improving upon our perfect God's creation, that is after all the way He designed it to work. He filled creation with all kinds of potential. He gave us fertile ground the be cultivated, useful metals to be mined, wood to be constructed, and our minds to develop along with infinite other gifts in creation just waiting to be perfected by man. When we bring order to creation as He instructed us, we are truly imitating God. What a sublime calling!

To wrap it up then I want to challenge all of you to spend some time in prayer, especially those of us that are in thick of discerning our Vocations. I challenge you to ponder closely Christ's example in His home in Nazareth. As St. Therese of Lisieux is so famous for saying, not all of us are called to be roses, some of us are just created to be simple daisies. It's a challenge for us to humble ourselves and to perform with great love the simple and mundane things God has called us to, but it is only when we surrender ourselves to His will in this way that the truly great thing can begin to happen, heroic faithfulness. As brothers and sisters in Christ we are all on this journey together so please keep me in your prayers as you all are in mine. God Bless, good luck, and until next time: "quo vadis," where are you going?

Tribute

So I'm not sure if this blog will be worth reading now that I'm not traveling to all sorts of exotic places but I figured I ought to give it a shot anyways as there are a few different things that have been stirring around in my head recently.

A few days ago we started chiseling wheat ground and the first field I worked was that of an old friend, Maury Brand. Maury passed away almost two year ago in a farm accident. Although he was around 75, I count him among my good friends. He was a solid Catholic, the head of his family and a true Kansas farmer, even though he only farmed 160 acres in his retirement after working in a meat packing plant his whole life. Maury also had a little Piper Cub that he flew out of a grass runway in his wheat field. I was blessed enough to ride with him on a few beautiful summer evenings the summer before he passed away.

I'm not sure I'm going to be able to explain this to any of my non-farmer friends but I've always known that there is something very spiritual about farming. It probably has something to do with being so closely connected to God's creation for your livelihood, the trust that comes from being able to control so few of the variables that determine your success. Whatever it is, I can see it when I help my Dad deliver a new-born heifer or when I listen to my Grandpa describe his simple and yet invincible belief in God. The other day when I was chiseling up Maury's wheat ground I felt it in an especially personal way. You learn about a piece of ground when you work it (even more so when you don't have autosteer). You learn how the water drains off of it in the ditches and how it doesn't in the mud holes. You learn about the soil; where the sand, alkali, clay and black dirt are. You can tell where the high yielding spots are by the thickness of the stubble and where the low yields are by the amount of weeds left behind. As I was working the Brand ground and observing all these details God gave me the grace to realize that Maury had known all these features like the back of his hand. He had an intimate connection to the piece of ground that I was just being introduced too. In a way it felt as if he was watching on as I was working his ground. In a way I felt that we now shared a special connection.

That week I had been beginning to prepare to head back to school and was thinking a lot about the universality of the church as I would be physically distant from many of my good friends. Through the special bond I felt with Maury from working ground that day I realized in a new way that our faith and the sacraments not only connect us to the entire community of believers on this earth but also to the faithfully departed. Kind of a humbling and comforting thought. Since then when I've been at mass one of my friend's sayings, "no distance between tabernacles," has come to mind several times. Since it is the one and only body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus present in the hosts occupying every tabernacle in the world and consumed by all of us in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist we are connected by a bond which transcends the boundaries of time and space, and even our present mortality. Next time your at mass maybe take the time to realize the awesome mystery that you are participating in and the special closeness you have not only with your distant friends and relatives but also with all those celebrating the same feast in heaven. God bless y'all!

Christ is Risen! Indeed He is Risen!

!WARNING! –This post is obscenely long! It has taken me an entire day to type it. I have a reputation for writing novels and this beats all. If you don’t feel like tackling it all at once it’s broken up by day. No pics yet. I was trying to upload them but after facebook failed after working on the same set for 6 hours I got a little discouraged. I’ll try and get them up in the next couple days and maybe put some up here on a separate post. Also after finishing typing all this at around midnight. I didn’t have the motivation to go back and proof read it again. Sorry, good luck. God Bless!

Greetings and Blessings from Rome! So we did a lot more on our 10 day break than just going to the Holy Land but that is the part of the trip that is the most overwhelming, hopefully sometime soon I can come back and write about Istanbul and Cappadocia because they definitely deserve a post. Anyways straight to the main event: Israel! We left Istanbul Monday afternoon of Holy Week on Baltic Air. Unfortunately every route that Baltic flies goes through Riga. So we had an 8 hour layover in the capitol of Latvia. We ended up playing cards and eating the bread and Turkish delight we bought in Istanbul before we flew out. Our flight left Riga at Midnight and we touched down at 4am in Tel Aviv after not having slept at all despite having obscene amounts of leg room because we got the emergency exit row. When we got through passport control we quickly realized that something was wrong. The entire country’s bus and train system was not running that day because of Passover. Uh-oh. We ended up catching a sheruit to Hafia, and then in a true act of divine providence an Israeli family that had been in our sheruit was trying to get to Nazareth which was half way to Tiberius, where we were trying to go. The dad worked us out a deal, which ended up being pretty expensive but not as expensive as it would have been for us if we’d had to try and work it out on our own. Thus, after a little bit of excitement we ended up in Tiberius on the Sea of Galilee at 7am. We dropped our stuff at the hostel and then walked down to the shore which was about 3 blocks away and said Morning Prayer and read some passages out of the Bible. As we were standing there on the Sea of Galilee trying to decide what to do since there were no buses running that day I suggested we could just try walking up to Capernum. Tiberius is about on the in the middle of the west side of the Sea of Galilee and Capernum is on the North edge. It ended up working out pretty well because basically everything we wanted to see was between Tiberius and the North end of the Sea. We set out around 9 and it took a little over 2 hours to walk to the Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and the Fishes. From there we walked a little ways further to the Church of the Primacy of Peter, built upon the rock we Jesus is said to have told Peter, “You are Peter and on this rock I will build my Church.” While we were sitting there I was flipping through my bible trying to find a specific verse and I came across the theme from TEC 111, “Cast out into the deep,” Luke 5:4 next to it was the note that my confirmation sponsor, Bill Gress had written on that TEC. As I was looking out over the sea I realized that this was the literal “deep.” That was my first taste of being left in awe by personally experiencing the actual setting of the bible, something that would be repeated many times on this trip. After that we hiked up the Mount of Beatitudes to the Church situated at the top. As we walked up the dirt path that ran between hayfields and what looked a lot like prairie grass, I couldn’t help but thinking that the grove of trees at the top which hid the church looked a lot like my Grandma and Grandpa Butel’s farm in eastern Kansas. It was at that moment that I realized why I have always loved Kansas, it looks like the Holy Land! I also remarked how my dad would love it there after we walked by a cut wheat field with big straw bales stacked in the middle of it. When we got to the top we found out that church didn’t open for about an hour and a half at 2:30pm. So we sat down on some big rocks underneath some really tall olive-like trees. It was kind of a neat experience reading the bible and napping in the place which the crowds gathered to listen to our Lord. The view of the Sea from the church was astonishing, it blew my mind to think about listening to the Lord preach in such a setting. After a bit of an adventure walking through a banana grove that turned into a field full of weeds with really big thorns that in hindsight I’m pretty sure we weren’t supposed to go through, we came back down to the road that ran along the sea and made our way on to Capernum. We had planned on trying to eat fish in Capernum for a late lunch but when we got there all we found was an Orthodox Church and some archeological ruins. Oh well! At that point we were so far along the sea that we decided to just keep walking till we got to the Jordan river where it enters at the north end. This turned out to be a considerable way but we eventually made it and climbed down to the water which was moving fairly fast under the bridge. We just sat there and enjoyed the fact that we were on the Jordon River, in which time David managed to fall into the river and drop his brievery in as well. Lol. Refreshed from our break down by the river we set off back for Tiberius. Again God was looking out for us and a taxi tracked us down as we were about a third of the way back. It was getting dark and we were starting to pay for hiking all day on no sleep and a no food (we hadn’t eaten since 8pm the night before in Riga) I wasn’t sure we were going to make it back all in one piece. When we got back to Tiberius we got our fish dinner and went down and did Evening Prayer on the sea side again.

Wednesday
The next morning we slept a little late to give our bodies a chance to recuperate from the previous day. We caught a bus around 9:30 for Nazareth. After getting lost initially and walking up to the top of the town we spotted the Basilica of the Annunciation down below us and made our way back down. Once we finally got there we only had about 30 min before we needed to catch the next bus. It was pretty rushed, especially since I felt like I could have sat in front of the cave of the Annunciation and prayed there all day. I mean that was the spot we God became man, where Mary uttered her fiat, “thy will be done,” and where her role as co-redeptorix of humanity began. After I re-consecrated myself to her will I went over to the Church of St. Joseph next door. The Church is built over the house and workshop of St. Joseph, while I was there I thought about how my dad has taught me how to work a lot like St. Joseph taught Jesus how to work. About 2pm we got to Mount Tabor. The bus stop was about a good 45 min walk from the city at the base of the mountain. We got to the top by about 4 which was pretty good considering about half way up I think all of us started paying for all the walking we’d done in the last two days. We spent about an hour in the church and then at 5 when they closed we found a nice spot on the west side of the slope to sit and watch the sunset. We said Evening Prayer as the sun was setting and then hustled down because it had cooled off a little bit on the top of the mountain and Jared, the Texan, hadn’t brought a jacket and was freezing. Ha. On the way down Jared starting jogging trying to warm himself up and then for some reason we were all jogging down Mount Tabor. It was a really effortless jog because it was a perfect slope and the pavement was really smooth. We did that about half of the way down the Mountain before our bodies began to remind us that we hadn’t eaten anything since a rather meager breakfast that morning. When we got to the bottom we stopped at a little grocery store and bought a couple packages of bread. In hindsight I doubt that that bread was very good but walking along that empty road with a few good friends on a beautiful evening it tasted wonderful after not having eaten all day. I remarked to Jared as we were walking along back to the bus stop that it might be the most beautiful evening that I had ever had the privilege to be alive for. The temperature could not have been more perfect, the stars were bright, there was a gentle early summer night breeze blowing across a field of cut hay into our faces and the next day we would be following Christ’s steps to Jerusalem. When I’d talked to my friend Jackie about her trip to the Holy Land I’d felt like Mount Tabor was somewhere I really wanted to go and again when we were in Cappadocia, the frescos of the Transfiguration kept catching my attention. Who knows but I think it must have been that God wanted me to experience the ultimate grandeur of His creation that night. It seemed that just as Christ had been transformed into His glorified body on that mountain so too God had transformed His creation that night into something more glorious than usual. When we got back to Tiberius that night we went down to the Sea to say Office of the Readings. It was one of those offices that is perfectly timed, the psalms was about going to Jerusalem and Mount Zion. As we were praying I’d seen a few guys hope a fence at the edge of the pier and I hadn’t touched the Sea of Galilee yet so I hoped the fence too and the other three guys followed me. We worked our way down the big rocks and sat right on the edge of the sea. The moon was full, the water was smooth and we just sat around and talked till we decided that maybe we should get some sleep because we were going to have a full couple of days.

Holy Thursday
The next morning we woke up a little late again and caught the bus to Jerusalem around 9. The traffic was so bad that it took about an extra hour and we ended up getting into the Old City around 1pm. After getting situated we went a processed with the Franciscans from Casa Nova, their main house, to the Cenacle, the room of the Last Supper. I got really lucky and just slipped in the back door. The service was really nice and in several different languages. I was just following along in the book that a little old Italian nun was sharing with me when it hit me, this is the very room on the very day when Christ said, “This is my body…This is my blood.” Whoa! It took me like the rest of the day to recover, it just blew me away. On the way to mass at Ecce Homo Convent we stopped at Dormition Abbey the place where Mary is said to have lived with John after the Crucifixion. The other big highlight of the night was processing with the Franciscans to the Basilica of the Agony in the Garden. Again I got extremely lucky and was able to sneak into the church behind the Franciscans even though there were already people standing outside the church. It was absolutely packed inside but as a few people got tired of being so packed and left I was able to work my way over into the back corner and ended up climbing on top of a confessional, which I think had to be the best seat in the house. After the service we were able to go up and venerate the bare rock in front of the altar where Christ fell down and prayed in the garden. After the service we went and prayed in the olive grove next to the church which contained some of the largest olive trees I’ve ever seen. We found out later that scientist have taken measurements and determined that some of the trees are over 3300 years old! We were standing there praying under the same trees that Christ prayed under on that night so long ago! As I was leaving I ran into a girl we later named Pennsylvania (her home state) who studied at Hebrew University. We’d met her and her friends at our hostel in Tiberius, and Jared would run into her again on Staurday.

Good Friday
The next morning Joe and I woke up really early so we could get a good spot in line for Good Friday service at 6:30am at the Holy Sepulchre. I know this is probably starting to be a theme but again we got incredibly lucky and managed to work our way up to Calvary. For the entire service of the Lord’s Passion I was 15 feet or so from the very rock of Calvary. That was another one of those I really can’t believe this is where I actually am. It was strange how we seemed to keep running into the same pilgrims over those three days. As I was getting smashed up to Calvary that morning a priest to my right, turned and asked if I was actually from Kansas. That kind of threw me until I realized I had my Kansas 4-H Youth Council jacket on, it turns out he was from Missouri. After the service I managed to get through the line to go into the Sepulchre before the opened the doors of the church to the masses crammed outside. I’m still not sure I’ve really absorbed that part of the trip, that I venerated the tomb of Christ on Good Friday, wow. After we escaped out of the church through the masses of humanity that were rushing in, we made our way back to the Austrian Hospice where we were staying and met up with David. We made our way over to the First Station of the Cross which was close as the Hospice was on the Third Station. We started the Stations behind the Franciscans but due to the masses trying to go down the Via Dolorosa we quickly lost sight of them and then I lost the other two guys as well. I ended up making it through all the stations except those in the actual church despite the crowds. After that I’d had about enough of being shoved and crushed and crowded so I just made my way back to the Hospice and found a nice spot under a palm tree with my bible, breivary, and journal. It was good to just take some time do some praying and thinking. I took a little bit of a nap that afternoon and then my way to Ecce Homo for a penance service below the church in the Lithostrotos, the straight pavement where Christ was crowned with thorns and held before being sentenced. It was a nice quiet prayerful place that wasn’t crowded at all, a real gem in Jerusalem Holy Week services.

Holy Saturday
The next morning Joe, David and I woke up early again (like 4am) and made our way to the New Gate to try and get through security for the Easter Vigil Mass in the Holy Sepulchre which was at 6:30am. It looked a little doubtful for a while because there was some miscommunication amongst the Israeli police force which seemed to be comprised of basically the entire Israeli military, there were so many soldiers and officers around armed to the teeth. We ended up getting past the initial gate and as we were waiting for an officer to take us to the next checkpoint a Franciscan tapped us on the shoulder and told us to go follow this other brother who ended up taking us through the back of the Franciscan monastery, Casa Nova, were after waiting for a while we were escorted to the church by a Arab-Christian officer. After getting basically smuggled in, we were three of only 150 people who managed to get in and attend the Easter Vigil. Not only we did we get in but we all had a view of the altar which was set up directly in front of the opening of the tomb. I got separated from David and Joe and ended up standing right on the front corner of the tomb within 10 feet of the altar. I was right behind the row of priests that were concelebrating and who would end up in front of me but the priest from Missouri. I was able to look over his shoulder and follow along in the book he was sharing with another priest. It was a little beyond my meager Latin skills but I stilled managed to have a fairly good idea of what was going on and what the readings were about. After I received communion I knelt down and placed my hand on the tomb, and it was then that I was close as I would get to understanding what was actually happening. It was beyond anything my humble grasp of English could hope to describe. He is Risen! I was there and I have known it firsthand. What an amazing faith we have been given, what a wonderful Redeemer! After the service we hung around praying expecting to get thrown out any moment because of the Orthodox celebration of the Holy Fire which was going to happen at 2pm. The police never did though and when the Orthodox started rushing in around 11 we picked out our spot on a bench by the Latin chapel. We ended up choosing really well, as it got more crowded and then packed we were able to stand up so that we could still see and the stone wall behind us helped keep us cool as the church got hotter and hotter from all the people that had jammed in. The Holy Fire which first appeared in the 800’s is the longest reoccurring Christian miracle. The Patriarch enters the tomb and after saying a prayer a flame brought down from heaven by the angel Gabriel rises from the tomb which the Patriarch lights his candle off of and then brings out to the faithful waiting outside. Understandably the Orthodox get a little excited about this, and do everything in their power to get inside and witness it. This leads to what amounts to mass pandemonium inside the Holy Sepulchre. When the fire came out of the tomb it reminded me of when we burn off wheat stubble after harvest. Everyone had these massive, torch-like bundle of candles which resulted in a wall of fire moving towards us at a frightening speed. I don’t know how they don’t burn the whole church down and the smoke that filled the place was incredible. I think I inhaled more secondhand smoke that day than I have in my whole life. With no small help from Providence we survived that experience. In the great irony of the entire trip, the one Orthodox, Jared, didn’t manage to get inside the church because he got stuck in security while the three Catholics had a front row view. Poor kid. That afternoon I walked up to the Mount of Olives because I had only seen the Basilica of the Agony on Thursday night, and I also figured it would be less crowded up than the Old City. I ended up at the Dominus Flevit Chapel where Christ is said to have wept for the fate of Jerusalem. And I’ve got to say if I were trying to choose a place to weep for Jerusalem I don’t think a better spot could be found. It commands an amazing view of the Old City. I sat there on the side of the Mount of Olives under a tree and read the readings from mass that morning that I hadn’t really understood in the Latin. While I was sitting reading I saw a pilgrim who I’d ran into the night before at the penance service at Ecce Homo. I don’t have any idea what his name was but he was a really friendly old guy, and I hope he was blessed in the rest of his travels. When they closed at 5 I ran into Joe who was wondering around up on the Mount too. We wandered over to the Mosque of the Ascension (Christ is a prophet in Islam, so the place is holy for them too, I guess) and saw the footprint that Christ was supposed to have left in the rock as he ascended from earth. By that time most all the holy sites on the mountain were closing down so we worked our way down into the city and split up to hunt for souvenirs. After I’d spent all the shekles I had left I went back to the Hospice and did some more reading under the same tree, fell asleep and woke up in time to see Jared come back in. We sat and had a really good conversation about our faith, life, vocations, and everything we’d been experiencing. After a while we were joined by David and Joe and the four of us went out for our Easter feast at the Pizzeria across the street. Jared and I enjoyed the first meat we’d eaten since the beginning of Lent and I think Joe and David just enjoyed eating something other than the bread and water that we’d been eating most all of Holy Week. We bought some ice cream and went up to the roof terrace of the hospice, and visited about the trip as we celebrated.

Easter Sunday
Sunday morning we went to Easter morning mass at Ecce Homo because it was the only service that was early enough that we could go and still make it for our flight. So we celebrated Easter morning Mass on the roof of Ecce Homo as the sun rose over Jerusalem. It may have been my imagination but it seemed as if the domes of the Holy Sepulchre shone with a different brilliance that morning, the whole city had a different feel as if it knew He has risen too. We ran into the priest from Missouri one last time at mass (he was concelebrating again. Ha). His name was Fr. Matthew and it turned out he was a Jesuit studying at the Biblicium in Jerusalem and was good friends with our very own Fr. Brown, who is also a Jesuit and one of our chaplains on the Rome campus. After mass we went and had our first breakfast at the hostel together(every other morning we’d missed the free breakfast because we at the Holy Sepulchre). It felt strange leaving for Tel Aviv to fly out after only three days in Jerusalem. I hope and pray that it’s God’s will that someday I may be fortunate enough to behold the blessed city again.

Well folks, if you’re not sick of my writing by now something is probably wrong with you and you should go get that checked out. Lol. I hope if you persevered and read this whole thing that you receive some benefit or blessing. I feel a little bit like the gospel writer who finished by saying that there were many more things Christ did but if they were all written down the whole world wouldn’t be large enough to contain all the books to be written. These were the big details but my mind is full of so many more thoughts about the whole trip (after all this was only the half in Israel) mainly ideas I’ve taken away from it and things I’ve learned about myself and life. If you care to hear any of that, I’m not sure if I can put any of it into words but catch me when I get back to the states and we can have a chat and I’ll give it a try. God Bless, and remember that blessed are we who have not seen and yet believe! Christ is Risen! Indeed He is Risen!

Christ is Risen! Indeed He is Risen!

"I give thanks to my God at every remembrance of you,praying always with joy in my every prayer for all of you,because of your partnership for the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus. It is right that I should think this way about all of you, because I hold you in my heart, you who are all partners with me in grace, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel. For God is my witness, how I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus. And this is my prayer: that your love may increase ever more and more in knowledge and every kind of perception, to discern what is of value, so that you may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God." -Philippians 1:3-ll

As I was reading my TEC bible in Jerusalem on Good Friday I saw this verse highlighted and it summarized my sentiment perfectly. All of you back home were on my mind and in my prayers during Holy Week. I promise that sometime this week I will get a detailed blog entry up about our trip through Turkey and the Holy Land. God Bless and may you be filled with joy in the risen Christ this Easter season!

Tony

PAX

First I want to apologize for my grievous failure in not updating sooner. I'm certain that during the last two weeks I've forgotten some details from our trip to Assisi. I'll do my best though. To begin at the beginning we read the start and the end of The Life of St. Francis by St. Bonaventure. Just in reading that I started to get excited for the trip. I hadn't realized it but my dislike for St. Francis of Assisi Parish (ever since their stacked basketball team dominated the middle school basketball league) prevented me from really learning about this amazing Saint. This weekend would have been great even if all that happened was that I got over my mental block towards St. Francis.
After we checked in a few of us went and walked around Assisi. It was such a quaint little medieval town. I hadn't started to notice it yet but there is a peace there that is tangible it hangs in the air and seeps into every corner of the little town. The highlight probably had to be when we dropped into Chiese Nuovo, a beautiful little church that claims to stand on the birthplace of St. Francis. As we were in there looking around my roommate, Jared Rovny coughed and it and it boomed through the little church. I stopped as I was halfway out the door and was like wait a sec. I asked Blaise if he knew the Salve Regina as I turned around and went back into the church. So we went back in and sang one of the most amazing Salves I have ever heard sung by two of the most mediocre voices. The sound was incredible. It multiplied and filled the whole church as if an entire choir had joined us. Pretty cool. That night I went walking with a group led mainly by Catherine Lepel who has a real problem in that she seemed compelled to take every staircase we came too. Thus we were zigzagging all over Assisi (there are a TON of stairs in Assisi and I think I walked about all of them. lol.). We ended up on the hill above Assisi next to the Fortress. I distinctly remember being a little spooked. I've never had a real love for being out in the dark probably due to the times as a little kid I had to walk out into the pasture in the middle of the night to get cows in with the coyotes howling. It was windy and desolate up by the fortress and I know at one point I kind of got annoyed with myself being creeped out and prayed something like, "God take away all my fear except my fear of You" (This will be significant later). The next morning after breakfast (all the meals were incredible, like really delicious, by the end I was feeling a little torn to be eating such good food in a town so pervaded by the ascetic spirit of St. Francis.) we went to the Basilica of St. Francis for Western Theological Tradition class with Dr. Dawson Vasquez. This class in addition to what we'd read from the Life of St. Francis really enhanced the weekend because I had a grasp of what the spirit of St. Francis was which filled the town.
Now it starts to get good. Ha. After lunch we started the hike up to the hermitage of St. Francis which would be an incredible, transformative experience for me. It was a pretty difficult walk up a paved road into the mountain behind Assisi. When I reached the hermitage I realized how definitely worth it the hike had been. I remember touching the moss on one of the trees as we entered and being struck with the thought that the water on my fingers felt like Holy Water. That was just the spirit of the place though. If the town of Assisi was peaceful then this place, to which St. Francis came when he wanted to get away from Assisi and pray in solitude, was peaceful beyond all imagining. We walked through the little series of carved out rooms which contained the tiny cave in which St. Francis slept on the bare stone when he came there. If I was tasked with defining the word humble I would simply show a picture of this tiny cave with low narrow doors and a simple stone altar just large enough to hold a few people at a time and yet filled with the fullness God. It was impressive in a way that all the cathedrals and basilica's of Europe cannot begin to compare to. After that I walked a way on the little dirt paths that wind up the mountain next to the hermitage. Eventually I left the group I was walking with and just sat down on a rock on the side of the hill. I was thinking how full of the spirit of St. Francis this place was when I was struck by a thought. In Providence's immense goodness I realized that as a result of his life and sainthood, the spirit of St. Francis was the very spirit of God. I still can't really describe it but for probably one of the first times in my life I realized that I was completely in the presence of God. I can still see those simple unassuming trees moving in the breeze in front of me and I imagine I probably always will. After sitting there in awe for a while I walked back down to the hermitage because it was about time for mass. The rest of the weekend it was a bit of a challenge to restrain from singing every hymn I knew in praise of His goodness. As I was walking into mass one of our RA's, Mary, stopped the little group I was with and asked if anyone would like to serve or lector. I was almost to volunteer to read because I have always loved doing that for mass, when Mary asked me to serve. After I agreed to I realized that it had been a real example of obedience and as I served during mass it was with the knowledge that I was exactly where God wanted me to be doing exactly what he wanted me to do because I had said yes to His request through my RA. The gospel at mass also struck me. It was the story of the storm at sea when Christ was sleeping in the stern. After the apostles in their fear woke Jesus he rebuked them saying "Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?" What an answer to my prayer the night before on that hill overlooking Assisi and what call teaching us how to live our lives, with faith. As we were walking back down to Assisi that evening David Ringwald, one of my former roommates, mentioned how much he would love to be up at the hermitage at sunrise. Instantly, with out really thinking about how crazy it would be to wake up early enough to walk for an hour in the dark to get back up to the hermitage, I said yes. God wanted me there though, and inside myself there was something that knew without a doubt that I should go with David.
The next morning to my amazement I woke up immediately when my alarm went off just before 5 am. That never happens. I am so not a morning person and it normally takes a good number of snooze buttons before I can drag myself out of bed. But God had plans for me that morning. As we took off back up the mountain that morning in the dark it started to feel a little stupid because our legs were still really sore from hiking that way the day before. Knowing what lay at the end of the road helped though and we were making really good time. As we were taking one particularly dark and steep shortcut off the road something started to feel a little weird about the trail. When we got back up to the road we realized the strange stuff underfoot was snow! Overnight it had snowed on the mountain and there was about an inch of immaculate, untouched snow starting about halfway up. It was still really too dark to see much but just the pure presence of the snow left us both in awe. When we reached the gates of the hermitage about 6:30am in the predawn darkness we realized it didn't open until 7 and so we decided to say morning prayer under the little light at the gate. The setting was profound but the morning prayer from Liturgy of the Hours seemed to be coming directly from the mouth of God to us at that exact moment. I think David must have had his week and readings markers messed up because I have been completely unable to restructure it looking through my brievery. This incredible morning prayer reached it climax at the Canticle of Zechariah which was "Jesus rose early in the morning and went up to a quiet place to pray." All glory and praise to God. As the dawn slowly came, we started to realize in the gathering light just how stunning our surroundings were. It didn't even matter to us when the gates never opened at 7. We ended up going back down the mountain without ever going in but our joy was in no way diminished. As we were going down the mountain I asked David if I could have his brievery so that I could read the psalms as we were walking down, and he in turn asked me if I could read them aloud. So we walked down the mountain taking turns reading the psalms out of Office of the Readings. Between the morning prayer and the office I can recall some of the psalms that we prayed. Among them were: "Who can climb the Lord's mountain and stand in His holy place? The man with clean hands and a pure heart, who desires not worthless things" and "Grow higher ancient doors let Him enter the King of Glory (slightly ironic as the gates never opened) and "Come, let us climb the LORD'S mountain, to the house of the God of Jacob, That he may instruct us in his ways, and we may walk in his paths." As went down the mountain I felt like we were two heralds coming down from God's mountain proclaiming the Good News. As we rounded the last corner and Assisi came into view we marveled again at God's goodness because even though it had been around 30 minutes since dawn the sun was just starting to hit the clouds above Assisi coloring them rose. As we neared Assisi and looked back up the mountain I was in a bit of disbelief that only a few minutes ago we had truly been standing in God's holy place. How clearly Providence had willed for us to be there at exactly that point in time! God is so good!
It's probably easy to understand then how my entire semester since then has been changed by this amazing weekend. I'm still thinking about the lessons I learned about obedience, sacrifice, and above all His abounding love for us. Hope that despite the length, this post was half as enjoyable to read as it was to write. If nothing else it was so good for me to sit and recollect this profound movement of God in my life. Maybe take some time and think how He has been working in yours. And may the peace of God that surpasses all understanding guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus!

Blessings

Greetings from Rome! This week the reality that I'll actually be in an academic setting in Italy, rather than just touring Rome the whole time began to set in. This adds a sacrificial element to this blog, because while I would like to be sleeping right now, I'm instead going to offer that up for all of you and write anyways.

There have been a few things this week that have been really incredible. First off, Saturday morning we had a school scavenger hunt in Rome, which was alright. The amazing part though was when I went to the Basilica of St. John Lateran that morning with a few friends. The Basilica is beautiful but the really profound part was when we went to the Basilica's Baptistry across the street. For those of you who don't know, the baptistry is the site of the Holy Stairs which Christ ascended to be judged by Pontius Pilate. According to tradition, they were brought to Rome by St. Helen in the 4th century along with the true cross. The steps are marble and have been covered by wood to protect them but there are slits so that pilgrims can still see the actual marble and you are allowed to climb the stair on your knees. It's one of those things I still really can't begin to get my head around. Father Hoisington had earlier told me to think about how many saints had walked the same streets of Rome that I was walking, and while we were at the Holy Stairs I kept thinking that God has walked these steps that I am kneeling on. One other comment on the stair, if you can see in the picture, at the top of the stair is a painting of Christ crucified. As I walked up the stairs the crucifixion drew nearer and nearer, just as when Christ walked those very same steps he was came closer and closer to His Crucifixion.

The next day on Sunday, a few friends and I went into St. Peter's for mass. Mass itself was pretty incredible but then afterward everyone files out of the Church into St. Peter's Square, and then Pope Benedict came to his window and prayed the Angelus with the crowd. After that he gave a short welcome to all the different languages. That was also nuts. I'm still not sure that I believe that I saw the actual pope, wow.

Finally, today after class a friend talked me into to going to mass in Rome at the Basilica of St. Mary Major. The Basilica is to my knowledge the oldest church dedicated to Mary as the original construction took place in the 4th century. More significantly for me I consecrated myself to Mary on the feast day of the dedication of St. Mary Major last August. It was a blessed experience. I was able to attend confession, and after they finished the rosary, before mass, the congregation sang the Salve Regina, which I've loved ever since mt early morning, God squad days at Bishop Carroll. There is even more to my connection with the basilica though. The Church is built on the site that Our Lady of the Snows miraculously indicated in the 4th century. There is also a national shrine to Our Lady of the Snows near St. Louis that my family visited one time on a family vacation. I remember from that trip, an immense, tangible sense of peace at the shrine. That was the feeling I had at the basilica too, like I was home. I plan to go back very soon. One last incredible thing about Mary Major. This is the chapel under the high altar, and it is said that a piece of the crib in which Jesus was laid is enclosed there. Just a little cool.

I have been overpowered spiritually thus far by Italy. It helps that I've been able to attend mass almost everyday since we arrived, and that everywhere you look there's another huge church. Most of all though, I've just been felling extremely blessed. As I've entered different churches and basilicas I've been thinking how people often live their entire lives without ever having a similar experience. I've been thanking God a lot for this incredible gift and blessing and trying to live every moment with the realization that I may never see some of these things again. I hope all of you may be blessed to see Rome some day in all its glory. It is truly indescribable. God Bless!

Rome Sweet Home

So I figured if there is any day that I should be able to blog it should be today, before classes start tomorrow, and after having been to Rome for the first time. To start at the beginning though, its has just struck me ever since we got here how not American Italy is. I guess I should have expected that but its really strange to just feel like I'm in a completely different country. This is the view out our dorm window, which is even more amazing at sunset.

Probably the most overwhelming thing on my mind though is our first excursion into the Rome this afternoon. Incredible. There are a thousand little tidbits that I could mention but none of them quite seem like complete thoughts. And I guess that makes sense because I feel like it will probably be years before I can get a good grasp of what I just experienced. Two things jumped out from the visit though. First, when we visited the Pantheon also known as the Basilica of St. Mary and the Martyrs it struck just how enduring some of the city was. When I realized that the Pantheon was originally built to worship the Roman gods I was struck that there was actually a time, hundreds of generations ago when those deities where actually worshiped. It was astounding to realize that I was in place that was as old as many of the classic works the we have been reading. I guess I should start getting used to that feeling.

The second thing that was astounding was St. Peter's. I won't say much now just because we weren't there for a terribly long time (3 hrs) and sure I'll be back when I have more of a chance to absorb. Going to mass there was...ha I don't even know anything I could say that would be adequate. It was in Italian so I didn't understand a thing, but all the same, it was pretty crazy. I still can't believe I was actually there. After the celebrant had prayed the Eucharistic prayer which I wasn't understanding I caught the Consecration because I kind of knew what to listen for. At first I was disappointed that the Mass hadn't been in English or Latin so that I could understand what was happening, but then I had humbling thought. How many times have I attended the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass at my home parish of St. Jude's and totally spaced out until I realized it was the Consecration? Maybe that was a tiny bit of divine justice that I was unable to really fully participate in my first Mass at St. Peter's. It also led me to resolve to make a better effort to be fully present at Mass in the future.

Well that was a lot more than I initially intended to type. We'll see if I can motivate myself to do this again before the end of the semester. From Rome, God bless!


Oh and this is the tomb of Pope Calixtus III (1455-1458) which I basically had to take a picture of as he is a patron of the liberal arts.