tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75606502485748233572024-03-20T07:01:05.209+00:00A Catholic Comes HomeA Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-48491694811630093212012-10-25T21:21:00.000+01:002012-10-25T21:21:55.465+01:00The Tiny Hand.From a little child I have been fond of the animal kingdom.There seemed to be no animal that I could not love,no creature that was named vile or vermin that was not redeemable in my eyes.Any bird I found lying dead in the road I would retrieve and bury under a pile of leaves in the churchyard,chiefly I suppose because I didnt want it to be trodden on and flattened,but also because I mourned for the life that was in it and was no more.A thing of beauty extinguished.They did not have to be beautiful for my childish mind to love them.The stranded earthworm on the hot pavement was rescued, and put in some shady, moist, spot.,The snails fastened to the flower pots were removed, and hidden before my father, a gardner, saw them,the spider on my bedroom ceiling ,left to spin its web..<br />
My love for all animals was tolerated and understood by my parents.The lamb beef or pork on my plate at dinnertime, was not the same as those creatures that I loved to gaze at in the fields around me.The meat that I ate was spelt Lam......that in the field beyond..., Lamb.I believed what I was told.I was protected from the harsher elements of animal husbandry.Led away from the market place,where unskinned rabbits were displayed and the chickens in the garden lived, because of my attachment to them.There was always a dog on the hearthrug for me to love,a tiny mouse in my brother's pocket,the birds in the air,the green grocer's horse,the beasts in the field.All was good in my little world.<br />
Until the day that I looked into the window of the butcher's shop and saw a pig hanging from a hook...............<br />
This then was reality.Before my watery eyes was the evidence of the destruction of life.The animal life that I so cherished,so loved,so longed to be near.I think now,looking back,that young as I was, I understood natural death,and accepted it as such.That day outside the butcher's shop,I understood slaughter......for food.<br />
I got used to the idea eventually of course,and learned that even animals hunted and killed each other, for the most part, for survival. .It was, after all the natural order of things,that it was the balance of nature and that the Father of all things natural was God.I grew to understand that for the most part, animals acted by instinct.But it was the life in them that I loved, and .slowly I realised that the same spirit that breathed life in them, breathed life in me,that I was part of the great plan of the creator,and that great plan,was a holy and sacred thing.<br />
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So where is all this leading...<br />
A few days ago when browsing, I came across the photograph of a baby's hand.So perfect ,so new,the little lines across the palm unique,never ever to be repeated. .The fingers long and pointing upwards,the skin unblemished and entirely beautiful.God's work of art,His creation His secret.......The tiny hand,so defenceless,so helpless so loveable.God knew the owner of this little hand before He knitted him together,breathed life into him at conception,and desired his love.God's masterpiece,a human being, higher than the animals,and just a little lower than the angels.As I scrolled down I saw God's plan for this little life would never come to fruition.That this precious ,precious,life that the tiny hand represented.had been destroyed before birth.Denied baptism,<br />
classed as hospital waste, denied a final resting place.I could not think of any other species that destroys it's unborn,that we human beings alone, seem to commit the unspeakable,and deem it acceptable.But of course it is not acceptable.Not at any stage.Not for any reason.Never.<br />
The tiny hand spoke reality to me. <br />
We catholics seem at times to be anaesthetised on major issues.Everything is sanitised.The wrath of God,His justice,whoever heard of that! A strange inertia envelopes us. We know that abortion is wrong.the church says so.We do not want to think about it ,or be reminded of it.We do not want to right a wrong,we have lost the battle because we have no appetite to fight.We sleep walk through our faith.<br />
What of those, whose lives are touched by abortion?The mothers who feel that there is no other way out. Those who regret that decision,and even those that don't.Those who believe that we, the created ,have a right to choose who should live and who should die?That some human life because it has not drawn breath, is somehow disposable,and has as much worth as the flotsam and jetsam that floats upon the sea.<br />
What can we do?........What do we do?Keep silent,and get on with our lives?We the catholics in the pew,need above all to support in whatever way we can, the efforts of those who are active in the fight against abortion..Those organizations in the front line who deal with the fall out,who help and look after the expectant mother who has nothing,those that hold silent vigil in public,those that witness for life.Those that protect the unborn,and those who pray for the abortioner.<br />
I have been silent about the death of your life My God.My great Creator who knows when each lowly sparrow falls to the ground,and who numbers the hairs on my head.Forgive me,and give me the grace to be silent no more.Amen.<br />
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N.B.The bodily remains of the little child that I speak of above, were found and given burial in a catholic cemetary in America.Loved by "The Priests for Life",and named David,the gift of God.<br />
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A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-15875353241061932732012-08-23T21:01:00.000+01:002012-08-23T21:01:49.467+01:00Ark of the Covenant.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The portrait above has hung upon my wall for forty years or more.<br />
There has been laughter,and tears, beneath it.Every Christmas it is placed above the fireplace,and decorated with evergreen branches, two candles on either side, alight on Christmas Eve.It is part of the very fabric of my home,a constant reminder of the cause of our joy.<br />
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Many, are the paintings of Our Lady and the Holy Child,and there are many that I love.But it the "Jewishness" of Our lady in this picture that appeals to me.The gravity,and composure in her face,the little child in her left arm,close to her heart.<br />
I have often wondered which part of the Gospel this portrait depicts.After the presentation in the temple maybe,when she has listened to the words of Simeon,or resting briefly on the flight into Eygpt.Perhaps after the visit of the Magi.<br />
There is sorrow, as well as overwhelming love in her gaze.She seems to be aware of the shadow of the cross.Aware also, of the sword that will pierce her heart.<br />
I do not know the artist,as I cannot read the signature on the print,and I have never seen it in any other place.No doubt it is a well known portrait in some corner of the world,it may not even be a painting of Our Lady and the Holy child,but......I treat it as such!<br />
Mystical Rose<br />
Tower of Ivory<br />
Cause of our Joy<br />
Ora Pro Nobis.<br />
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A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-57218929569773743352012-08-20T14:01:00.001+01:002012-08-20T14:01:30.826+01:00Do Not Mess With The Mass.For a really good explanation of the Mass please go here:.<a href="http://frmartinfox.blogspot.co.uk/">http://frmartinfox.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
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And can any one explain to me what a "Praise and Worship Mass " is? A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-76392409040025587002012-08-17T15:40:00.000+01:002012-08-17T15:40:08.161+01:00The Legion Of Mary."Faith must strain after all men with inextinguishable ardour.Sometimes that essential note is missing.People are not sought after,neither in the fold nor those outside it.But if the Ascension commandment(Go preach the Gospel to every Creature) be disregarded,it will be at a price.....the price of loss of grace,of diminution and decay even to the extinction of faith.Look round and see how many places have already paid that awful price."<br />
(Handbook of The Legion of Mary).<br />
As a young catholic,I understood that the great mission of the church was evangelization. That it was our duty if not our joy, to spread the words of our salvation to those around us and beyond.Most converts are fired up by zeal to begin with. I was no exception and wanted to share the pearl of great price with everyone.In those days The Legion Of Mary existed in most parishes in this area,all having a very healthy mixed membership and all as the name suggests, dedicated to Our Lady under a particular title.My local praesidium or unit (the Legion is organized on the model of the Roman army)was called "Our Lady of Grace",and I joined it a few months after my baptism.<br />
The work undertaken was as the Parish priest prescribed.He attended every meeting ,led the Rosary and gave the allocutio or homily.One of the first assignments given to me and my fellow Legionary was to visit the local bowling alley.There the young gathered,their own meeting place.It was easy to strike up conversations there.They were my generation,and I was not afraid to ask them their thoughts on life and death.Frank Duff, the founder of the Legion, once said that if a man stops you in the street, and asks you for a light for his cigarette,within a few minutes he will be asking you for God.I think that that is true whatever veil covers the request.<br />
Census work was undertaken,census of the whole parish.We knocked on every door,every mansion,every council house,every mobile home.Any dwelling where a lapsed catholic might be found(.It seems to me these days, that there are many lapsed Catholics waiting to be found....that no one searches for the lost).Hospitals and nursing homes were visited ,catholics and non catholics conversed with if they were well enough and always, always a prayer said before departure.The most lovely work undertaken was the taking of a statue of Our Lady to catholic families in the parish.The statue would be left with the family for a whole week,on the understanding that every day the rosary was prayed before her ,all the family together if possible.I loved transporting the statue and seeing the place made for her in their homes.A place usually decked out with the flowers of the season for Our Lady's honour.<br />
Christmas day was not exempt from work for the Legionary.The old and the lonely were visited on that most holy day.Looking back I guess it required some level of commitment to be a Legionary.The weekly meeting was one and half hours more or less, and the work assigned at least two.Added to which the Legionary prayer had to be prayed daily,and you were required to attend the next level meeting,where all the local Praesidia from Parishes round about, would meet,usually once a month.<br />
"The object of the Legion is the sanctification of its members by prayer and active co-operation,under ecclesiastical guidance,in Mary's and the Church's work of crushing the head of the serpent,and advancing the reign of Christ".(LegionHandbook).<br />
I know that the Legion survives still in other parts of the country....I mourn its loss here.It seems that "Lay ministry" has taken the place of the lay apostolate ,that this" ministry" as applied here, has the effect of turning a parish community inward looking,instead of outward,making it exclusive instead of inclusive, of forgetting those outside the church gates who but for them, may never know the loving Christ.A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-39955503247501073022012-08-14T00:41:00.000+01:002012-08-14T00:41:30.755+01:00The Angel at the Bus stop.I felt particulary lonely last Sunday.<br />
Lonely in my life,lonely in my faith,lonely in my spirit.Mass had seemed even more noisy than usual,which seemed to add to the humidity in the air.Before Mass I tried to bury my head in The little Office of Our Lady,which seems to put people off from trying to engage me in any conversation.I know that I must seem unapproachable to the people there.Not least because I refuse to take the magazine that is handed to me every month(I have a good reason for that)and refuse to wear a name tag.I am embarrassed by my refusals.I inwardly cringe as I run the gauntlet of the welcomers in the narthex knowing that they perceive me as unfriendly.That morning as I once again refused the magazine,I was told to take it and leave it on the bench if I didnt want to read it.What is the point in that!.<br />
My solitary life is not by my design.Circumstances have made it so.I guess that it is God's will.If that is so,then my heart and mind says that I must embrace it, and bring forth with His grace, something beautiful from the desert. I make no secret of my traditionalist leanings.......I have been ridiculed because of them.......it matters not.It does not stop me loving those who do not agree.All of my life I have lived with people who did not agree.My own family, all non catholics at the time of my first conversion, were either seemingly indifferent to my new found faith,or, as in the case of my Father,rather hostile towards it, to put it mildly.That hostility he felt back then, did not stop him loving me,nor did I stop loving him.It was never a barrier to love,and that is how I feel about my fellow catholics now.The fact that I would wish to cover my head,to kneel to receive Him,to pray using the ancient beautiful language of the church is not a condemnation of them who do none of these things...far far from it,for most of the people at that little church have been more faithful than I.Rather, I think it is a case of honouring God , of recognising my own littleness before Him,of being concious of the holy ground that is The Mass.But these beliefs set me apart from my fellows,there is no traditionalist group in the area that I live......no Sunday Latin Mass whereby I might fulfill the obligation ,no chance to worship in the way that my heart, mind, and conscience tells me.There is great loneliness in that ,and great sorrow.<br />
These thoughts consumed me as I stood at the bus stop after Mass, my lower self(who is my constant companion)told me that there was no point in going to Mass,where He whom the priest confects is not honoured.My higher self (who visits me now and again)told me that as long as Christ is present upon the altar there is no possibility of not going.My lower self, so persistent,,..you do not belong there,you are a pre-vatican 2 relic,remember what the priest says....we must move with the times,and so must the church.My higher self replies.......it does not matter that you are alone in your beliefs,it does not matter if you are rejected or laughed at...it really does not matter.<br />
It is a very remote bus stop.I have never, ever, been joined by anyone else in waiting for the bus.Most people I would guess are still in bed at that time on a sunday morning.The congregation usually stop for coffee after Mass,or jump in their cars and drive off into the distance.To my surprise,this morning was to be different.What appeared to be an elderly lady was crossing the road and walking towards me,intent it seemed on reaching the stop.She showed me her bus pass and asked me if it was valid for that particular route and as I answered her and looked at her face ,I realised that it was quite beautiful.Now I am not a fanciful, person,nor am I prone to holy imaginings,but there was something unearthly in her beauty, some goodness which radiated from her gaze and my loneliness so oppressive ,seemed to vanish as I looked into her eyes.She asked me if I had been to Mass and what were those labels that everyone wore.I answered that they were name tags worn to show everyone your name..............She was silent, waiting for me to continue,and I couldnt help it but the words fell out of my mouth.It was all about community I said,about being inclusive,you know, not leaving anybody out.....but.......,go on, she said, go on.Sometimes I said, I think that they have forgotten about the great God,that they praise and love themselves before God,that community means more to them than worship,and reverence,and consciousness of holiness.That if it is God's house,then it must be treated as such,not as a social meeting place,but a quiet sanctified place, where the Creator meets the created, and where the Son is sacrificed for the sinner.<br />
I expected reproof.Or a polite disagreement.It did not come.Instead it was seven words,Seven words that lifted my spirit ,and which remain with me."I am so glad you said that".With that, the bus arrived.She only travelled for one stop.Hardly worth it I thought.Was it possible that she agreed with me?Am I not so alone in my views,did she understand that I meant that if you love God first and honour Him,the love of your neighbour would follow?<br />
I have never seen her before.I dont know if I will see her again.As I sit here and remember that encounter,I wonder if she was a figment of my imagination.Conjoured up from my loneliness and dejection.A kind of self-justification.I am not a fanciful person.I do not have holy imaginings.I am sane,sensible,and normal ,no I do not have holy imaginings...................A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-26910194113615231532012-02-15T14:14:00.001+00:002012-02-15T15:56:01.414+00:00Mac's Meme.. (<a href="http://thoughtsfromoasisinfrenchcatholicism.blogspot.com/.)I">http://thoughtsfromoasisinfrenchcatholicism.blogspot.com/.)I</a> have been tagged by my dear Friend Jane,with regards to a meme from Mulier Fortis.The subject of the meme is to suggest three books for Mac's newly aquired Kindle.and then to tag five other bloggers.My choices are as follows:<br />
1.Literary Converts,by Joseph Pierce.(includes Chesterton,Belloc,Baring,Knox,Muggeridge and Alec Guinness.)<br />
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2.St Francis,by G.k.Chesterton.(I included this book because St.Francis must be the most misrepresented saint of all,and I feel Chesterton captures his true spirit.)<br />
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3.Louis and Zelie Martin,by Rev.Paulinus Redmond.(Written in the form of letters to their daughter ,St Therese,and an illustration of ordinary lives lived extraordinarily well)<br />
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My five bloggers are as follows<br />
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Bara Brith.http://bara-brith.blogspot.com/<br />
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Whitesmokeahoyhttp://whitesmokeahoy.blogspot.com/.<br />
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Loved sinner.http://lovedsinner.blogspot.com/<br />
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That the Bones You Have Crushed.http://thatthebonesyouhavecrushedmaythrill.blogspot.com/<br />
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Ecumenical Diabloghttp://ecumenicaldiablog.blogspot.com/<br />
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For some strange reason cant get the links to work...however ,you get my drift....<br />
Rules are as follows.<br />
Post rules on Blog.<br />
Tag five bloggers,and tell them they have been tagged on their blog.<br />
No Ref.books,or prayer books.<br />
Link back to the person who tagged you.A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-87131442370185894592011-09-23T23:11:00.000+01:002011-09-23T23:11:37.872+01:00Credo!When I became a catholic all those years ago there was no hint of any council.Yet within a few short years I found myself in the midst of what was called "The Showcase of Vatican 2".I dont remember any explanation for the changes,it seemed to happen almost overnight.No guides to the New Mass,no discussions on the documents ,no help for our bewilderment .It seemed to me that our priests were silent,certainly sermons on the evils of "modernity"ceased.I was too new to question.Too new,too young ,too inarticulate.<br />
I survived for ten years.I worked in the parish,joined the Legion of Mary considered a religious vocation.But underneath there was a growing, undeniable ,conviction that what was happening in the church was not what I had signed up for.Central to my faith however and something that never wavered, was the belief that this was indeed the church that Christ founded.I held on to that belief then,and in the years that followed.I hold on to it now.<br />
It is about three years since I returned.I have had a lot of solitude,a lot of deep thinking a lot of soul searching.I have read the Vatican 2 documents...well most of them.I have read about the"Ottiavani Intervention"and the subsequent letter of loyalty. I have compared the church we have now and what it was like before.What I was like then,and what I am now.I have read liberal blogs,traditional blogs,protestant blogs.I have tried to bend my mind to what some call nu-church, and what follows are my conclusions.<br />
I believe Blessed John Paul's words,that "It is the privilege of the ordained to touch the sacred species".(I have seen instances of self -communicating,and lay people who"Do Exposition".)<br />
I believe that the use of Extraordinary ministers should be just that.Extraordinary.<br />
I believe that our priests should take Our Lord to the sick and the housebound(who hears their confessions?)<br />
I believe in the validity of the Novus Ordo.<br />
I yearn for The Mass of Ages.<br />
I believe that The Blessed Sacrament reserved, should not be kept in a hole in a wall,but in the most prominent position .<br />
I believe in the use of the Latin language in the liturgy.<br />
I believe that men and women have their own separate place in the life of the church(I guess that means men only on the Altar )<br />
I believe that the Extraordinary Form should be available in every parish(difficult as yet I know,but I still believe it should be so).<br />
I believe that the priest should celebrate Mass facing God, together with the people.<br />
I believe that Mass is the re-presentation of the sacrifice of Calvary,and not the celebration of The Last Supper(I have met those who think it to be so)<br />
I believe that true participation in Holy Mass consists in the reception of Holy Communion in a state of grace.<br />
I realise that I am just as orthodox or traditional or whatever you may wish to call it, now, as what I was when I was just a slip of a girl.I have not moved on.I cannot move on.Was I wrong then?Am I wrong now?And what I believed then and what I deemed holy ,and what the church taught me was holy, is it any less holy now?And if it is less holy how can that be?<br />
So I ponder upon these things and generally keep them in my heart.....unless I am asked of course....oh if only someone would ask!A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-91263974291507985472011-05-04T22:59:00.000+01:002011-05-04T22:59:22.596+01:00Home Thoughts From Home.I think if you live alone,the natural world outside your window becomes important.You become more aware of the changing seasons ,concious of shifting winds, sense dampness before the rain clouds gather.<br />
The little house that I live in is surrounded by ancient oak trees, that are, at the moment, dressed in their bright green foliage.This particular green lasts but a few magical days and after, darkens to the steady verdant green of summer.Unusually this year, roses are in bloom,wayside dog- roses as well as the home grown cultivated ones, at least one month earlier than the norm.<br />
Hedges are crowned with May blossom,the green sward aglow with buttercups,and in places there are banks of the common field poppy,their scarlett, delicate, heads nodding in the gentle breeze.The world seems to me, to be a kaleidescope of greens,a tapestry woven by nature empowered by God.Visits to my bird table have slowed since the desperate search for food of the winter months.Natural food is in abundance,and most wild birds now, are sitting on their eggs or the tardier ones still searching for a mate.The song of the wood thrush wakes me every morning ,glorious sounds from that tiny throat and however much I try, I cannot get a glimpse of him,shy little creature that he is.Not so the smart blackbird who has graced my garden for two years or more.I am familiar with his comings and goings,his penchant for dry dust baths in my vegetable garden ,his alarm call at the sight of a cat.<br />
My garden,apart from the vegetable plot, is wild.My attempts to tame it have sometimes succeeded ......for a time.But it once was part of a wood,and that ,in truth, is what it reverts to.I can weed and cultivate as much as I like.Plant herbaceous borders,mow the pasture like grass,prune and snip continually,but every spring the yellow celendine appears,wood sorrell grows up in my borders,wild violets and bluebells and the natural woodland plants make their appearance, and I have not the heart nor the desire to destroy them.So I leave it in it's wildness,and on my less conventional days I rejoice in the beauty of the uncultivated ,and marvel at the work of the Creator.Out there in the natural world,the troubles and cares of this life recede for me.It has always been so.<br />
Oh Lord.our Lord:how wonderful is thy name in all the earth!<br />
For thy greatness is exalted above the heavens.<br />
For I will behold thy heavens,the works of thy fingers:the moon and the stars,<br />
which thou hast founded.<br />
The birds of the air,and the fishes of the sea:that walk through the paths of the sea.<br />
O lord,our Lord:how wonderful is thy name in all the earth!A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-43628507741147584332011-05-01T18:48:00.000+01:002011-05-01T18:48:06.066+01:00An Alternative view of The Wedding.One of my favourite Blogs is The Transalpine Redemptorist site,way up there on Papa Stronsay.Please go there <a href="http://papastronsay.blogspot.com/">http://papastronsay.blogspot.com/</a> to read their beautiful post on the Royal Wedding.I must admit I did not get the trees bit in the Abbey,but after reading their post and their view of it all I have been converted........A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-33046038316642228592011-04-29T15:16:00.000+01:002011-04-29T15:16:56.714+01:00The Prayer of William and Catherine.God our Father,<br />
We thank you for our families;for the love that we share and for the joy of our marriage.<br />
In the busyness of each day keep our eyes fixed on what is real and important in life,<br />
and help us to be generous with our time and love and energy.<br />
Strengthened by our union,help us to serve and comfort those who suffer.<br />
We ask this in the Spirit of Jesus Christ.<br />
Amen<br />
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I understand that this prayer was composed by them both.For the first time in any royal wedding that I have watched over the years, I felt that this was a Christian wedding,that they truly believed,and that the vows they made were hugely important to them.My prayer for them,is that they may be sustained by the love of Christ,<br />
be blest with children,and serve their country well.A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-89258876939777619492011-03-07T20:57:00.000+00:002011-03-07T20:57:00.811+00:00The Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham.I attended the ordination of Fr.Edwin Barnes on Saturday.<br />
Many, many years had he laboured in the Anglican ministry ,touching lives,bringing the message of the Gospel to hundreds over the years,following in his master's footsteps.Yet there he was prostrate before the Altar in St John's catholic cathedral willing and ready to start all over again, this time as a catholic priest for the Ordinariate.He follows his colleagues,Fr.Keith Newton,Fr Andrew Burnham,and Fr.David Silk, former Anglican Bishops.They are the pioneers then of this movement,the leaders of the Ordinariate,entrusted with the care of Anglicans on the road to Rome,and the Church that Christ founded.Brave men treading into the unknown ,responding to the invitation of the Holy Father with joy and humbleness.<br />
The Lay people following, will leave their churches this Ash Wednesday and begin a course of instruction,continuing through the weeks of lent,and finally being received at Easter.They will leave their buildings,their friends,their old forms of worship and join the exodus,the final destination being,membership of The Holy Catholic and Apostolic church.God grant them safe passage.<br />
Through the efforts of the Holy Father , the arms of the Church are open, ready to embrace its returning children,the true ecumenism of return.Anglican ministers also are handing in their resignations at this time,albeit a little harder for them.Many have young families,no jobs to go to ,no livelihoods,no certainty of ordination,and yet they too, in spite of these obstacles are setting out on the journey.Momentous times for the Catholic church in this country,this influx, this wave of faith so close to the Holy Father's heart.So my prayers this lent will be for the ordinariate ,and especially for those that waver on the brink uncertain, afraid and hesitant.<br />
May Our great Lady of Walsingham be with all those who travel this road,may she be also with those left behind.A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-22072977384542956522011-02-28T15:49:00.000+00:002011-02-28T15:49:52.572+00:00Portrait of a Marriage.They met at a fairground.<br />
Amidst the swings and roundabouts in a village in Buckinghamshire a relationship began which was to last for over fifty years.She was fourteen,on the cusp of womanhood,slender,blonde and with lovely grey eyes.He,fifteen ,on shore leave from Naval school.It was his black,curly hair that attracted her first.That and his uniform.The attraction was mutual.Their courtship lasted for nine years and ended with their marriage in a small country church.<br />
The Husband.<br />
Before Naval school he was a farmer's boy.He learned to till the soil,to plough the fields with his Shire horse, and care and tend the farmyard animals.He wandered the hills and valleys in what little spare time he had,and it was there, with the beauty of creation around him, that he met his God.He rang the church bells every sunday,but had little time for formal worship,and rarely stayed for the service.God and the belief in Him was a private matter,and like many of his race he was shy and reticent when speaking of such things.It was the natural world around him then, that he loved,the foxes,the badgers,the wind whispering in the trees,and the golden glory of a ripened field of wheat.There was a tenderness in his heart for all animals ,for the defenceless and the innocent,and all through his life he abhorred and detested cruelty in whatever form it took.<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Naval school was harsh,tough, strict discipline paramount.It instilled into him a new motto,a new belief,that King and country, service and duty were the most important things in a young sailor's life.He served in many ships.He was at the fall of Singapore and escaped into the jungle with a few companions.After six weeks on the run,and just one step in front of the Japanese they reached the shore,and had to swim to reach a passing cargo boat.Two men's lives at this time he saved.One whose gaping wounds he dressed,and the other ,too weak to swim to the boat, he carried on his back to the water's edge and swam with him, upholding him, until they reached safety.As a physical training officer he had learned about the human body.He knew how to set broken bones,how to staunch a flow of blood and how to heal.He served for thirty years,in war and peace and but never spoke of the horrors he had seen,or the hardships he had endured.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Though absent from his children's lives for months and sometimes years, when home, he earned their respect.He endured no nonsense from his sons,and they learned from his example.He taught them how to play cricket and football,to accept defeat with graciousness,and to rejoice in the winning.He gave them a moral code to live by,and instilled in them the virtue of self discipline.He never raised a hand to them.There was no need,one look from him was enough to quell any attempted unruly behaviour at the dinner table or bedtime.His daughters in his view, were equal to his sons and subject to the same rules of life as his sons.Weeping from either was considered a weakness,and complaining forbidden.In his later years he returned to the soil,and his old love.He grew vegetables,and planted gardens,a dog always at his heels.He loved his grandchildren and cooked for them ,at ease when in their company,and they loved him in return.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He died when he was seventy nine.His illness was protracted ,slow, painful and suffocating for such as he,and those that loved him could only stand and watch.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Wife.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She was full of life,popular,pretty,and the young men flocked to her court like moths to a flame.There were many suitors.She knew, however that there was only one man for her,only one that she was willing to share her life with,even though she saw little of him.The wedding took place eventually when she was twenty three,and instead of a honeymoon they travelled to the south coast where her new husband was stationed,and took rooms in a boarding house.<br />
She was lonely,missed her old life,and found it difficult to manage on the Naval pay that her husband brought home.A son was born,and two years later,and one year before war was declared, a daughter.Three more sons were born to her during the war years,one in the middle of an air raid.Her children always remained with her ,and were not evacuated.The thought of them being motherless if she were to be killed by a bomb was unthinkable,and she felt it better, rightly or wrongly to keep them close. Long,uncomfortable nights in shelters, bombs raining down upon them became the norm.Food was rationed,but there was always enough in her little store cupboard for a needy neighbour,and no one was ever turned away who knocked upon her door.She taught her children that it was far far better to give than to receive,that no little errand that they did for a neighbour was to be rewarded in any way,and that they would do things for others willingly,and not count the cost.She taught them to share with each other.She bought them books,not only classics,but also the popular comics of the day,and she saved a few pence each week for Christmas,so her children would not be without presents.She sacrificed for them,loved them beyond measure,and was always,always in the home.She had one more child after the war ,another daughter.<br />
She out- lived her husband by nineteen years.She was brave in her mourning,stoical in her grief,pretending that he was just on another tour of duty and would return.Old age found her indomitable,<br />
resistant to infirmity,reluctant to accept any sort of help that she might need.<br />
She was ninety seven when she died.<br />
The Marriage.<br />
On the face of it ,and maybe to an outsider,their personalities might seem incompatible.He,the deep thinker,slow to anger,and content in later years with his own fireside.She, at times volatile,with a quicksilver temper,and a thirst for the world beyond her doorstep, once her children had grown.There were, of course,rows and quarrels as in most marriages,and sometimes silences that lasted for days.Different interests,different outlooks,different political views.One a Tory,one a socialist.One a Monarchist,the other a republican......Yet they were bound to each other by the cords of love,their marriage underpinned by fidelity and loyalty.Through war and long partings,peace time and the mundane, their marriage survived.Through sickness and health,money worries and heartache they were true to the vows they made, in that little country church so long ago...........<br />
My Mum and Dad.Fortunate were we in our parents.<br />
So I hope,by the mercy of God,that they are in one of those heavenly mansions in the Father's House.Not Catholics,nor practising Protestants,yet both with a Christian ethos that guided their lives.Of their Baptism I am sure.Of the presence of the Loving Christ at their deaths ,I am positive.<br />
Two lives led with fortitude and courage.Six children,seventeen grandchildren,thirteen great grandchildren,and still counting.......<br />
To God be the Glory.<br />
</div>A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-51745128669989667752011-02-18T22:39:00.000+00:002011-02-18T22:39:34.222+00:00A Call to Arms.For the most part I enjoy the homilys at Mass.<br />
Always without exception, they are based upon the Gospel or the readings of the day.Fine.I,like most people I guess ,sometimes need the readings explained or a new slant put upon Christ' s words in the Gospels.I have ,in the course of coming home, attended Mass in many parishes,trying to find a home for my poor (ahem,)"orthodox" self,and in each one the homliy has been as described above.<br />
Some times I wish, I so wish that I would hear from the Sanctuary the words I long to hear.I wish that our Priests would teach us and expound upon the Sacraments,the essential need for confession and absolution,the reception of Holy Communion ,and how it is a mortal sin to receive when not in a state of grace.I wish that they would remind us of the Four last Things,that they would speak of the sacrifice of the Mass,and not just the joy of the Resurrection.That they would tell us that we sin,each and everyone of us,and that none of us are wholly good.I wish that they would tell the children,and parents,that it is forbidden to eat in church,that unnecessary talk before Mass is disrespectful in the House of God ,and that waving to ones friends when in the communion line shows a lack of understanding of what we are about to do.I wish they would tell us of the great horror that is abortion, of the millions of unborn babies murdered in the womb,and that reparation is needed.<br />
I wish that they would spiritually arm us from the Sanctuary,inspire us with their zeal,offer us ,and lead us, in the old devotions, and make us believe in the power of prayer.We need more Masses not less,and we need to be told that the collection of huge amounts of money will not bring us new Priests.A rich diocese maybe,but surely not vocations......<br />
A call to arms then is needed,the public prayer of the faithful,encouraged and led by our Priests.Holy hours,Benediction,Rosaries,Adoration,Forty Hours,the storming of heaven.!For the world out there is already armed against us,and the battle between good and evil has hardly begun.<br />
<br />
Holy Michael Archangel, defend us in the day of battle,<br />
Be our safeguard against the snares of the devil.<br />
May God rebuke him we humbly pray,and do thou prince of the heavenly host,<br />
thrust down to hell satan,and all wicked spirits that wander the world for the ruin of souls.<br />
Amen.<br />
Our Lady of Walsingham pray for us.A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-87122383232247957572011-01-20T22:37:00.000+00:002011-01-20T22:37:58.093+00:00The Holy Ground of Walsingham.Weep ,weep oh Walsingham<br />
Whose days are nights<br />
Blessings turned to blasphemies,<br />
Holy deeds to despites.<br />
Sin is where Our Lady sat,<br />
Heaven turned into hell.<br />
Satan sits where Our Lord did sway,<br />
Walsingham oh farewell.<br />
<br />
(The Walsingham Lament)<br />
<br />
I have to admit that when visiting ancient ruined abbeys,it is always the sense of desecration that fills my mind.My first thought is never, how wonderful it must have been ,but, what awful thing happened here.!So it was when I first visited Walsingham.I remember sitting in the Abbey grounds and being enveloped in a kind of sorrow ,a sadness that seemed to be reflected in the little stretch of turf that lay in front of me.<br />
It was, of course, the site of the original Holy House .Roughly twenty three foot by thirteen ,and slightly raised ,the outline clearly visible.I have since read ,that when it was excavated in 1961,a layer of ash was found beneath the turf,evidence of the fire that burned it to the ground.I did not know of it then,I hardly knew about Walsingham .On a visit because there were a couple of spare seats on the coach,and after all ,it was a couple of days away from the daily grind! I was catholic in name only then,but even so I had tried to do all the things a good catholic might do on a pilgrimage.I walked barefoot the Holy Mile,trying to mumble the Rosary,but could not remember the mysteries.I went to Mass because it would have been an embarrasment not to.I joined in the prayers and added my own for a little girl who had been snatched in Portugal.In fact she was the only person I prayed for on that first visit.Sometimes I think I rabbit on and on in my prayers,and do not take the time to listen.The only time that I was silent in my mind,was in the Abbey Grounds, and in front of that beautiful statue in the slipper chapel, the sight of which took my breath away.<br />
I read the story of Walsingham while I was there.The Holy House built by Angels even before Loreto.Richeldis and her love of Our Lady.Charlotte Boyd who saved the Slipper chapel,and of course,Alfred Hope Patten the Anglican minister who built the Anglican shrine.I did not want to come home.I did not want to leave.I wanted to rebuild Our Lady's House in the place that she had wanted it,the place she was so insistent upon,and that was now, nothing but a piece of turf.I did not know it then, but Walsingham had somehow opened up some place in my mind that had been closed for many years.<br />
I came home from Walsingham,and a few weeks afterwards, my return to the church began.<br />
I know now that that that little village in Norfolk is Holy ground.That Our Lady's love for England and us is somehow concentrated( for want of a better word)there.That anyone who visits Her there ,and implores her help will be answered.In fact,even someone like me ,who visited Her in ignorance ,even such as me who had no thought of conversion ,Our Lady stretches out her hand.<br />
;<br />
Oh Gracious Lady,Glory of Jerusalem<br />
Cypress of Zion and joy of Israel,<br />
Rose of Jericho and Star of Bethlehem.<br />
Oh Glorious Lady,our asking not repel.<br />
In mercy all women ever thou dost excel,<br />
Therefore Blessed Lady,grant thou thy great grace,<br />
To all that thee devoutly visit this place.Amen<br />
(Ballad of Walsingham).A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-69623554576694973702010-12-30T20:43:00.000+00:002010-12-30T20:43:31.786+00:00You could not make it up!The star,the cave,the angels,the shepherds, the magi. The sinless virgin and her great protector,the new born baby laid in the manger.The beginning of the greatest story ever told.<br />
How wonderful that He was not born in a palace and with the promise of great wealth.How wonderful that He only had his mother to tend Him,and not a host of nursemaids.How wonderful the lowly woven cloth that covered Him,the humble donkey that carried Him.<br />
This is our King then ,who lays in the company of the beasts of the field,whose fodder is His pillow,whose pungent breath warms Him, whose presence comforts Him.Our King ,born out of the love of the Father,His beloved son ,born in poverty and in an occupied country.<br />
Who can fathom the mind of God? Who can understand His ways?Who can deny His greatness when thinking of the birth of Christ! For only God Himself could bring about our redemption in this way,only God Himself could love us enough to give us Christmas,only God Himself could give us the little Christ child to carry in our hearts,only God Himself.<br />
And you could not make the Holy story up. <br />
A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-12143519926680281332010-12-02T18:25:00.000+00:002010-12-02T18:25:53.098+00:00Our Lady, Queen of Heaven.As a child, I never knew Our Lady.<br />
I knew of her in the stable at Bethlehem with the little baby and Joseph,but that I think, was all.My only exposure to her was at evensong in the parish church(low Church of England)and the singing of the Magnificat.I did not know it was Our Lady's song,her great response to the Almighty,but I loved the words,especially if I remember correctly "For he that is mighty hath done great things unto me,and holy is his name".I wondered often about the one whose name was holy......<br />
My childhood was christian orientated.The school I attended was an ordinary state school,but very christian in ethos and practices.Morning assembly with hymns and prayers,grace before lunch and friday afternoon bible stories.It was there at school, that I came to know the Parables and learned to love the historical Jesus.I learnt about the disciples ,I learnt about Zacheus who climbed the tree ,blind Bartimaeus ,and the poor lepers,but never a word about Our Lady.Understandable of course,the protestant view of her being only, that she was blessed among women as the mother of Christ,and that is all.<br />
So then ,she never figured in my world. She meant as much to me as maybe,the shepherds<br />
abiding in the fields,or the three wise men with their gifts.....................Our great Lady unknown to me and unapproached. Strange then, that when I saw the rosary in the shop window, the year that I was thirteen, I wanted it.I hardly knew what it was,only that it was somehow holy,mainly because of the crucifix on the end . I wore it around my neck sometimes,or I carried it in my pocket.It accompanied me to school,and later on to work.I never prayed it.I did not know how to.Years later someone told me that holding the rosary is like reaching out for Our Lady's hand.Reaching out and clasping it.I like to think that that is so.<br />
I suppose then, that that was the beginning of Our Lady's goodness to me.I know also,that the slightest glance towards her,be it a candle lit in her honour,or a hasty, whispered prayer, brings forth from her the sweetest of blessings on me her undeserving child.<br />
The great Mother of God,Mary most Holy, stands at the stable door,beckoning us in.She invites us to look upon her little child ,the Saviour long promised,Emmanuel,lying in the straw wrapped in swaddling clothes.Our God,our King,born of her,her son.<br />
Beata Mater et intacta Virgo,gloriosa Regina mundi,<br />
intercede pro nobis ad Dominum.A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-43911803682329147942010-11-26T19:31:00.000+00:002010-11-26T19:31:30.747+00:00The Number 37 Bus.I had to catch the number 37 bus today.<br />
I do not usually travel on buses ,but as there is a rather ominous squeak underneath my car, and an appointment with the dentist which could not be missed ,I thought I would throw caution to the wind, and try public transport.<br />
I soon realised that the 37,has a community all of its own.Along the way, each oncoming passenger was greeted by those already on .A seat prepared for old Harry recovering from a dislocated shoulder,who recounted mournfully the hours he spent awaiting the paramedics ,and the consequent two days in hospital.The young mother,baby strapped to her in some papoose like contraption ,the blind woman with the guide dog,docile and faithful at her feet.The woman in the seat behind me, preparing for a visit from her daughter who lives in New Zealand ,and who has first hand knowledge of the awful explosions at the mine,and its tragic outcome.<br />
Obviously they all use the 37 frequently.Maybe daily,and the thought struck me that I, the silent one, had shared, however briefly,in their lives in that one moment in time.That also, I was unlikely ever to do so again.I realised too, that each one, before they were born, was an idea in God's mind,that the great Creator had his own special name for them, and in some ways because of that ,we shared a common bond.I wondered about their beliefs.I wondered about their faith,or maybe their lack of it.Did they ever ponder,as I do often ,about the purpose of their lives?Do they ever worry about not becoming the person God wants, the person he had planned?.Was there someone on that bus wounded by life,whose heart aches with loneliness and the pain of loss.Or was there perhaps,a living, breathing, saint,whose humble goodness is known only to the one who made them. <br />
I will never know of course.There is nothing I can do to help Harry and his shoulder,no aid I can offer to the blind lady,nor can I watch over the mother and her baby.<br />
But I can remember them at the end of my day.I guess I can ask the good Lord to bless them ,He will see them in my heart,no names needed.....<br />
God bless all then on the 37 bus.A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-28456292059433090632010-11-24T18:08:00.000+00:002010-11-24T18:08:56.600+00:00It is Just Not Catholic!I live in a Diocese that was described some thirty or forty years ago as "The Showcase of Vatican 2".<br />
A diocese described recently by one famous blogger as part of the liberal,protestant south.<br />
That description is not unmerited.Liberal it most certainly is, sin has disappeared and with it the need for confession.The idea is, that you only need to confess if there is something worrying you,that any catholic can receive communion whatever the state of their soul.Those not in a state of grace will just not get "Full Benefit" from it !Confession is, in many cases ,a little chat with a priest ,and frequency<br />
is not encouraged.The concept of sacrifice has been removed from the Mass.It now seems to be a celebration of community,a neighbourly coming together,a chance to catch up with the latest gossip a chance to "Participate".It has in some way been sanitized,as if the crucifixion is too horrible for us simple people to contemplate, and that it is far, far better to concentrate on the glories of the risen Christ.<br />
Hence on Good Friday, a plain wooden cross processed,and not a crucifix,a veneration of the infamous tree, and not the bleeding figure of redemption.<br />
Where, oh where, have the old devotions gone?Whereto the rosary,the 40hrs,the holy hour,Benediction,processions,the crowning of Our Lady? In place of Hail Mary we have the parish "Mission" statement,and parish renewal days with a pentecostal mime artist.Well it is just not catholic is it!<br />
So how does an orthodox catholic survive?The answer is just one word,and that word is hope.<br />
A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7560650248574823357.post-82952547499263906742010-11-05T20:30:00.000+00:002010-11-05T20:30:05.726+00:00Walking to Heaven Backwards.Of course, I never intended to come home.It was, I suppose, the last thing on my mind.I never needed to come home,because in my own view I had never really left.....I just did not go to Mass.Not for thirty plus years!What made me come home? I think that story is for another time.Enough then to say that somehow I was thrown a lifebelt, and here I am in a little rowing boat lashed to the barque of St Peter.<br />
I knew that the church had changed.Indeed I had watched with some bewilderment the re-ordering of our churches after Vatican2.In the space of what seemed like a very few weeks, the thing that first drew me to Catholicism,the Latin Mass,was replaced by the Novus Ordo.The Gregorian chant no more,instead,a hesitant congregation manfully trying to sing a woefully inadequate version of the Gloria and the Sanctus in their native tongue.I had only been a catholic for about two years!<br />
It was The Mass then that first attracted me.It was, no doubt, the bells and smells that catechized me.It was the reverence,the holiness, the piety,of those around me.I had no idea of the concept of sacrifice.Coming from a protestant background ,that idea was alien to my mind,Holy Communion was purely symbolic nothing more.When I grasped the meaning of the Mass,when I understood the Real Presence I wondered how I dared to lift my eyes to the Altar ,how I dared to merely kneel at the consecration,should I not prostrate myself before Him whose sacrifice was being perpetuated before me?<br />
It was not hard for me to believe it.In some ways I sort of recognised it.I very quickly learned the Latin.Low Mass was I believe ,called Dialogue Mass, a sure way of learning and understanding the ancient language of the church ,and I loved every word.<br />
I coped with the changes.I coped with them for ten or eleven years.I coped with them but did not understand.I think looking back,this new direction that the church took after Vatican 2 contributed to my subsequent desertion.........I saw no need for change. I resented the removal of the altar rails,the redundancy of the high Altars ,the opening up of the Sanctary.All that I deemed to be holy crumbled before me.Communion in the hand was another blow to me.Had I not been taught a few short years before,that only the consecrated hands of a priest should touch the Body of Christ.!What kept me faithful was the knowledge that in spite of everything,the Mass, was the Mass ,was the Mass.That faith was a gift, a precious gift,that externals should not matter,and that nothing could ever shake my belief in the truth of catholicism.<br />
That last conviction remained with me during the following years.The years without Mass and the sacraments.I never did not believe.I always believed in the truth of it all.I just did not practise........<br />
There are no excuses for my failure,apart from the one mentioned above.I know that sometimes it takes time for converts to start "thinking catholic".But for me, from the moment I experienced Mass in a Catholic church I assumed that catholic identity,that distinct way of thinking,and of looking at the world.<br />
Very strange,but very true.<br />
So then ,I understand the words of Blessed Cardinal Newman.<br />
"We advance to the truth by experience of error;we suceed through failures.We know not how to do right except by having done wrong...We know what is right,not positively,but negatively................<br />
Such is the process by which we suceed;we walk to heaven backward."<br />
<br />
<br />
NB.<br />
Thank you KKOLLWITZ,for your comment on my previous try-out post.<br />
I hope you are not disappointed.A Catholic Comes Homehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090444350806953332noreply@blogger.com0