Recs- Bro. Mickey McGrath

This is my first original piece of artwork from my retreat with Bro. Mickey McGrath.

I had the pleasure of meeting Bro. Mickey at a summer retreat last year. It was one of those wonderful cross-sections of everything you want a retreat to be: fun, contemplative, spiritual, artistic, creative while bringing you closer to yourself and to G-d.

These are three of his many works: the first is a card; the second was posted on his website.

This third one is in honour of today’s Solemnity of Mary:

I hope you enjoy his work as much as I do.

St. Kateri Tekakwitha’s Shrine

We’re reminded throughout the year and the Liturgical calendar of many of the saints through their feast days. Recently, we’ve observed Sts. Simon and Jude, the North American Martyrs and Pope St. John XXIII and Pope St. John Paul II.

Today is All Saints’ Day; that day on the calendar that honors all the saints. Although not today, it is often a holy day of obligation where Catholics are expected to attend Mass. I did attend this morning, and since there is no specific saint mentioned it is a good time to remember the saints that are important to us.

The saint I chose for my confirmation name is St. Elen (of Caernarfon). I wrote about her back when I was going through my sacraments.

Last week was my annual fall retreat, and today I get to tell you about one of the unexpected directions I was sent on during that week: the National Shrine of St. Kateri Tekakwitha.

She was one of the three saints I considered for my confirmation before I was finally led to St. Elen.

I contemplated having St. Kateri because:

She was local,
She was Native American, and
Her name began with a K like mine.

When I read her story what stood out to me was how she was the only Christian among her relatives, and that struck a chord with me during my conversion. I was the only one moved to follow Jesus Christ, and so was the only one talking about Scriptural things. Obviously, I wasn’t trying to convert my family, but that single similarity stayed with me.

At four, Kateri lost her immediate family to a small pox outbreak. She had contracted the virus, and was left scarred by her illness. Upon her death, witnesses say her scars disappeared.

She appeared to three people in the days after her death, and one year later, she appeared again to Father Chauchetière who painted what is considered the oldest portrait of the saint:

Two of the four National Shrines that honor St. Kateri are in two small nearby villages in upstate New York about a five hour drive south from her burial place in Quebec.

I had heard of Kateri before I became a Catholic, but really only knew that she had been beatified and her place was local. I’ve had a strong connection to Native Americans since I was a child. I think I find myself drawn to cultures other than my own. I had just begun attending Mass when Kateri was canonized in 2012. I received a wallet card from the Shrine as they celebrated her canonization and our whole Diocese celebrated, and I’ve carried that with me since that day in October.

That day in October also held an unrelated significance for me as well: it was the original due date of my middle child, who decided to be two weeks early, lucky for both of us since as it was, the day he was born I was in labor for two days, unbeknownst to me.

I had no intention of traveling to a saint’s shrine on my retreat, but when I glanced at a map and saw how close it was to where I had been on Saturday, I realized that I didn’t have many opportunities to visit something so significant, and since she did have some inspiration for me, I was excited to go once it had been pointed out to me.

It was raining when I got there, so I browsed around the gift shop until it was a light enough mist for me to walk around. The buildings of the shrine close this weekend for the winter (because none of the buildings have heat), so my timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I plan to return when they have one of their events through the spring and summer.

I wandered through the museum first and then upstairs to St. Peter’s Chapel, which is a commemoration to the chapel that Kateri was baptized in. The nearby spring that was used to baptize her (and other converts at that time) still flows. Visitors claim healings and cures after drawing from the holy spring and praying for intercession by St. Kateri.

She lived in the village up the hill for most of her life. It is currently the only completely excavated Iroquois site in the country. Although the area had a history, it hadn’t been a shrine to her until Pope St. John Paul II beatified her in 1980.

The air was cool, the mist was wet and the sky was grey. I hadn’t realized until last week how much that type of weather is my weather. Very often I talk about my trip to Wales; more like pilgrimage, and when something reminds me of Wales, it is much more than the anecdote of a week’s vacation. There are so many non-religious, spiritual things associated with the simple phrase, it reminds me of Wales.

The fact that walking around the wet grass, seeing the bright yet muted oranges and reds against the greens, browns and greys as light played off the puddles was so reminiscent of my Wales that I had to sit and catch my breath. I was also moved to sit for quite a while in the chapel reading James Martin’s second prayer. The spirit was truly with me on this day. It was the perfect reading for the place; a perfect place to meditate on the Gospel, on Fr. Martin’s reflections, and to feel my own.

I walked.

I sat.

I prayed.

I meditated.

It was very consoling; reassuring of all that is right in the world.

It was exceptionally reflective and it gave me the impulse and the space to be reflective.

It reminded me of why I became a Catholic as well as why I became a writer. Both are similar answers even though they don’t come easily to the conscious mind: I can’t be anything else. Neither was anything that I was looking for, but instead they found me. Both are faith driven, both are involuntary, instinctive, and they both need caring to keep them potent.

Let me share the beauty of St. Kateri Tekakwitha’s Shrine with you:

Bell Tower

My First Anointing Mass

Last week I attended my first Anointing Mass. I actually considered not going. My sick doesn’t seem as serious as other people’s sick. I have chronic health problems and a new one that has cropped up recently; something I need to think on, talk about, weigh pros and cons, and make decisions on, but because it has all of those steps it feels more like a business decision or planning a vacation rather than an illness.

I don’t know at what point I dismissed that as bullshit. That ridiculous my problems aren’t worth mentioning that so many of us do without thinking. We should not need to be beat over the head to take care of ourselves, both mentally and physically.

The anointing mass is for anyone who wants G-d’s help with whatever medical problem they’re having.

Even before I became as religious as I am now, I understood how important positive thinking is for health and curing illness. Studies have shown that even patients who didn’t know that they were being prayed for still did better than those that weren’t prayed for. Certainly, even non-believers can’t argue that prayer couldn’t hurt.

Still, it was very last minute that I decided to go. I needed to sign up since there would be lunch following the mass and they needed a head count.

Everyone I spoke to had told me how spiritual, how lovely, how beautiful this mass was. It hadn’t prepared me for the truly comforting feelings that the mass held and filled me with.

It was very similar to a Sunday Mass with the music ministry in attendance. However, we were seated in every other pew. People were helped to their seats so I ended up sitting with people I’d never met before. There were many elderly and wheelchair bound in attendance, several coming from the two nearby nursing homes and rehabilitation centers. There were many people from different parishes who come solely for this healing mass.

The Father went around the entire chapel and greeted everyone already sitting. He asked the woman next to me if they came with me to which we both replied, no, we’ve just met.

There were special readings that were incredibly moving. There wasn’t so much a homily as an encouragement to rely on G-d and to trust that all will be well. He quoted that from Julian of Norwich, and I found the simple words a necessary mantra for the rest of my week:

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well”

It didn’t take long that I discovered why we were seated in alternating rows. That way, we didn’t need to leave our seats to receive the anointing and the Eucharist. It was a very kind gesture for so many of the attendees would have had trouble processing to the altar for the traditional communion.

First, one Father came through the aisle in front of us. He anointed our foreheads with the cross (similar to receiving ashes) and then also the palms of our hands. He spoke quietly and despite saying the same blessing to everyone, it sounded personal and more meaningful than I’d expected.

I didn’t feel better per se, although of course, I hadn’t expected to, but I did feel as if I’d received a shield; an additional protection, not only for the illness, but for the ability to make the decisions to move towards wellness.

After everyone was anointed and after the Eucharist was prepared, the second Father came to our side to give us the body of Christ with a Eucharistic minister following with the blood. I received a large pizza shaped piece and I carefully broke it, ate a piece, broke it again, ate a second piece, and placed the last piece on my tongue when I was offered the cup. I like to keep a bit of host in my mouth and swirl the wine with it. There’s no real reason for this – the host practically melts on your tongue, but I think, for me, there is something sacred about combining the body and blood and as it glides down my throat, there is a warm feeling. It is not a burning, but it remains and fades slowly as I meditate or pray while the host is replaced in the tabernacle.

After this, we all walked over the parish center together, steadying non-cane arms, pushing wheelchairs, holding doors open and lending a hand wherever needed. At first, I sat alone as I usually do when I know no one, but Anne Marie, the woman who was randomly put next to me for the mass came over and invited me to their table. I was glad for the company and even gladder that they were strangers. It made the day that much more distinct from the regular daily mass.

It was really a beautiful experience and if I need a boost of strength to carry on with my health decisions and getting well, I can think back on this day and reflect on it.

I have comfort in the prayers, in the fellowship of those of us joining together to combine our strengths and share them. It was very encouraging and I will rely on it in the upcoming months to support me in the trying times that are ahead.

The Train Station

Apart from a variety of subways and commuter trains, I’ve only taken long distance trains twice for traveling. The first was across the UK in the 80s, which was a blast, and the second was last year to visit my friend and his friends to watch and celebrate the Supernatural ninth season finale.

I loved the visit, but the train travel made up half of the fun. It was an adventure.

My anxiety gave me bits to worry about, and I would have to stay over in Penn Station from 2am to 7am until my last train home, but all the parts in between were new and wondrous, and sleeping on my suitcase at 3am in Penn Station was not actually as bad as I was expecting.

I have always called this my retreat week, and as I mentioned earlier in the week, that may not be the correct word to use. In my search for a better word, journey came to mind, and while I still haven’t settled on it (or any other), I was zapped with creative lightning, better known as inspiration and actually said out loud: What better place to begin this week’s journey than at the train station.

It wasn’t bright and early, but I managed to get myself to the Amtrak station at the tail end of Sunday morning, and began by taking photos outside.

I don’t remember the old station, but the new one is very attractive and welcoming. (I sound like a tourist guide.)The last time I was there was Easter week and it was cold and cloudy and rushed.

When I went in this time, I took inventory of the place – coffee shop, gift store, waiting area, ticket counter, post office section and people.

I didn’t look too out of place – I had my briefcase with my notebooks, an umbrella, so I more or less fit in with most of the other travelers.

I found a seat and people watched for a few minutes, trying to squint my eyes enough to see the departures board as if I needed to see when that train was getting into DC.

For a second, I forgot that I wasn’t actually going anywhere.

I still felt like pretending. I took out my Kindle and that was where the unexpected urge to begin James Martin’s Together on Retreat with the First Prayer appeared. Seriously – I was just going to play a game and see what I wanted to do there.

My space wasn’t silent; it was barely still, but even so I felt the solitude in spite of the people milling about, hugging, taking pictures, checking the sizes of their carry-ons, calling each other from across the station. I noticed a Tardis hat, and the Red Caps finding wheelchairs and carting luggage around.

I could feel myself inwardly smiling.

It reminded me of the sensation of traveling: the list making, the packing, the plans, and the heartbeat of excitement that is the mix of adventure and anxiety – that typical but not typical wonder, not of getting from point A to point B, but the thrill of everything that comes in between.

I began to read.

His first prayer is to reflect on the scripture Mark 1:16-20, the call of the first disciples. This was very dramatic for me, having only recently been called. Once He (Jesus) beckons them, they follow. There’s no real suspense for us, the reader, knowing the outcome of this nearly two thousand year old book, but the part of me at home in the train station was envious, not only of their first-hand account of Jesus’ teachings but of their impending travel to parts unknown.

I wonder if they thought about the new things they’d see; or the old things they’d see with new eyes. Did they just go without a second thought or was there deliberation in hindsight?

This is one of the reasons that much of my writing, even the non-travely writing often has travel and journeying metaphors. Moving from one place to the next, whether physically or emotionally remains how I describe the changes in my life, physically and metaphysically.

I’m walking a path, parts of it are dark, parts of it are scary, but portions are also light and exciting. Sometimes we have a traveling partner, a companion, and sometimes, for some sections of it, we travel alone. Well, not quite alone. Walking with G-d, we are never alone.

And so the train station was so many things that day. I didn’t notice how long I’d been just sitting there, reading, contemplating, meditating and writing. It was more of jotting things down, and typing notes into my Kindle where I agreed with Father Martin. He was like a whisper in my ear, sharing his time in the Holy Land, and letting me take his experiences and use them to create an oasis of Holy Land around my seat by the window.

For a moment, I wondered if I could afford one round trip ticket. What is the cheapest ticket that I could buy and still get back by tonight? I didn’t bother to check. Sometimes, the journey isn’t getting on the train; it’s finding the next place on the map and heading thataway.

There are so many things to think about this week.

No point sitting still; I hear the whistle; it’s time to go!

Luke 5:1-11

This is the second prayer used by James Martin’s Together on Retreat. I read and meditated on this at the St. Kateri Tekakwitha’s National Shrine, a beautiful place to sit and pray and meditate, even in the rain. Maybe especially in the rain. 😉

Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. So they signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.

Martin, James (2013-02-19). Together on Retreat (Enhanced Edition): Meeting Jesus in Prayer (Kindle Locations 644-650). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

Writing Prompt

My apologies for the lateness.

This was prompted by beginning my week – I’m still trying to find a name for it. I was reminded that retreat = surrender, and that is not exactly what my goals are for this week, and as I continue through the rest of the year and into the next. I was also prompted by this morning’s Anointment Mass at my church. It was a beautiful service, and I will try to reflect on it later in the week.

Write about something that you find sacred – like a personal talisman or inspirational item.

October Recharge, 2014

When my writer’s conference up and left to parts unaffordable, I tried to set up my own writer’s retreats; a solid week to concentrate on me as the writer with minimal upheaval to my family and my pocketbook. I would be home in the morning to send the kids to school, and then after Mass, I’d spend the day out, writing, visiting places I didn’t typically get to visit, taking photographs and making plans.

And, of course, writing.

It was good for my depression, and good for my soul, and fortunately, it didn’t upset the household balance too much.

Oftentimes, it reminded me of my solo trip to Wales that was a godsend and a challenge and spiritual and so many other things that five years later, I still write about the wonder of it all; about the aloneness but the comfort in that aloneness; that sense I had of self, and the want to do it all again.

Yes, even the driving on the wrong side of the road, which is less a string of expletives and more a warm musing of my adventures.

The Spring Enrichment offered by our Diocese fed my soul in a similar way, although I’m not sure I would call that a retreat per se. Some parts of it were certainly that positive aloneness, time to meditate, but other portions were too exhilarating; too mind racing to be mistaken for a private retreat. It was less solitary, but it also led me out of my comfort zone in several other ways: asking questions, introducing myself to speakers and strangers alike, getting involved in conversations, offering my opinions. I was comfortable enough to be me for a little while.

This past summer, I had the opportunity to attend a spiritual retreat. I hadn’t ever gone on one before; everything there was new to me. This was a weekend of prayer and artistry, no artistic talent needed. A retreat director, artist Brother Mickey McGrath guided us through his five sessions giving our creativity an outlet through prayer and bringing us closer to G-d, whether or not we were drawing religious symbols or objects from nature, like flowers and leaves. Except for our private rooms, we shared classes, prayer and group meals.

For this retreat, I’d need drawing paper and colored pencils and as I mentioned I’d have my own room. It was very exciting, and it was a little intimidating, and very much out of my comfort zone, but for the most part, I was looking forward to it.

All of it.

The packing, the unpacking, the communal bathroom down the hall, meeting strangers, all here for our own reasons seeking our own spiritual fortunes; the quiet, the nature, the prayer, the wonder of something new and old at the same time, all taking place in G-d’s presence.

Typically, I’m not much for being alone, but this was different. For starters, I loved my room. A bed, a chair, a desk. It sounds spartan, but it was homey. There was a ceiling fan and a big window next to the bed. I almost didn’t want to leave the room. The wifi didn’t reach the room and cell service was spotty, but that was a good thing. It gave me the quiet space to meditate, to think, to write.

It was two and a half days of good food, good company, and good meditating time. I was surprised by my drawings. I enjoyed doing the mandalas. I also think I did pretty well; my drawings came out better than I expected since I’m not much of an artist. I drew my favorite flower – the daffodil. I drew the triquetra that’s been so important to me lately.

Once I got home, I started drawing small circular badges to use on my website. It made me feel like I’ve accomplished something artistically. I wasn’t overly critical of myself as I usually had a tendency to be.

I prayed. We had prayer services every day, and Mass on Saturday night plus I sat in the courtyard with my journal and prayed the rosary. It was the first time I felt connected to the rosary in a meaningful way, and it started me praying with it a little more regularly once the retreat was over.

This is my introduction to this week’s retreat. I’m doing something a little bit unlike what I’ve done before on my other ‘retreats’.

I’ve done the writing retreat and now I’ve done the spiritual retreat. Last year, I was fortunate enough to travel to Williamsburg, a gift from my best friend, which was a kind of retreat in itself.

However, beginning tomorrow (maybe even parts of today), I’m doing both, maybe more. If I can plan it out and prepare my family, I should be able to recharge my batteries on so many levels before the holidays surprise us like they do every year.

For regular readers here, I have had the new weekly format in place for two weeks now, and it seems that people like it. I do. I’m very comfortable with it, and since my family is always taking my computer, I’ve even made sure that I can post the first couple of days each week from my Kindle, my very favorite piece of technology that I own.

This week it’s hard to say if my posts will be feast or famine.

I do have plans, reflections I want to write, places I want to pray, thoughts and scripture that I want to meditate on, continuing my creative recovery through The Artist’s Way book, ending next Saturday with a full day creative retreat at a nearby Dominican Retreat Center.

I’m also using Fr. James Martin’s book, Together on Retreat as the basis for the spiritual guide for me. Having just finished his recent book, Jesus: A Pilgrimage, I love his tone, his style of writing and his insights which more often than not match my own. Where we diverge, he offers questions for my own meditations. I’m looking forward to sharing my week with you.

There are so many things flying around in my head that I’m hoping to and trying to set them up in their own homes, rooms if you will, and organize them into manageable chunks.

As anxious as I am for this weekend and succeeding at my retreat, I’m also very excited.

My primary theme is to center myself spiritually through prayer and writing. Writing is my lifeblood. It is the second point of my triquetra.

My secondary theme is taking care of myself.

Focusing on me, pulling my creativity along, seeking past my comfort zone, and finding me because I’m still lost, but also combining all the positives as coping and managing tools, mechanisms for living with my depression and anxiety and letting me be me, and then be able to introduce myself to the people around me.

Sept 22 (Luke 8, Proverbs 3) Reflection

There were several things in Monday’s Mass that struck at me with familiarity. The first was the Reading: Proverbs 3:27-34, in particularly verse 27:

“Refuse no one the good on which he has a claim when it is in your power to do it for him.”

And the Gospel of Luke 8: 16-18

¹⁶“Now no one after lighting a lamp covers it over with a container, or puts it under a bed; but he puts it on a lampstand, so that those who come in may see the light.¹⁷For nothing is hidden that will not become evident, nor anything secret that will not be known and come to light.¹⁸So take care how you listen; for whoever has, to him more shall be given; and whoever does not have, even what he^[e]thinks he has shall be taken away from him.”

How many reminders in the Scriptures are there for helping your neighbor? And we all know that it isn’t always literal neighbor, but a euphemism for fellow man or rather mankind.

If you have the ability, as Proverbs says you should help without questioning yourself, your neighbor’s motives or needs or whether or not you feel like it. It can be just as hard to ask for that person or more than it is to go without.

And Luke. How many passages do we read that have to do with light shining in the darkness? Following the well-lit path? Showing someone else your own light?

The light is so many things – our lives, our faith, the brightness in a child’s eyes, the glow of the sun’s rays through stained glass as it skitters across a wooden or stone floor. When I first came into the church, I couldn’t help but notice the different lights: the skylight, the small stained glass windows, the large Blessed Mother in the front, the large windowed cross in the back and of course the candles and how each light reflected itself, but also shown differently in the shadows; to be more nuanced than simply light and dark.

I saw Christ in the light – the proverbial awakening of my soul through the spirit.

I have come full circle through most of the passages. It won’t be complete until the third year of Gospels, but for some of the readings I’ve heard them before, and they still jump out at me as I recognize their impact on my heart.

Monday’s Antiphon was the first one I ever read, and that was a random picking of a page back when:

I am the salvation of the people, says the Lord. Should they cry to me in any distress, I will hear them, and I will be their Lord for ever.

He did.

And He is.

Sept 21 (Matthew 20) Gospel Reflection

Since beginning my Catholic education that led to my recent baptism this past Easter, I have continually been astonished at how much I’ve learned that I already believed. I’ve never had any formal teaching in any Christian religion. I had attended a handful of Masses with friends or for their weddings, a christening or three, and I’ve had one or two who believed in evangelizing and brought me pamphlets and materials to read and consider.

One of the things I always had a problem with was Judgment Day and whether or not and who would make it into Heaven. My belief had been, and I apologize for the flippancy in which it sounds, but my belief was always that even if I didn’t believe, if Jesus was real, He would forgive my ignorance. He would take me into his flock because that’s what he does. It’s His thing.

Honestly, I tried to avoid this conversation because it does sound disrespectful and I’d never meant it in a tongue-sticking-out way, but in my head, it was just a logical assumption.

Over the course of the last year (it is almost exactly a year since I began in the program), I have had the privilege of taking several classes and workshops. I also ask a lot of questions, and I am so happy to say that they are always answered. My questioning is welcome and I find that when I can ask anything, it is easier to allow myself to think and decide what it is that I believe within the religious framework that I’ve been seeking.

In addition to daily Mass for the past two years, I’ve gone to lectures on Matthew’s Gospel by a local priest, and one of the things he expressed was this feeling, this statement that whenever you come to Christ, you are accepted. You can be the last one in the door, and still you are welcome. (He also had a few things to say about Judgment Day which I also believed in my heart since forever, but that is another essay.)

In hearing Sunday’s Gospel (Matthew 20: 1-16), it reaffirmed that and what I’d always thought.

If I have made a conscientious choice with no malice, and I was mistaken, not through hubris, but through faith and reasoning, I would not be punished for my opinion. Jesus wasn’t that kind of a person. (Again, in my Jewish faith, I thought of Jesus as a person, not divine; this has changed in the last two years.)

He would not turn me away.

I’m not the last one in the door, but I have still found this to be true. I have been welcomed; not only by Jesus and His example, but by his representatives in the church and parish community.

Here is an excerpt from the New American Bible of Matthew 20: 1-16 that made me smile on Sunday:

20 “For the kingdom of heaven is like ^[a]a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. ²When he had agreed with the laborers for a^[b]denarius for the day, he sent them into his vineyard. ³And he went out about the ^[c]third hour and saw others standing idle in the market place; ⁴and to those he said, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and whatever is right I will give you.’ And so they went. ⁵Again he went out about the ^[d]sixth and the ninth hour, and did ^[e]the same thing. ⁶And about the^[f]eleventh hour he went out and found others standing around; and he *said to them, ‘Why have you been standing here idle all day long?’ ⁷They *said to him, ‘Because no one hired us.’ He *said to them, ‘You go into the vineyard too.’

⁸“When evening came, the ^[g]owner of the vineyard *said to his foreman, ‘Call the laborers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last group to the first.’ ⁹When those hired about the eleventh hour came, each one received a^[h]denarius. ¹⁰When those hired first came, they thought that they would receive more; ^[i]but each of them also received a denarius. ¹¹When they received it, they grumbled at the landowner, ¹²saying, ‘These last men have worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden and the scorching heat of the day.’ ¹³But he answered and said to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for a denarius? ¹⁴Take what is yours and go, but I wish to give to this last man the same as to you. ¹⁵Is it not lawful for me to do what I wish with what is my own? Or is your eye ^[j]envious because I am^[k]generous?’ ¹⁶So the last shall be first, and the first last.”

Mixed Feelings (Rosh Hashanah)

I have mixed feelings about Rosh Hashanah this year.

I had planned on observing it and keeping the kids home from school on the first day of the holiday, but it wasn’t on my calendar and I’ve made a committment to drive on of the elderly ladies to our memoir workshop, which is on Thursday (the first day of the holiday). I thought of maybe observing the second day instead of the first, but if I make a nice holiday dinner on Thursday, my husband won’t be home because he’s going to the high school for back to school night.

I may have to split the difference and do parts of each day. Have the dinner tomorrow night, go the workshop and then come home and continue with my own observance.

The liturgical year also starts in the fall, closer to November I think, I’d have to check, but that just reinforces my beliefs that becoming Catholic is an extension of my Jewish life, especially if you look at the New Testament as a part II, then my being Catholic after being Jewish is also a part II, a next chapter.

Once you are aware of all of the holidays, you can truly see the overlap, Rosh Hashanah, Passover, etc. I actually gave my take on Passover/The Last Supper to one of the presenters at the Spring Enrichment. It’s nice to be able to contribute with something I kind of know.

It’s also one of the reasons that I think joining the adult enrichment ministry is a good fit for me.

Griffins and Ginger Snaps

-I write, and I have a blog because of course I do-

spiritual