Being

I enjoyed the languor of this Sunday morning as I prepared for Mass. How peaceful this day began. I remained in bed trying to make sense of a dream. Then, I tried to formulate an answer to a question about how I feel about life after baptism, how I feel about the Church after one year. The question had been asked halfway through a telephone conversation.

When I reached for an answer, initially, I immediately responded with a short list of current actions and deeds. My response was a few sentences and then the conversation turned to something else. This morning, I paused and reflected on the emptiness of my response. I had created a mist of polite babble instead of shining a light directly onto my feelings.

The Church is very important to me. My Baptism on March 22, 2008 is my life's most cherished event. I had thought about it off and on for years. Actually, going through the RCIA process provided me with some very important answers about the essential, vulnerable me. The RCIA process, also, simultaneously, revived and nurtured a desire to do service for the Lord.

There is nothing unique about my conversion. I am pleased that my fervor is still growing. My heart is filled with hope and praise. Being baptized presented more responsibilities, more things and people to pray for and about. There is a greater need to practice social justice, to live simply.

I have been exposed to such goodness and compassion which encourages me to act similarly. Being Baptized is the best thing that has happened to me. I am learning to love, universally and unconditionally. That is a great thing.

I feel more youthful, more alert, more alive, more happy. There have been one or two moments of frustration but even that has led to a little more knowledge.

I like being Catholic.

Sunday, Awake

With tender prayers we ask for sweet mercy,
That his Word's truth inspires us, never dies,
That we remember his promise, prophecy,
His hungry heir might look into our eyes:
But we want to grow our sacrifice, hope,
To live a life of service is a life of praise
To live with honest goodness is to lope
For the Lord. To live the Word all our days.
Remember we are both miracle, gift
Love and charity leads us to his grace,
Away from sinful thoughts and deeds we shift
With tender prayers increases love's pace.
Ask for mercy and forgiveness for all,
Please, just listen for his answer, his call

A Saturday in the City

It's Saturday. I am alone on my roof. The time is 6:57 PM. I can see a small group of people having a dinner party on a nearby roof. Every so often I can hear a woman laugh. I can not clearly hear the conversations. Every now and then I can hear a stray word or two.

I like this time of day. I enjoy being at this spot. The sky is a modern, renunciant blue; the clouds are white and patient encouraging concentration, meditation.

I think of the Holy Trinity. I think of eternal peace and unity.

I realize that there are many lessons waiting for me to learn. Sharing goodness and mercy is sometimes difficult. I am not very good at telling jokes.

I am good at listening. I do have a pretty good imagination.

Tonight, I want to say, "Alleluia, alleluia."

When I Look

I sit on my rooftop. I am able to see the dome of St. Matthew's Cathedral and the Washington Monument when I look to the left. I am able to see the National Cathedral when I look to the right.

The sun is in the western sky now. The sunbeams are warm against my skin. It is July. Sitting and listening to jets ascending into the clear blue sky, listening to the brief, sad falsetto of the city bus breaks being applied, and feeling the cool, breeze touch my skin and the pages of my books.

Right now I am alone on the rooftop. I hear few sounds other than the city buses and the building machinery on the neighboring building. The shadows on the concrete please me. There are no distractions, I am thinking.

Silence and solitude can be dangerous. Thinking can be dangerous. Reflection can be dangerous.

Writing the word dangerous can be very humorous and liberating.

Faith wants us to look inside ourselves, to have an experience that starts in one place and ends in an entirely different private place. Faith encourages and inspires us to carry it to those private places in our hearts in order to allow it to become more personal, more natural. For faith to flourish it must be organic, not forced. It must simply occur.

Faith is irrepressible, necessary, nurturing. There is something definitive yet anonymous about faith which makes it so beautiful, so unifying.

Silence can be calming. Silent reflection allows me to find peace. At some point, I cease to hear my own voice, to think of my problems. Briefly, I just exist, free of every distraction.

I believe that faith encourages us to test ourselves, to move beyond the comfortable and the safe. I could just think these thoughts. That would be the safe thing to do. But sharing them is a little scary.

In our actual daily lives we present the transparency of shared relationships, the singularity of private thought and vision, and the artistry of love. All of these can combine and encourage us to look carefully both inward and outward.

Religious convictions can allow a certain independence from modern hedonism and nihilism. I like the humble heroism of being compassionate, forgiving, merciful. I like encouraging my instinct to do good, to be respectful.

It is a pleasure to think of one aspect of faith.

The sun has gone. The outline of the National Cathedral is visible against the peach colored western sky. There are people around me drinking beer, talking about frozen margaritas, talking of former girlfriends moving to town and looking for places to live, talking of dinners being purchased. There are people laughing, people remembering. A couple sits near me; the woman reads a thick paperback while the man coughs, reads his perfectly folded newspaper and looks nervously toward the sunset.
I sit here quietly thinking, not actually listening.

The evening air is brisk, my arms are getting cold. The lights have come on. In the distance I can hear a siren.

I silently say a prayer.

First Things Last

I think that it might be easier to start at the end. This is a written account of my private journey. I am asking myself questions about my faith, how I want to express my faith, and how I want to serve God. I am allowing myself a second to breathe, to glance around the room. I have lived an ordinary life. My exposure to religion began very early. I can remember going to Sunday school at a Baptist church. I can also remember trying to take a nap during Sunday service at a Baptist church.

Some of the sermons were great examples of oratory. Most were long, rambling things which mixed scripture with opinion. Some of the preachers worked to connect with their congregations. Others preached to their congregations about tithing and other financial connections.

As an adult weekly Mass attendance is an important component of my religious journey. I am trying to have a more humble, loving life. There all types of temptations and distractions all around me. Going to Mass is not a chore. I try to make it a reward for surviving another week. It is a moment of peace, free of the temptations of modern life and advertising. A moment free of detergent commercials; pop songs; anti-social and violent movies; oral contraception commercials; and celebrity gossip. It is a journey toward inner peace, inner knowledge, inner acceptance.

Weekly Mass offers a little bit of religious education, a reminder of God's love, and prayers, lots of beautiful prayers. Within the prayers, in the words, there is peace, love, and understanding. There is always a plea for the universal good, for universal humanity.

Participating in the Mass means that I am actively listening to the words that are being read or sung. Participating in the Mass means that I am praying for both familiar people and strangers. Participating in the Mass means trying to incorporate the teachings into more areas of my life.

I am looking for the best way to serve God, to follow in the footsteps of Jesus.

I recognize my shortcomings, my frustrations. I search for new questions, new ways to serve and honor the Lord.

The Moon, The Clouds, and Three Vows

Writing an essay is sometimes a difficult endeavor. A topic or theme has to be chosen. A position decided upon. An attitude embraced and expressed in words and phrases, both succinct and yet descriptive. Writing about my impression of Catholicism is both daunting and comforting.

There is no topic. There is no theme. I shall share my stream of consciousness. Or my meditation on humanity. Yes, this shall be something between a meditation and a stream of consciousness.

There are white clouds against a washed out blue sky. The Washington Monument looks neon white in the distance. I have been thinking about a vow of chastity, a vow of poverty, and a vow of obedience.

The three vows have bounced in and out of mind during the last two days. Which vow is most appealing? Which is most troublesome? Chastity. Obedience. Poverty. All three of them can easily be romanticized. The vows suggest a beauty, a yearning for purity that is decidedly simplistic, decidedly opposed to the hectic, free-wheeling life of rampant consumerism.

This is an age of materialism and pettiness. Love is a commodity. Great conversations center on drinking, sex, boss avoidance, Delaware tolls, iced tea. Jobs often are not vocations but a means to an end. Materialism provides a wonderful background and handsome props. But, it also produces a brittleness, an anxious fragility. This is not the time to examine one's conscience. This is not the time to sit silently, thinking about God. This is not the time to write an essay.

For many those statements are true. But, for a few, a select group of brave adventurers who understand modern life and it's difficulties, who understand and accept the beauty, strength, and peace of chastity, obedience, and poverty, let them always be our guides and our inspiration.

I can see the moon, white and shining, against the washed-out blue sky. It is a little beyond eight o'clock. I can see a jet flying above the clouds. It is Friday. This sunset has an unworldly beauty, like something created for a Hollywood science fiction movie. Another jet appears and flies against the white cloud as it moves above them.

The three vows possess an unworldly power, otherworldly serenity. There is a hint of something real, something beyond ordinary, day to day comprehension.

There is an ancient naturalism in them.
I am drawn to the three vows. This is not the essay I had planned on writing. This is not the essay which was arranged in my mind.

I am left with a question of personal conviction, personal bravery, personal conscience. Looking at this July sunset, with the moon and clouds, I ask myself, what am I willing to do for God.

Writing an essay is sometimes about presenting a solution; however, sometimes, it might also be about presenting the unasked question.

Introducing Three Lists

This introduction is for the three entries which follow. Please forgive any typographical or grammatical errors which may be discovered. This is a record of a personal journey, actually a record begun after the starting point, almost at the halfway point. Each day there are new questions, new feelings, new desire.

The central part of each entry is a list of words. The lists were initially created consecutively. There is some overlap.

Creating the lists provided a two minute search and recover session as I tried to formulate and articulate my opinions on my religion.

Both learning and yearning are natural and necessary.