"They Have No Wine"

It's Carnival Time at Little Brother's school and the attached parish.

I'm no fan of Carnival, but my kids are. Little Brother was sad last night because the Big Kids went there without him (he's going tomorrow!)

At dinner Little Brother asked what happens to the money that is made from the event. "Do they use that to pay for the Carnival workers?"

I explained the difference between gross receipts and profits, and listed a few of the things that the parish would have to pay for, such as ride rentals, game prizes, and the workers' salary. Then he wanted to know where the extra money goes.

"Some goes to help the school, and some goes to help the parish," I told him.

He had an easy enough time figuring out some of the things the school would do with the money. But he was mystified at why the parish might need cash flow as well. After considering it for a bit, he said, "Well, I guess they use that to buy bread and wine. There's never enough wine."

Bells Are Ringing

This morning I went to Mass at the school, because they were honoring the parents who volunteered during the school year. Usually I avoid this event (it's a social-anxiety thing) but Little Brother was persistent in telling me he really wanted me to be there.

He's 11. How much longer is he going to be happy to see his mom volunteering at school? I returned the form saying I'd attend the Mass and social afterward.

When I got there, dripping from the rain because TheDad had mistakenly taken both our umbrellas to work with him, a smiling student met me at the church door and told me that all the volunteers were supposed to sit up front. So I did, because Little Brother wanted me to be there.

Fortunately there was no naming of names, just a group "all volunteers please stand up so we can thank you" at the end of Mass. I could deal with that.

Afterwards, we went into the cafegymatorium for a nice little reception. There were two decorated tables with these cute gifts that the first and second grades had put together--with handwritten thank-you notes from the kids. There were smiling seventh-graders pouring our coffee and juice and inviting us to take fruit and pastries.

I sat next to a mom whose oldest son is in Little Brother's class, and across the table from a mom whom I don't know, but who had a beautiful one-year-old daughter with her. The little girl had made an impression on me during Mass; she was very quiet most of the time, but when the altar server rang the bell, she exclaimed, "Yay! Bells!" Both times.

That reminded me of Little Brother at the same age. Big Brother was an altar server then, and I was up front with the choir. TheDad would sit in the back with Little Brother, and when the servers rang the bells, Little Brother would yell, "Big Brother's ringing the bells!" You could hear him throughout the whole church.

I was telling the other moms at my table about this, and the mom with a boy in Little Brother's class said that her sons used to ask her why the servers rang the bells. Her answer was that they ring the bells to show that this is an important moment. Of course, the next week, when the bells would ring, one of her boys would (loudly) say, "It's an important moment, right, Mom?"

I was dreading that reception, and even thought about ducking out on it, but I'm glad I went. I'm glad I sat with moms who bring their children to Mass. I'm glad my child attends this school where the kids are taken to church and can learn about Jesus and why it's an important moment when the bells ring. I'm glad that the parents can share, through funny stories about what their own kids did in church, how we help our children understand those important moments.

Summer Reading

My kids have Summer Reading assignments--and now, so do I.

Mine doesn't come with a test at the end, or a book report to write, or a poster to draw. It does, however, come with the promise of an intriguing online discussion.

That's because my Summer Reading is coming from the brand-new Lawn Chair Catechism series at Catholicmom.com.

We're reading Sherry Weddell's Forming Intentional Disciples:  The Path to Knowing and Following Jesus.

Learn how you can read along, or even join the discussion without reading the book. (Try THAT with your traditional Summer Reading assignment!) The series starts tomorrow, but you can still order the book at a deep discount--with free shipping--through June 6.

Find out more!

The Pink Ukelele

There's a little girl whose parents bring her and her baby brother to the 12:00 Mass every Sunday. They've started sitting near the folk group, and she keeps her eyes firmly on the musicians.

One recent Sunday, she escaped from the pew during Communion and her mom had to chase her as she ran up to the altar. After that Mass, a bunch of us told her embarrassed parents that they shouldn't worry about it, and that they shouldn't stop bringing her to Mass. It would get better. We're all parents too, and we've had our share of embarrassing kids-in-church moments.

Yesterday, there they were, in their usual spot. But the little girl did not arrive at church empty-handed. Besides her little pink purse, she had a tiny pink gig bag. Her dad placed it carefully at the edge of the pew. It looked like a very, very small guitar case, and we all whispered to each other before Mass that the little girl was here and that she'd brought her own guitar.

Of course, we were completely charmed by that idea. I was wondering how long it would take for her to break out the guitar and abandon her parents in the pew for the folk group across the aisle.

She left her gig bag alone during Mass (amazingly) but afterwards her dad helped her unzip it, to reveal the cutest little pink ukelele. She let Little Brother try to play it.

More than just a cute and sweet moment, though, this tells me something:  despite the liturgical-music snobbery that "folk-groupies" like myself often encounter, what we do has the power to touch lives. That little girl, no more than three years old, clearly wanted to play music in church. She sees us do that, she likes it, and she wants to do the same.

Church music doesn't have to be written before the turn of the 20th century to be inspiring. There's a little girl in our parish who has found herself inspired by the music we play each Sunday. It's not everyone's favorite, but it has touched her heart. I hope that in a few years, this little girl finds that she has a musical gift, and looks for a way to use that gift to honor God and serve others.

21st-Century Conclave

Yesterday's "white smoke rising" moment really brought home just how connected the world is. The Papal Chimney Watch was in full swing in the early afternoon, and I was in the car listening to commentary on satellite radio's The Catholic Channel. My husband was with me, commenting that he felt sorry for the radio personalities, who had to just keep talking until they had certain information.

We got home just as the announcers stated that the marching band was entering St. Peter's Square. I refused to get out of the car until I'd started up the satellite-radio app on my iPhone. I didn't want to miss a moment.

I was frustrated to discover that there was a 5-minute delay between the radio broadcast and the online version, but I set my phone next to me on the desk and listened as I headed to YouTube on my computer for the Vatican TV live feed. I started Twitter on the iPad.

I didn't even bother with the regular TV. For the last conclave, that's all I had. But this was amazing--using various media to receive information in real time (or as close as an online app for satellite radio could get.)

Then I watched the clock. It was getting close to 3, dismissal time for Little Brother's school. I was sure that they'd be watching in class, and didn't want him to miss "the Big Reveal" while he was on the school bus.

Pope Francis reached the balcony at about 3:15. We barely had time to digest the news and try to find out a little more about him when Little Brother exploded through the front door, yelling, "We have a new pope, and his name is Francis!"

"How did you know? They didn't announce his name until after you were on the bus!"

"Somebody on the bus has an iPhone and we were all watching it on the 3G."

This is probably the best use of an iPhone on a school bus EVER.

Heartbreaking, Heartwarming

In case you missed it, Pope Benedict XVI announced his resignation yesterday, stating that he no longer has the strength of mind and body to carry out the duties of his office.

This had to be an extremely difficult decision for the Pope. My feeling is that he did not want to leave the Church "unshepherded" in any way due to his own physical decline. It was heartbreaking to watch Pope John Paul II as his illness swallowed him up. This will give Pope Benedict the opportunity (if asked) to serve as a mentor to his successor, and it gives a wonderful example to the world of how to bear with great dignity, and even generosity, the indignities that come with the aging process.

It is telling, I think, that he has announced his decision to spend the rest of his life dedicated to prayer. In a fast-paced world, that is an excellent reminder to the Church of the importance of prayer, something which it is all too easy to neglect when things get busy--or we just get lazy.

I am saddened that it had to happen, but I believe that Pope Benedict made his decision with the good of the Church foremost in his heart.

As to the insinuations I have heard that he is running away from the sexual-abuse scandals, it's hard to believe that this would be the case. He's not the type of person to run away from a challenge or to walk away when the going gets tough. There is a difference between that kind of escapism and the simple acceptance of the fact that his physical condition will no longer permit him to carry out the duties of the office.

And to those who think that this is an opportunity to in some way "modernize" the Church, I will just say that my prayer is that the next Pope will be faithful.

I pray for Benedict XVI and for his successor, and for the Church.

image credit:  Kelly Wahlquist

I Played My Best for Him

I love Christmas carols--always have. If you ask me to choose my top 3, it's an easy choice:  "O Holy Night," "Silent Night," and "The Little Drummer Boy."

That last one hardly fits into the category of "traditional Christmas carols," but I can't help it. That song makes me cry every time--always has. I don't think I've ever been able to sing the line, "I played my best for him" without choking up.

The Little Drummer Boy gets it right. He brings his gift--not something that can be opened, but his talent--and he gives his best effort to honor the newborn King. As a musician, it's what I try to do, Sunday after Sunday. And I love that after the Little Drummer Boy offers his humble gift, Baby Jesus smiles at him.

Pass me a tissue, please.

Why would I choose bongo drums to illustrate this post? In art, the Little Drummer Boy is always pictured with a snare, sometimes slung around his neck, and drumsticks in his hands.

But my Little Drummer Boy (AKA Little Brother) has bongo drums. We sang "The Little Drummer Boy" on Tuesday at church and will do so again today. (It's not "orthodox;" it's not in the hymnal, but it's better theology than a bunch of what is in there.) Little Brother has learned to play the song on his drums. On Tuesday he knelt beside the guitarists and nailed that drum part, even meriting a thumbs-up from Bill, a former drummer who's very particular about how percussion is played.

I love that my kids have had the opportunity to offer their musical gifts in worship, to play their best--even when they're beginners musically. I teared up on Tuesday when my Little Drummer Boy played his best, right alongside me. And it's pretty much a given that I'll cry again today.

Guess What!

I totally forgot to talk about this, and I really should have said something TWO WEEKS AGO when it first happened, but I am one of a bunch of new contributors to the "Tech Talk" daily feature at CatholicMom.com!  (How cool is THAT?) 


I'll be writing every other Tuesday about techie topics that are near and dear to my heart as a Catholic, a mom, a Secular Franciscan, a parent of teenagers...


I never considered myself a "Techie," though I suppose the signs were all there.  My younger brother got a computer when I was in high school (a Radio Shack TRS-80, and if you're old enough to know what that is, you're close to my age).  I used that computer as much as he did, learning to write BASIC programs that would print my name 50 times and other useful things like that.  Senior year, I suffered through a half-year of trigonometry so I could enjoy a half-year computer class.  Never popular, I suddenly found myself in demand as students teamed up to work on projects and I was one of the few who knew how to make a computer print my name 50 times.


There wasn't much wiggle room in college for me to take electives, but I took Intro to BASIC as my math requirement (more making computers print my name 50 times) and found room for a one-credit course on computer applications in education.


After two years of teaching, my career path took a turn for the educational-software industry, where I was paid to break software and tell non-English-speaking programmers what I did to break it so they could make the software student-proof.  (I rocked at that job.)  Eventually I freelanced for that company as a software author, writing lesson "scripts."


Down the road, I learned about Internet message boards, blogging, Facebook, Twitter and more.  My husband (who's been a computer programmer since 1995) has kept me in gadgets starting with my very first Palm PDA up through a Kindle, iPad and iPhone.


I enjoy using technology in a variety of ways and look forward to sharing my favorite apps, websites and more, every other Tuesday at CatholicMom.com.  I also look forward to reading what the rest of the "Tech Talk" team shares, and am extremely grateful for this opportunity.


Today's feature is Digital Prayer, in which I talk about the apps you can use to pray the Liturgy of the Hours.

Communion and Community

Last night I got out of the house for the first time in 8 days. It took me about that long before I was willing to get into a car again! But our once-a-month Saturday-night Mass gig was this weekend at the Big Church, which is only one mile away, so I figured I could do it.

Except for the homily, I stood for the entire Mass. Sitting is difficult. I can't sit gracefully or comfortably. I sit like a cellist who has just had her instrument stolen. And then, of course, there is the Wearing of the Yoga Pants-- just about any other pants are out of the question right now.

But in that church, the musicians are located in a spot where no one sees how you're dressed or that you're pacing around back there during the Creed. So it worked.

I paid for that one-mile car ride, but it was worth it--SO worth it. I paid for the singing, which works the abs more than you might realize. But what I received? Hugs, good wishes, smiles and inquiries about my health from friends, neighbors, fellow musicians, deacon and pastor. The grace of just being there at Mass. The gift of singing at Mass (I was not foolish enough to try to bring my guitar). And the Eucharist, the whole reason I needed to be there.

A friend and fellow Franciscan stopped by last week to bring me Communion. I treasure that. And I treasure yesterday's venture to church as well. These past couple of weeks, I have really been reminded of what it's all about: Communion and community. I am grateful--very grateful--for both.

Easter's Musical Gift

Alleluia, He is risen!  We sang all about it yesterday.  And it was wonderful.

Our parish schedules an extra Mass on Easter to accommodate the expected crowds.  The rest of the schedule is shuffled a bit so that the larger of the two church buildings has the majority of Masses, which makes sense, because you need to fit more people.  Our folk group was playing at the little church at 10 AM.  There hasn't been a 10 AM Mass at the little church in almost 4 years.  So I was a little curious about how well-attended it would be.  Would people forget?  After all, my husband would have headed over to the big church if I hadn't reminded him that we were singing at the little church.  He'd have found a Mass there too, because both churches had a 10:00--but he wouldn't have found us.

It was a full house--and more--in the choir area, because it was a full house--and more--in the church.  My husband and mother-in-law couldn't get seats in the pews, so they sat with us.  So did Big Brother, who didn't have a guitar at home to play (and regretted that, at the last minute).  Middle Sister was serving, of course.  The folk group showed up in force, except for one member who was visiting faraway family.  Best problem in the world to have:  not enough seating for all the musicians and singers.  Fortunately, our church has these great "window seats" in the choir area.  At least 10 people had to use them; all 15 chairs were taken.

And we made our joyful noise.  It feels SO GOOD to lift your voice in "Alleluia" and "Glory to God" after all this time.  This group has a long tradition of singing "All Good Gifts" on Easter (the Godspell version) and though you might think of it as better suited to Thanksgiving, it works for Easter so well:  Easter Mass is all about celebrating, and thanking God, for the enormous and extravagant gift of love, shown through Jesus and His sacrifice.

Even better, we were permitted to sing our very favorite piece:  the Lord's Prayer.  It's a hallmark of our group, but one that we were asked to stop singing when the parishes merged.  A couple of times during Lent, the pastor (who asked us not to sing it anymore) allowed us to sing it.  People love it.  It's right up there with "Amazing Grace" in the Raise the Roof and Sing Along Factor.  And our associate pastor loves it, because it eliminates the whole "barrel through the Lord's Prayer" thing that is his personal pet peeve.

Our associate pastor has been stationed here for more than 7 years, and I think I've seen him actually sing maybe twice in all that time.  Yesterday, he sang along with the Lord's Prayer too.

When we finish the Lord's Prayer, we all get the same feeling:  we have Been To Church.  We have PRAISED.

I got a big basket full of chocolate and sugar for Easter, but the music was definitely a better gift, because it helps me remember the greatest gift.

Alleluia!

I Wish I Had the Guts to Send This Letter

A major religious holiday is coming up.  That's a good clue that it's time for my semi-annual Musical Rant.  I'm pretty sure that Satan knows that this is the best way to get to me.  Feel free to tune out if you're not a church musician.

To the Music Director and Pastor at my parish:

I came home from church tonight to find the forwarded email notifying me that, despite the fact that the Folk Group was assigned to sing the noon Mass on Easter at least two months ago, we've been reassigned to a different time and location, two weeks before Easter itself.

It's nice that you "hope this is not a problem."

People do make holiday plans, and in the Folk Group, you've got a very dedicated bunch of musicians and singers whose family holiday plans revolve around our church schedule.  That schedule is already variable because we have been asked to sing that once-a-month Saturday-evening Mass rather than our traditional Sunday noon time slot.  On Christmas and Easter, we do our best to be there at different-than-usual times because of the nature of the Mass schedule on those days.  Two weeks before Easter, most of us have made our holiday plans.

Reassigning us two weeks before the most important event in the Church year tells us exactly where we fit on the musical totem pole (as if we didn't already know.)  It's disrespectful to us personally and professionally.  I feel like the Samaritan woman who asked Jesus to heal her child, only to be refused because of her nationality.  She replied to Jesus, "But Teacher, even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master's table."  We are the dogs and you are giving us crumbs.  We're expected, I guess, to be happy with whatever crumbs come our way.

And because we're not proud (or tired) we'll take those crumbs.  We'll rearrange family plans.  The musician who works into the wee hours on a Saturday night will drag himself into church because he--as the rest of us do--believes that singing and playing for the glory of God are what matter.

We are not the world's best musicians.  But we more than make up, in attitude and enthusiasm, for the polish and finesse we lack.  We view our role at Mass as being leaders of song, not performers in a show.  Our goal is to help people sing along, to help them feel comfortable enough to sing along, because singing at Mass is a huge part of prayer.  Most of the time, we achieve that goal.

In the several years since the parish merger, we have made many, many accommodations.  We have learned an entirely new repertoire.  We have used chant settings for psalms and other Mass parts as required, even through chant is extremely challenging with only guitar accompaniment.  We have bent over backwards to follow the "once-a-month Saturday night" schedule, even when it means that most of us can't be there because of work and other obligations.  (That's why we had the late Sunday Mass to begin with.)  We have learned and used the Mass settings we were told to use, again, even though guitar is not the best accompaniment for some of these settings.  We've enjoyed learning some of this new music and tolerated other pieces, but we have always learned and used what we were asked to do.

We are not there to put on a show.  We are there to help people to pray through music, to help them give honor and glory to God through music.  We do this by keeping it simple, approachable, and in a key that's in a comfortable range for most people.  We welcome beginners, teenagers, and our own children; that's our investment in the future (and as a parent, I know very well how much such an investment pays off.)

Being a part of the folk group in this parish is an exercise in humility.  I have to say, it gets old finding humble pie under the Christmas tree and in the Easter basket year after year after year.  My husband says that I should just be thankful that we're being reassigned rather than cancelled altogether.  Any way you slice it, though, it still hurts.

I'm sure we'll take the crumbs and we'll be happy to have them.  And we'll sing our hearts out because it's what we do.  But you should know that it hurts to be treated this way, and that I have carried around this unspoken burden for far too long.

Are We Doing Enough?

This interesting essay "Time for Liberal Catholics to Quit?" comes at a time when I'm already wondering if we're doing enough.

My two older children (ages 16 and 20) are at that point in their lives (and faith) where Church just seems to be a bunch of rules for them to follow; rules that don't have much meaning behind them.  So I feel like we haven't done enough.  They both went to Catholic school, from pre-K through the present (Big Brother's at a Catholic college, even).

So they didn't get it in school.

My guess is that the kids in CCD (oops, sorry, "Faith Formation") get even less.  In our parish, they attend 14 sessions.  14 3-hour sessions, one hour of which is Mass.  So they get 28 hours of instruction, less "move-around time" for a full year.  Are they getting it there?

And clearly the Big Kids didn't get it at home.  We take them to Mass on Sundays and encourage them to serve in different ways.  They see examples of prayer, custom, and involvement in service from us and from others in the community.  But do they connect it to church?

Maybe it's just their age and stage.  But I think that many people never get past this stage.  If the Church doesn't form them well enough to want what is there, they're never going to take a second look.  They may stick around out of laziness, habit, a deep (but unrealized) interior need for the Eucharist and all the rest that they can only get at our church, or even out of arrogance.  They may stay, but they won't love it.

Can we teach them to love their faith?  Can we teach them to live their faith?  Are we doing enough?

Big Mistake, or Just Improv?

Yesterday after daily Mass, a friend caught up with me at the church door.  "Did you read today's Mass readings before coming to church?" she asked me.

Being lucky to get to Mass on time at all (I walked in during the opening prayer yesterday), I admitted that I hadn't.

"I think Father read the wrong Gospel today," she continued.  He read the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector.

We don't have the missalettes with the daily readings included, so I took out my phone (there's an app for that!)  Sure enough, the Gospel for the day was the story of Jesus driving out the demon from the man who was mute.  I checked today's Gospel to see if perhaps Father had skipped a page, but that wasn't the reading for today either.

So if there's anyone reading who has a clue about why Father might have read a completely different Gospel than the one slated for the day, please comment here.  He's not really the approachable sort when it comes to things like this.

Monday, Monday

...can't trust that day...

Normally I like Mondays because they signal the beginning of a new week.  Everyone is back to work or school and my house is quiet again and it's back to routine.

I love routine.  It makes my world go 'round.

Mrs. C with my kids, 2004

Today was not a routine Monday.  No one had work or school.  Instead, Middle Sister and I had a funeral to attend (I know!  Another one!!)  This funeral was for the son of the lovely woman who babysat Middle Sister twice a week when she was 4 and I had a part-time teaching job.  At the time, Mrs. C was mourning the loss of her husband, who'd had Alzheimer's; she had cared for him at home for the better part of a decade.  Middle Sister kept her company, learned to play Chinese checkers, took walks around the block with her, and discovered the magic of microwave pancakes thanks to Mrs. C.  With her own grandparents living upwards of 75 miles away, Middle Sister adopted Mrs. C as an extra grandmother.

Today Middle Sister towered over her former babysitter, who had stayed with Big Brother and Middle Sister the night Little Brother was born.  Today, as always, Middle Sister was quick to hug Mrs. C.  And after we sat down in our pew, Middle Sister wondered if she might be needed as an altar server.  Since the parish school closed, they haven't had servers for funerals (that's 8 years ago now.)  Usually one of the deacons, or Mrs. Deacon, or a member of the Bereavement Committee does the job.  But Middle Sister purposefully marched to the sacristy, high heels and all, and asked if she could help.

It was a full-court press on the altar today, with two priests (present and former pastors), one deacon, one server, and another deacon "behind the scenes" babysitting the incense.

The former pastor, whom I haven't seen in almost 10 years, greeted me as he walked by my pew before Mass.  "How are your kids?" he asked me.  I replied that one of them was his altar server for the Mass.  He looked puzzled until I mentioned her name.  "OH MY GOD!!!!!!" was his response.  He hadn't seen her since kindergarten.  She's grown a bit in 10 years.

Being at that Mass today, listening to that former pastor pray and preach was healing for me.  Some priests are good administrators.  Others are good in ministry to the sick and the bereaved.  This priest definitely falls into category "B."  Unfortunately, all of my dealings with him while he was our pastor were in category "A."  There was a lot of hurt that I've been carrying around for about 12 years now, hurt caused by administrative decisions this priest made that I took personally.

Middle Sister isn't the only one who's grown in the past 10 years.

I left that church carrying the burden of grief for Mrs. C, for her daughter-in-law, two grandchildren, and newborn great-granddaughter.  I left behind the burden of hurt that I'd been carrying around, for no good reason, for more than a decade.

I had no idea, walking into that funeral, that once again I'd be made proud of the young woman my daughter is becoming, and that I'd be able to let go of something I didn't need to lug around in the first place.

In your kindness, remember the C. family as they grieve, and pray for eternal rest for Tom, who made serving God through others his life's work--and his life's joy.

Breaking the Silence

At Mass today, as the lector finished with the first reading and paused for a moment of silence before we began the Responsorial Psalm, I recalled Michelle's post yesterday about silence; specifically, the part about silence during certain times at Mass.  We're not very good at silence in our parish.  People start squirming pretty quickly if the lector takes too long stepping away from the ambo so the cantors can begin to sing.

And then we sang:  "I will praise your name, my king and my God."

When the psalm concluded, the silence was broken not by the lector jumping the gun on the second reading, but by a toddler all the way on the other side of the church:  "YAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

Everyone chuckled, of course:  how cute!

Father looked at everyone, smiled, and said, "Amen!"

And then it was time for the second reading.

Epiphany

The Feast of the Epiphany of the Lord will be celebrated on Sunday, January 8 this year.

That means you've got time to plan ahead; get some holy water and some blessed chalk (your priest or deacon can bless it for you) and prepare to bless your home this weekend.

A time-honored Catholic tradition is the blessing of the home at Epiphany.  We remember the visit of the Magi to the home of Joseph, Mary and Baby Jesus in Bethlehem.

LEADER:  In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

LEADER:  The Word became flesh and made his dwelling place among us.  It is Jesus who enlightens our hearts and homes with his love.  It is Jesus who is our source of hope, joy and comfort.  May all who enter this home find the light and love of Jesus Christ.  Let us listen to the word of God:
                In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.  The Word became flesh and made his dwelling place among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory of an only Son coming from the Father, filled with enduring love.

ALL:  Our Father, who art in Heaven…

LEADER:  Lord God of heaven and earth, you revealed your only son to every nation by the guidance of a star.  Bless this house and all who live here.  May the light of Jesus shine from this house so that others may find their way to your light and your love.  We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.  In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

We sprinkle holy water in each room of the home.

We conclude by using the blessed chalk to mark, above the doorway, the initials of the three Magi, surrounded by the numbers of the current year and separated by small crosses:  20+K+M+B+12

The above blessing service is the one that is used by members of our parish.  This year the Secular Franciscans prepared 450 blessing kits that included this prayer, a container of holy water and a piece of blessed chalk.  It looks like we'll need to prepare even more for next year--these went quickly!

Here is another very simple prayer that you can use to bless your home.  A friend shared it on Facebook:

Heavenly Father, walk through my house, and take away all worries and illness, and please watch over and heal my family and friends. Bring quiet where there is chaos, bring light where there is darkness and put love in our hearts. Amen.

Finally, Esther shares a beautiful home blessing service.

Take your pick--and make it a family tradition to bless your home this (and every) Epiphany!

The Big Switch

One of the occupational hazards of being a musician at the last Mass in the building on a Sunday is that, every feast of Christ the King, you are enlisted to help switch out the hymnals.  Our hymnals don't contain the extra "daily Mass" sections anyway, so they get this job done on Sunday after the noon Mass when there's a captive audience of musicians and their kids to help with the job (not to mention the deacon's teenage grandson!)

A couple of people wanted to take home a copy of the old hymnal.  That's never a problem, as they're just going to be recycled anyway.  But I observed to a friend, after someone asked us if they could take an old book home, that these hymnals are even more out of date than the hymnal usually is, come Christ the King Sunday.

Our parish has done a commendable job of preparing everyone for the Big Switch, and I don't mean the new hymnals:  the change to the new translation of the Roman Missal.  Once a month, the priests would devote the homily to this topic.  Several workshops were open to the entire parish to explain the translation in detail, review the Scriptural connections, and go over what we can expect beginning next Sunday.

Before Mass yesterday, instead of singing a prelude, we reviewed the new Creed with the assembly.  My observation was that people were good sports about giving it a chance, and there wasn't even any audible stumbling over "consubstantial."

My only issue with the whole thing is a musical one.  Many changes have taken place in the words to the sung acclamations.  Some phrases are added, some subtracted; with the exception of the Great Amen and the Lamb of God, the acclamations needed to be rewritten to accommodate those changes.  I'm only familiar with two settings for the new Mass, and while Mass of God's Promise was done quite well, the retrofit didn't work as nicely with Heritage Mass.  Guess which one we're currently using at our parish?  Sigh...

The folk group I sing with is really going to miss the acclamation that the teenagers in the group call "The Happy Gloria"--the one by the St. Louis Jesuits.  Last I checked, this was not on the slate to be redone in the new form.  It's not our pastor's favorite, because it takes so long to sing, but it really is a happy Gloria.  We just can't help but sing it like we mean it--and isn't that the point of the Gloria, after all?  There have been many times, after singing the last notes of that acclamation, that we musicians have met each others' eyes and just known that we're all thinking the same thing:  we have BEEN TO CHURCH.  We have WORSHIPED.

So I really hope they fix that one, because we haven't found another Gloria that moves us to sing with such gusto that we don't have much voice left for the Responsorial Psalm.

Next weekend, we'll have to pay extra attention.  Musicians, especially, since some of our usual verbal cues might be different.  That's a good thing, though.  Every once in a while, you need to get off auto-pilot and pay attention.  Everyone will have to pay attention, and, for a time, read along.  It'll take time, but we'll get there.  Musically, too.  But most of all, I'll miss that Happy Gloria.

Another Altar-Server Debut

Adventure Boy showed up at my house 2 hours before we leave for church (don't panic--we go to noon Mass, so he wasn't here at the crack of dawn...THIS time).  His hair was (mostly) combed.  He was, for him, formally dressed in a golf shirt and cargo pants and basketball sneakers--a step up from flip-flops.  And he announced that he was coming to church with us.

A couple of hours earlier, Little Brother had woken up, and he came downstairs announcing that he wasn't going to be an altar server anymore.  Last time he served, it was VERY hot in church, and our altar robes are made of a fabric that's closer to burlap than it is to seersucker.  It was his first day flying solo as a server, there was a baptism of twins during the Mass, and he passed out right before the Lamb of God.

I couldn't even go over to help him out, since half our folk group was on vacation and I was leading the band.  But at least 5 others came to his rescue and got TheDad, who didn't have Little Brother in his line of sight.  Once he was hydrated and out of that hot robe, he was fine.  (A Slurpee helped.)

Anyway, Little Brother was pretty nervous about getting back on the horse.  And apparently on the way to church, he and Adventure Boy cooked up a plan.

When I got to church (I leave earlier than the non-musicians in the family) Father asked me how Little Brother was.  I explained that he was fine, but nervous; I hoped that there would be a pre-Mass pep talk in the sacristy.  I saw Little Brother and Adventure Boy arrive, and both headed into the sacristy.  The next thing I knew, the two of them were wearing their robes and marching up to get the candles off the altar so they could carry them in the procession.

I'm not sure what Father was thinking, letting those two carry LIT candles.  There was some during-the-Mass coaching going on (Adventure Boy wasn't holding the finger towel the right way, apparently) and quite a bit of fidgeting by the boys.  Little Brother noticed me watching him and would occasionally flash me a thumbs-up to let me know that he was feeling fine.

Two very proud altar servers carried LIT candles off the altar after Mass and (a little too quickly) led the procession out.  TheDad and I are very proud parents--and godparents.

And after Mass, Father asked TheDad (AKA The Cubmaster) to encourage the other Cub Scouts who are old enough to consider being altar servers.

The Sultan and the Dilemma

As the minister of my local Secular Franciscan fraternity, I don't make decisions in a vacuum, but there are decisions that I have to be the one to make.  When decisions are made, the good of the whole fraternity must be considered--it's like being a parent in that way (except that in my fraternity, I'm actually the "baby" of the family!)

One of our members has brought up again and again that she wants to invite a Muslim to speak to our fraternity as part of our ongoing formation.  She has not really answered the question of what topic she would want a Muslim to speak about.  She has no particular Muslim in mind--she's thinking of cold-calling a local mosque to invite someone.

I know that this member is concerned that all Muslims are being painted with a broad brush as a result of 9/11 and the War on Terror.  I know that she is convinced that, as Franciscans, we are to be peacemakers.  And I know that she is aware that St. Francis himself met with the Sultan during one of the Crusades.

But there are a few things that I don't believe she knows.  When St. Francis met with the Sultan, he fully expected to become a martyr as a result of that meeting.  While he did not consider the Sultan his "enemy," he had no illusions about what would probably happen to him--even though that did not turn out to be the case.  He was not insulting toward the Sultan's faith, but neither did he pull any punches about his own faith and that he hoped to lead the Sultan to the right way to God.   He saw the Sultan as his brother, but he also saw an opportunity to attempt a conversion.

Someone once called me "practical," which at times seems at odds with what it means to be a Franciscan.  St. Francis was, usually, anything but practical.  Yet I worry that this member's proposal would not be for the good of the fraternity.  With no particular speaker or topic in mind, that opens the door to who-knows-what--IF she could even get someone to agree to attend the meeting.  And as no one in the fraternity has any relationships with any Muslims, we do not know if the random person she finds to ask is truly faithful to Muslim spirituality.

And, frankly, this might sound a little insular or provincial or whatever, but I believe that there is plenty for us to learn and discover and by which to be inspired right here within our own Faith.  We don't need to look outside our own yard for more traditions, more rituals, more ways to prayer.  There's plenty right here that we have yet to get to know.

This is going to come up again tomorrow at the meeting--I'd love to hear someone else's thoughts!

He's Been Waiting for This Day

Pardon the blurry shot--we had the
flash turned off.

...and so have I.

Little Brother has wanted to be an altar server for oh, so long.  He was a toddler when Big Brother began altar-serving, and even though TheDad sat with him waaaaaaaaaay in the back of the church and I was up front with the musicians, I'd hear Little Brother at Consecration time:  "Big Brother's ringing the bells!"

At the end of Mass, the altar servers would process to the back of the church, where Father would leave the procession and the servers would turn the corner and go down the side aisle to the front, leave the cross in the sacristy and then proceed to put away the altar linens.  It wasn't long before Little Brother joined that parade, and the "Hat Lady" would allow him to put the finger towels into the laundry hamper in the sacristy.  She had her eye on him; no, not just the eye that watched over the altar servers and made sure they served reverently, but the one that paid attention to children in church who seemed to have more than the usual spark of interest.

Middle Sister has been serving for several years now--so many years that she's just about outgrown the longest altar-server robe the church has.  And Little Brother has wanted to serve.  He asked, at the beginning of this school year, only to be told that he should wait until fourth grade.  Well, third grade is over and this morning he came running down the stairs to see if he can be an altar server now.

"You can ask Father about that when we get to church," I told him, making no promises.

When we arrived, we saw that the pastor was not assigned to our Mass today--instead, it was the assistant, who thought it would be just fine if Little Brother served.  So Middle Sister helped him find a robe in the right size and showed him all the ropes, including how to carry the cross in the entrance procession.  He did quite well for his first day, and after the closing prayer Father H announced to everyone that it was Little Brother's first day as an altar server.

He's eager to do it again.  I'm grateful that Father H did not brush him off but instead encouraged and allowed him to serve.  And how cool is it that he got his "on the job training" from Middle Sister?

I think the "Hat Lady" would be proud.  I know I am.