Navigating the Co-Vid Blues

When we moved to our new home in January, we never expected a pandemic to hit. We were looking forward to engaging in some activities at our new church and getting acclimated to our new town.

When the “shutdown” happened, we were thrown for a loop. We didn’t like not being able to go to mass and having to watch online. We longed to be able to receive the Eucharist in person. I will admit, I cried the first few times we watched online. When we were finally able to go back on Mother’s Day (which I considered a gift from Lauren) I didn’t care that we were outside and wearing a mask. As a matter of fact, masks don’t really bother me at all. We have been able to go to mass since then, and mask or no mask, nothing has made me happier.

It has been a heartbreaking experience for us, our kids who are trying to navigate working from home with the girls, and for our whole country. I hate seeing how all the small businesses have been affected, how people have lost their livelihoods and how much depression and suicide have escalated... I can’t stand how divided our country has become.

We have had some blessed moments. We had our Mother’s Day celebration at the kids’ house and it was wonderful. Vivian did her dance recital piece for the family and it was precious. We have had the kids a couple of days now to help out their parents, and that makes us happy. We want to be part of their young lives, and moving closer is really paying off. We had a get together for my daughter -in-law’s family that was a wonderful success.

In early July, around the time of our 38th wedding anniversary, we were able to take a trip to Florida with our kids. It was a great and much needed trip! So while having to miss Aunt Mary’s 90th birthday in Las Vegas in May was terrible, the trip with the kids was good.

We had my brother and sister in-law visiting us and my other sister in law came over too!

We are just trying to navigate the Co-Vid blues, just like everyone else.

Upon this rock...

The Catholic world is abuzz these days with the horrible news from the Pennsylvania Grand Jury Report and the allegations about Cardinal Theodore McCarrick. I have read several articles from Catholic news sources regarding these scandals and find myself disheartened along with so many more of the laity.

I am blessed to have several friends who are priests, and to know that they are good men, who are as disturbed and disgusted as I am about what they are learning about some leaders in our church. 

I came into the church as an adult, and I believe it to be the true church that Jesus founded before he ascended into heaven. I am not afraid to admit that, because I know that the church itself is not at fault. I believe that the devil believes the only way to destroy us is from the inside. Without priests, we are unable to participate in the Eucharist, which is the source and summit of our faith. So to destroy the priesthood, will do the trick, won’t it? 

I believe the answer is a resounding “NO!” As a matter of fact, I know that is the answer. I know that for every bad priest, there are 100 good ones. I know that my little church was full at mass this morning, with faithful believers who came to participate in the Eucharist. 

Every morning when I get up, I remember what Jesus said: “And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.’

No matter what comes our way, I believe what he said, and that the church will stand. 

Mini-pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament

Last week, my husband Richard and I went to a place I have wanted to go to for years. The Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament in Hanceville, Alabama is a beautiful place that was built by Mother Angelica (founder of EWTN) and is located next to the Monastery of the Poor Clare Nuns of Perpetual Adoration. If you can, look up the website or Facebook page. Richard and I had a wonderful and peaceful time at this lovely place. 
There is a wonderful gift shop, and a lovely chapel called the "Creche" that tells the story of the Nativity. 

You forget you are in Alabama, or even in the U.S. It really made Richard and me want to go back to Rome. 

Baptized with vinegar

This article was originally published at Catholic365.com

http://www.catholic365.com/article/1666/baptized-with-vinegar.html

A while back I heard Mark Hart, the Bible Geek on the radio and one of the things he said made me laugh, but it stuck with me. He was talking about Christian joy (or the lack thereof) and he said, “Some people look like they were baptized with vinegar.”

At first, I thought that was hysterically funny, but after I thought about it, I realized he was right. I play piano and organ at Mass every Sunday, and from my vantage point, I can see the whole congregation. It’s amazing how many people, even the priest sometimes, really have a sour look on their faces from time to time. It made me wonder a couple of things - Why is that the case? And, do I look that way to others?

Why would we look sour at Mass, of all places, when we are about to embark on the most remarkable journey mankind has ever known? Maybe because we are human, and we can’t fathom the depth of what is about to happen? Do we take it for granted? St. John Vianney explained that even the priest may not be able to appreciate his own part in this miracle: "O, how great is the priest! ... If he realized what he is, he would die," St. John Vianney said.

Now, I understand that everybody has a bad day now and then. I have heard all the arguments about how “Mass is boring” from adults and kids alike. I always want to remind them that Mass is not supposed to be entertainment. It is what we are called to do by the Lord Himself. I think He told us to do it in His memory until He comes back and we don’t have to any more. Where is our joy then?

Hart’s comment certainly gave me pause to examine myself. We have only one Sunday Mass at our little parish and it is at 8 a.m. It is a sacrifice sometimes to get up on Sunday, like a regular workday in order to be there in time to play at Mass. But I have tried to give that to Jesus. Being joyful that time of morning is another thing. I pray I can learn to be more joyful, and that the light of Christ can shine through me.

I figure if I can be joyful at that 8 a.m. Mass every Sunday, it will spill over into my everyday life. "Christian joy is a gift of God flowing from a good conscience,” St. Philip Neri said. I think we all need to embrace that. No more vinegar!

Keep me holy

Next week is going to be tough. For Catholics, it is the holiest week of the year. It is the end of Lent and the beginning of the Easter season. Lent ends on Holy Thursday (aka "Maundy" Thursday) and our Triduum begins.

During those three days, we experience complete sadness remembering the death of our Lord, and exquisite joy celebrating His Resurrection and triumph over the grave. We celebrate the institution of the Eucharist, the source and summit of our faith. We marvel at His act of humility as he washed his disciples' feet. We ponder the cross and celebrate new members coming into the church. We renew our baptismal promises.  Most of all, our hearts will be pierced with the reality of His sacrifice as He paid the ultimate price for each and every one of us.

I'm a church musician, and it is my privilege (notice I did not say duty) to play at all four masses. In our little parish, very few do the work of many. (I have a feeling it's that way in many big parishes, too).  It is easy to get caught up in what we have to do and when -- what I have to play-- all those hymns, mass parts, responsorials... Sure, I want to sit in the pew and not worry about anything but worshipping, but I can't. I will make the sacrifice, because that is what I feel I am called to do.

Those of us who take an active part in the liturgy are under a lot of stress and pressure. It's easy to get lost in all of the "mechanics" of what has to be done to get through these four masses. It's easy to get frustrated, become resentful, be less "holy" than you should be.

That is what I meant when I entitled this post, "Keep me holy." It's really a prayer. It's really a petition. It is a plea.

Tonight I went to the Stations of the Cross. It hit me in the middle of our "journey" that it was the "Triduum in a nutshell." There it was - the whole story, really. It brought me such peace about next week. It reminded me that it is okay to make a mistake or to miss a cue, because He doesn't expect me to be perfect. He only expects me to be a servant. He only expects me to love.

So next week, I will strive for that balance- to be able to play for Him and pray to Him.  I will take up my "cross" willingly and (as I do every day) strive to become holy...  to be that loving servant.

The altar at our parish on Easter 2010

Two guys I adore... and not the ones you think.

I was trying to watch Fr. Robert Barron's "Catholicism" on EWTN the other night, and desperately trying not to fall asleep. I am really interested in this series, and will probably end up buying it one day. So I wasn't falling asleep out of boredom, I was falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion. It was only a couple of days after we returned from Italy, and I was still trying to adjust.

I roused myself when Fr. Barron began to talk about John 6, the so-called "Bread of Life" discourse. We have been hearing a lot about this lately in Mass. I love John 6.  Fr. Barron talked about how many of Christ's disciples left him because they could not live with what he was saying about eating his body and drinking his blood. But Peter stood up and said, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.” Fr. Barron said the other disciples followed Peter and we have been following him ever since.

To me, that is when Peter's formation as the first pope began. Jesus had said that he would build his church on the rock (Peter) and if you think about it, our basilica, named St. Peter's, is built on that rock, since it is Peter's bones under the altar. It is Peter's church, and today his descendant Benedict sits in his chair in that church.

I like Peter. I thought a lot about him when I was in Rome. I like that he had a temper, and that he screwed up a time or two, but he went on to become the leader of the Church. I have a special place in my heart for him.

I thought a lot about St. Paul when I was there, too. To walk on the streets where he and St. Peter walked was truly overwhelming. To be where they had once been is just surreal to me still. When I think of Paul and how he overcame his former life to become one of the greatest apostles, I just know there is hope for me. I really love reading his writings and Peter's as well.

I can't decide which one I love the most, and I am glad I don't have to. Fr. Barron talked about how there are Petrine and Pauline Catholics, but I think I want to remain neutral and accept both of these great men for what they are - amazing.

 St. Peter (at St. John Lateran Church) You can usually recognize him, because he has the keys. 

St. Paul at St. John Lateran Church

Tues., Sept. 4, Rainy Day in Roma

Today was the day I had been waiting for. We had purchased a tour of the Vatican Museums and St. Peter’s Basilica online before coming to Rome. The Skip the Line tour is the only way to go. We took the Metro to the area near the Vatican to meet our tour. The Metro turned out to be very much like the Tube in London. We call them subways in our country.

We met our tour guide Frederica and began the tour promptly at 9 am. (The hundreds of folks standing in line did not look too happy with us.) After going through the metal detector, we started the tour which was unbelievable. Our tour took us on the Long March through the Candelabra Room, the Tapestries and the Maps rooms into the area where you find works by Raphael, many of which were housed in the old papal apartments. There is a room dedicated to Constantine with works that celebrate the passing of Rome from the pagans to the Christians. The Raphael Rooms include a large painting of King Jan Sobieski liberating Vienna, the Immaculate Conception Room, and then you are headed toward the Sistine Chapel. I have no pictures of it, because you are not allowed to take them. In order to enter, you must have your shoulders and knees covered, and the security takes it very seriously. 

Michelangelo has captured the the story of man on that ceiling. It is really unbelievable. From the creation of man to the Last Judgement, Michaelangelo painted the frescos alone in the room.  

Of course, my favorite part was when the tour guide reminded us that this room is where the cardinals elect at new pope. We saw the door that the pope goes through to the balcony after choosing one of the three vestments hanging in the “Crying Room” (Small, Medium or Large) to put on before being revealed to the people. She showed us where the white smoke is emitted. 

From there, we made our way to St. Peter’s Basilica, the cornerstone of the Roman Catholic Church. We could hear a choir singing in the basilica as we were walking through. There we saw the Pieta, Michelangelo’s first major work. We walked past the tomb of Blessed John Paul II, and my heart nearly stopped from the sheer knowledge of where we were. The Main Altar was magnificently adorned and underneath it are the bones of our first pope, St. Peter.  Frederica reminded us of the story where Jesus told Peter “upon this rock I build my church.  The early Christians built their church on top of the bones of St. Peter (the Rock). That simple sentence really blew me away. 

After our tour ended, we took in lunch at a restaurant recommended to us by our favorite desk clerk, Alessio. I had my first carbonara there, which was delicious. We had truly planned to go back to St. John Lateran to find the Holy Stairs, but were not able to as Roma had other plans. It rained heavily for the rest of the day. We waited for our Hop on Hop off bus because we still had today to use it. The only place we could sit was up top. After a miserably rainy ride across the city, we were in no mood to walk from the Colosseum stop back to St. John’s so we stayed on until we got back to the Spanish Steps, which is close to our hotel. I have climbed those 139 steps every day since we got here. Richard counted over 16,000 steps yesterday and today has 12,000 or so today. Since I am that much shorter than him, you can add probably 25% more to that for my steps. 

Tomorrow we say Arrividerci to Rome and head to Firenze on the train. I did not see the Holy Stairs this time, thanks to the rain both days. I figure that means I’m coming back again... 

 La Pieta by Michelangelo

 The tomb of our Holy Father, Blessed John Paul II

 The Main Altar of St. Peter's- Underneath this altar lie the bones of St. Peter the Apostle. 

 End of the Tour with Frederica

Leave is to us Catholics to build the largest church in the world in the smallest country in the world. 

Sun.Sept. 2, Bella Roma

Sunday, Sept. 2-

They brought around breakfast about an hour and half before we landed in Rome. I saw the sunrise over Italy, but I was so far up I could not see what Italy looked like. We came into Rome and through the Passport Authority and found our driver. His name was Pino, but of course I thought he said Lino, and I got really happy! I thought that was a good omen, but Pino did turn out to be awesome. Even thought he did not speak much English, he did identify a few landmarks, which I could usually translate from Italian to English. Not because my Italian is any good, I could just recognize them. 

In the airport, RT found out that there was a difference in Italian coffees and Caffee Americano. We got for 2 Euros = 2 tiny espressos. We made our way from the airport to the Hotel Anglo Americano and checked in early. While we were waiting, we enjoyed our first complimentary breakfast.

After getting settled, we were on our way to explore. The first stop was the Trevi Fountain- well- known to most Rome visitors. We threw the coin in so we could come back again, like every tourist does. 

  Fontana delle Naiadi

 Mass here was beautiful.

Spanish Steps- It was sprinkling a bit.

We discovered the Basilica of St. Mary of the Angels and Martyrs and after a quick trip to McDonald’s (yes, really) for a bottled water, we made our way to mass at noon. What an experience to celebrate mass in Italian. Even though we did not know most of the words, our bilingual masses at St. Gregory’s came in handy. Hearing Spanish every Sunday really helped us recognize some of the Italian we were hearing. I began to cry at Eucharist, because it struck me that we are truly the Universal Church. I was doing the same thing my brothers and sisters all over the world were doing. It was so overwhelming!

We enjoyed lunch and came back to the hotel to rest for a little bit. Being up and traveling for 24 hours straight was very tiring, so we took a 2 hour nap before heading to find the Spanish Steps. We walked around in that area for a good while, had some gelati and made our way back to a quaint family restaurant. We could not get past the first course and soup. That was plenty to eat. 

Now back at the hotel to upload the blog and get some rest. 

Ciao! 

Finding Easter again

This Easter my husband and I added another sweet child to our "bouquet" of godchildren. Our precious Lacy was fully received into the faith on Easter Vigil.

Lacy is the preteen granddaughter of our best friends Steve and Dawn.  Her parents, Cory and Jackie, were friends with our son Aaron and our daughter Lauren. Our families are intertwined through our faith and the love that we share with each other.

Steve sponsored our son Aaron for his Confirmation. When we asked Aaron why he chose Mr. Steve, he spoke of his great admiration and respect for Steve and the husband and father that he was. When it was Lauren's turn for Confirmation, she chose Dawn. She loved Dawn like another mother. My shy, reserved daughter related to Dawn's quiet demeanor and her sweet spirit. She was very much like Dawn in that way.

On the day of Lauren's funeral, Steve and Dawn were at the lectern reading the Word. They were there supporting us in our time of need, like families do.

During Lent, I was able to attend a couple of retreats with Lacy. Watching her learn the faith and being able to talk to her about the Eucharist, our greatest and most precious gift was such a blessing to me. Our Easter Vigil with Lacy was like having my birthday, Christmas and Valentine's Day all rolled into one. It was such a sweet and moving mass, and seeing her baptized, confirmed and receiving Jesus for the first time in Communion helped me truly find Easter again.

I think we forget the meaning of Easter and take it for granted. Is it a day to get a new outfit? Plan an Easter Egg hunt? See how much candy we can fit into our kids' basket? Do we really listen when the Passion is read and do we remember the tragedy and the victory of those four days?

Seeing Lacy come into the Church was the reminder I needed to focus on that glorious time.

Soon, we will baptize our dear friend Michelle's grandson Easton. Yet another child will be added to our "bouquet." Our family grows, and our faith is revived.

Dermot, our wild Irish rose

I've been working on a project lately. I am going through pictures for my son. I want him to know who the people in his family and among his friends are in the photos, so I am  categorizing and labeling them for him. Seeing pictures of my daughter is particularly hard for me sometimes. My precious friend Dawn worries about me going through these pictures all alone, but I have to do it sometime. It may as well be now.

This week, I found some pictures of our sweet priest/friend, Fr. Dermot Twomey, SCJ. He passed away four years ago today on March 25, 2008.

He was more than just a priest to me. He was my friend, and he was absolutely a father to me. What a precious soul he was. I loved him fiercely, as did many in our parish. He truly was Christ to us in so many ways.

I learned to love his community, the Priests of the Sacred Heart, or Dehonians, and their charism. They are such precious men and their work is so special. If not for them, we in North Mississippi would have to drive to Memphis or somewhere out of our way to worship and receive our Lord in the Eucharist. They started our parishes and have served us to this day.

Fr. Dermot was a tall, lanky Irishman with wild hair and a quirky sense of humor who loved the Lord above all. It was evident, especially, when he was in the midst of a homily. It was like a light was shining on his face when he taught us.

We used to see him almost every time we went to the casino in Tunica. He was never in the gaming area, but was always at the buffet, with a group of elderly women who were Irish Travelers. He ministered to that group all the time.

One day I came to him and told him I had seen a church just outside of town that was offering Spanish-speaking services. That same week, someone who knew I was Catholic asked me if I knew about the "new Mexican Catholic church in town." After explaining that Catholic churches don't just "pop-up" out of nowhere, I went to Father. He and I discussed the fact that we felt the Spanish-speaking community in Tate County might be lost to us if we did not reach out to them and let them know we were there. We started offering a Spanish mass on Saturday evening. Today, every mass at our parish is  bilingual, and our church family has nearly doubled.

He came to bring the host to my mother and father-in-law who were visiting us, and not able to come to mass, due to physical limitations. He even went to visit my in-laws when he went on a trip to see a brother-priest in Las Vegas where they lived.

On his birthday one year, we had a big parish party for him, and I was able to get a Celtic musician friend to come and perform. He danced the Irish jig in the Church Hall that night. Later, he said, "It felt like being back home." I think it really made him happy.





Fr. Dermot came to us when Lauren died. He was heart-broken I know. Lauren was his special friend at church. He loved her and always said what a special girl she was. He stayed strong for us, and was flexible enough to understand that our little parish was not large enough for the funeral, so he agreed to bring an altar to the Fine Arts Auditorium at Northwest to accommodate the many people who came. He celebrated her funeral mass and it was as lovingly done as her wedding might have been because of him.

When Father got sick, it nearly broke our hearts. He kept going as long as he could, running from one parish to another, serving us like he always had. A few weeks before he finally retired, he called me out of the blue. After talking about how he was feeling, he finally got around to the reason for his call. I realized after listening to him for a minute that he was asking me, in so many words, if I thought it was ok for him to leave. It had nothing to do with ego. He loved our parishes so much that he did not want to disappoint us. He wanted me to tell him it was ok, I think. I told him that we loved him and that we wanted him to get well most of all, and it was ok for him to rest. He had served us and the Church well.
He thanked me and gave me his blessing.

I keep his picture on my dresser. I think of him and miss him every day. Before I met Fr. Dermot, I had never really known a priest personally. He made me realize what a gift the priesthood is to all of us. I have a deep devotion to his community and try to support them through prayer and donations as often as I am able.

In the past few years, I have come to know several younger priests in his community. They are all wonderful men, and I know their brother Dermot would be so proud of them.

Time flies even when you're not having fun.

It hit me the other day: it's 2012. It's not like I was sleeping and only woke up at the end of January. I just started thinking about a new year and what it would mean for our family and friends. There will be happy times, of course. This year marks our 30th wedding anniversary, and we are planning a trip to Rome! Two of or godsons will celebrate their first Eucharists, and we will baptize a new godson and a new goddaughter.  Our niece Kimberly will graduate from college. Our son and his wife will celebrate their first anniversary, and Lauren's friend Margaret will be married in March. So there are many reasons to rejoice in this coming year. 

One thing that really struck me when thinking of all of these things, was when I realized this would mark the 8th anniversary of our daughter's death. Eight years! It seems impossible to think of. Sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday, and then it feels like eternity. Where has the time gone? So many things have happened since she left: milestones in people's lives that she has missed. Marriages, births and deaths  that she was not here for. It makes me wonder what she sees and what she is aware of.  I take solace in the Communion of Saints. 

Shortly after we lost her, someone asked me if we knew exactly what happened to cause her car accident. I had to admit that I did not know then, and I still don't. Neither the police chief or the fire chief of our little town could figure it out and tell us. It dawned on me that when I did find out (in heaven) I would not care. That is so true. It won't matter then. Even if I did know, it would not change the outcome, because none of us can turn back the calendar or the clock. 

There have been moments of joy these past few years, as I am sure there will be in the coming years that I am here. For now, I will treasure the moments I have with my husband, son and daughter-in-law (and future grandchildren, hopefully), my family and my friends. I will continue to commune with my brothers and sisters in Christ, and I will look for the day when I meet my Lord. and be reunited with my loved ones. 

My Universal Family

I resisted the urge to tag this post with something like outer space, extraterrestrial, or aliens, although it would have been funny. On the other hand, it may have brought some traffic I didn't want. When I say I have a universal family I mean it. 

If you look up the word universal, you might get a definition like this: Of, affecting, or done by all people or things in the world or in a particular group. You will also see that one of the synonyms for universal is catholic. That is what I am talking about. I belong to the universal or Catholic Church, and my family includes over a billion people at any given time. 

My exposure to my "family" was for a long time limited to the people I knew in my parish, relatives and maybe a few I might encounter along the way. On a few occasions I would be made aware of our universality: attending Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York, a retreat at Christian Brothers with our youth, watching the coverage of John Paul II's visit to the U.S.  

About 2 years ago, I discovered a new way to connect with my family: Catholic media. I started listening to the Catholic Channel on XM. I connected with people on Facebook and Twitter though one of the shows on the channel. I joined Facebook prayer groups. All of a sudden, I have a network of people outside of my local parish to share my faith with and it is awesome. They keep me accountable, they make me laugh,  and they share my triumphs and sorrows.

We all come from different places, we are different ages, we have different vocations, and we may even speak different languages, but we have one thing in common: we all belong to that universal church and share Jesus at every Mass. 

My personal debt crisis

All this talk about the debt crisis got me to thinking: to whom do I owe a debt?

Of course, the first "person" to come to mind is God. Actually I owe a debt to the first, second and third person (of the Trinity). He has been so good to me. In addition to having parents, siblings, and an extended family who loved me, I ended up with a wonderful husband with whom I share the vocation of marriage, and two great kids. I am about to gain a lovely daughter-in-law that is a gift from God to our family. I have a network of loving friends who bring me joy every day. God has been so good to me. I owe him a debt of gratitude each and every hour of every day. Too many times we take the things He gives us for granted and we forget to thank Him for those things. We just end up taking them for granted.

The debt I owe that I find most important is the one I owe to Jesus. He gave Himself and gives Himself to me every day. He loves me enough to say, "Take and eat, LaJuan" even though I know in the bottom of my heart that I am certainly not worthy. Just in the last year have I fully began to realize the significance of the Eucharist and what it truly means to me. I guess it is better late than never. But that is how He rolls, isn't it? He loves us anyway, and gives Himself to us fully whether we appreciate it or not. I just love Him so, I cannot fully express it. But He knows my love is true.

The new missal changes or would you like some cheese with that whine?

This Advent, some changes are coming to the English speakers in the Catholic Church. We will begin using the Third Edition of the Roman Missal. In this edition, the English has been translated to be much closer to the original Latin, and we (and the celebrants) will be learning some new parts to the mass.

I will preface this by saying that I am no Catholic scholar or theologian. My understanding is that when they translated the Missal from Latin to the vernacular, we ended up with what I like to refer to as the "Kum by Yah" version. It's a wee bit soft, compared to the real translation. It's ok, but it's just not exactly right. I'm not saying that we have been saying something wrong, I just think we are going to be saying it better in relation to the Mother Tongue of the Church. So here we are saying things our way when the rest of the Church is saying it the right way? How is that Universal again?

I love the folks who like to complain about it. You know them. They are probably in your parish, among your friends, or even in your family. They are flapping their gums in Catholic Facebook groups and on blogs. They say things like, "This is not going to be easy," or "This doesn't make sense to me. Why do we have to go backwards?" (We're not going backwards, we're going back. Big difference.) They say, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." (It is broke and they did fix it.)

How about those Irish Bishops who are just flatly refusing to comply. Really? So, when you guys went to Bishop School, you just missed the class on obedience? (Catechism 101, fellas). I'll just bet you expect your priests to be obedient to YOU, don't ya?

Then there are the folks who whine and ask, "Why do we have to learn something different?" Or, "I am comfortable with Mass the way it is. I don't like it." (You don't get a vote)

Hey, it's not like you are a member of the Church founded by Christ himself or anything. Oh yeah, and last week when you were at Mass, your priest (and mine) was in persona Christi and he offered you the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Christ in the Eucharist.

Personally, I don't want to be "comfortable" at Mass. I want to jump for joy when I receive the Eucharist! I want to speak to the Lord using the same words as the rest of the Body. So, teach me 10,000 new words and I will learn them all gratefully.

"Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed."

And with your spirit.