Saturday, January 14, 2012

Peace During Mass

There is always peace during Mass, no matter the devil's attempts to stop a soul from being there, or the lack of Christian charity that lurks among Catholics.  Today's Gospel is a reminder that Jesus came to call us sinners, the sick...not the healthy holy.

Alas, my little note must express a truth, that I am unworthy to take even five minutes of the others' time.  Plus, when we suffer enough and love enough, we begin to grasp that love is suffering and suffering is love.  

And, as the left shoulder now is wrenched from using it to lift the chair out of the car, today I had to drag it, like the cross that it is, which brought extended, angry glares from the good Christians within the chapel.  Not one offered to help me with my chair-cross.  I left it there, although the custodian most likely will be instructed to remove it.  Then it will be back on the floor for me, curled up behind the pew in the wheelchair section, small pillow for my head.

What more can a soul do who desires to attend Mass under such circumstances?  One has to deal with the physical handicaps with humility and take what comes as eye and gossip scourges.  Pray!  Pray!  How horrible is our judgment when we inflict added suffering upon others.  So much did I beg His Real Presence to please heal a young man--perhaps ill with cancer or blind and weak--led in by his parents.  Thanks be to God he can sit on the padded pews, but please heal him of his sufferings preventing an active, vibrant full life--if it be Thy Holy Will.

Am returning soon to the chapel for confession and more reading of St. John of Avila's third sermon on The Holy Ghost.  He is at the part of John's Gospel in which Jesus is explaining remain in My love, and the "We" will come and dwell in you and you in us.  St. John of Avila asks:  And who is this "We"?  It is the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost--the Trinity!

These sermons in a small book of St. John of Avila's writings on the Holy Ghost are...divine!

And, His Real Presence:  Why is it that I always feel as if some hostile eyes are reading what I write, lurking about, desiring to pounce on any word or thought they misunderstand or pluck a word or thought they deemed be riffled?  It is just always there, that sense of ill-intent, perhaps ignorantly so, but yet out there, hovering, hotly breathing over the snowy expanse of my soul's expression.  Yes, Most Holy Trinity, it is an honor if so, the scouring eyes as much as the cross-chair and both shoulders' pain.

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