Julie bought a pile of books with podcast money and is afraid to tell Scott. But Scott bought a gross of Flannery O'Connor t-shirts! How will he tell Julie?

 Episode 391: Mrs. Miniver (1942), directed by William Wyler, at A Good Story is Hard to Find podcast.

Golden Leaves

Golden Leaves, Remo Savisaar

Happy Catholic — Jesus in the Rearview Mirror

The publisher surrendered the copyright for my first book to me a few years ago. As I format it for self-publishing, I thought you guys might like seeing the pages now and then so am going to include some every week.

Here's part 3.

• | • | • | • | • | • 

Jesus in the Rearview Mirror

God: Bender, being God isn’t easy. If you do too much, people get dependent on you. And if you do nothing, they lose hope. You have to use a light touch, like a safecracker or a pickpocket.

Bender: Or a guy who burns down a bar for the insurance money.

God: Yes, if he makes it look like an electrical thing. If you do things right, people won’t be sure you’ve done anything at all.

Futurama

We are so often left like Moses who asked to see God but only saw His hindquarters (see Exodus 33:23). We see evidence of God only in hindsight. Even then it can be very difficult to tell definitively that there was divine intervention unless you are the person for whom the miracle was done. 

Anyone who has experienced a miracle will tell you that when God sends you a message you recognize it, even though others might not. Others are measuring by verifiable results. You are experiencing something that cannot be measured. Miracles are love letters.

The Lover and the Beloved understand. It is enough.

Dia de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead)

The best known All Souls’ Day observances in the United States come from Mexican immigrants. Mexico has a vibrant celebration, cleaning graves and building altars on them, bringing favorite foods or trinkets for the deceased, sugar skulls, and marigolds, toys for children, alcohol for adults. Families will spend time praying and reminiscing.

These are often carried out from Halloween through All Souls' Day.

Ray Bradbury had a real love for the purpose of Day of the Dead in Mexico. He wrote about it most notably in his children’s book The Halloween Tree.

A family sits beside a loved one's decorated grave at the cemetery in Xoxocotlán, Mexico.
A tequila bottle, photograph, flowers, and candles are on the grave. (via iStock)

For now they knew why the town was empty.

Because the graveyard was full.

By every grave was a woman kneeling to place gardenias or azaleas or marigolds in a frame upon the stone.

By every grave knelt a daughter who was lighting a new candle or lighting a candle that had just blown out.

By every grave was a quiet boy with bright brown eyes, and in one hand a small papier-mâché funeral parade glued to a shingle and in the other a papier-mâché skeleton head which rattled with rice or nuts inside. ...

“Mexican Halloweens are better than ours!”

For on every grave were plates of cookies shaped like funeral priests or skeletons or ghosts, waiting to be nibbled by—living people? or by ghosts that might come along toward dawn, hungry and forlorn? No one knew. No one said. ...

And each boy beside the graveyard, next to his sister and mother, put down the miniature funeral on the grave. And they could see the tiny candy person inside the tiny wooden coffin placed before a tiny altat with tiny candles. ... And on the altar was a photograph of the person in the coffin, a real person once; remembered now.

“Better, and still better,” whispered Ralph. ...

“Oh, strange funny strange,” whispered Tom

“What?” said Ralph at his elbow.

“Up in Illinois, we’ve forgotten what it’s all about. I mean the dead, up in our town, tonight, heck, they’re forgotten. Nobody remembers. Nobody cares. Nobody goes to sit and talk to them. Boy, that’s lonely. That’s really sad. But here—why, shucks. It’s both happy and sad. It’s all firecrackers and skeleton toys down here in the plaza and up in that graveyard now are all the Mexican dead folks with the families visiting and flowers and candles and singing and candy. I mean it’s almost like Thanksgiving, huh? And everyone set down to dinner, but only half the people able to eat, but that’s no mind, they’re there. It’s like holding hands at a séance with your friends, but some of the friends gone. ...”

Except the Catholic Church all over the world, of course. We remember and we pray.

For more on the Day of the Dead check Wikipedia.

The offering, Saturnino Herran

The Offering (1913) exemplifies Mexican modernism with its allegorical allusion to life’s journey. It displays a punt boat in a canal filled with zempasúchitl flowers (a marigold that is traditionally associated with death). Featured are a baby, a youthful man, and an elderly man offering the flowers for the dead. This is a reference to ofrenda, a tradition deeply connected to Mexico's Dia de los Muertos, a celebration of ancestry that is said to connect the living to the dead. Each character is represents a different stage of life, but they are all following the same end destination and respecting their course.

Wikipedia

Commemoration of All Souls

The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed, or more popularly, All Souls Day, is entirely unique in the Church's liturgical calendar. ... It is neither a solemnity nor even a feast, and the spirit of the day has a unique mix of penitence, consolatoin, and intercession. ...

It is no easy task to balance the themes of hope and consolation with those of repentance and judgment! Perhaps this is one reason that the Lectionary offers the most diverse set of options for readings for this day out of the whole Calendar.

John Bergsma, The Word of the Lord

Reflections on the Mass Readings for Solemnities and Feasts

The missal lists a selection of  three sets of readings but when you look at the chart which Bergsma includes at the end of his reflections for this day, the options for second reading and gospel readings are truly a staggering selection. Here are my reflections which I have posted for many years.

The Day of the Dead, William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905)

Today we dedicate our prayers in suffrage for the souls in purgatory, still being purified of the remains of sin. Our ties with deceased relatives and friends do not end with their death. Priests can celebrate Mass three times on this day for their benefit, and all the faithful can gain special indulgences to expedite their entrance into heaven.

In Conversation with God, Vol. 7

Here is the translation of the beautiful, yet mournful music for the day which I heard at Pray As You Go a few years ago. It touched my heart and made me contemplate more deeply the mysteries of faith, life, and death.

Free the souls of all the faithful departed.
Free them from the pains of hell.
Free them from the deep pit.
Free them from the lion's mouth.
Make them pass from death to life.

==========

As I listen, I may want to pray too for the people I know who have died or perhaps to contemplate in these moments the ultimate hope that God offers me of freedom from all things that threaten and trouble me: the promise God makes me of eternal life.

This dovetailed with the reading from today that touched my heart most, surprisingly, to me, from Wisdom. Reading it line by line, I felt that ache of missing those I love, but the surety that God offers for the faithful departed.

Wis 3:1-9

The souls of the just are in the hand of God,
and no torment shall touch them.

They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead;
and their passing away was thought an affliction
and their going forth from us, utter destruction.

But they are in peace.
For if before men, indeed, they be punished,
yet is their hope full of immortality;
chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed,
because God tried them
and found them worthy of himself.

As gold in the furnace, he proved them,
and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself.
In the time of their visitation they shall shine,
and shall dart about as sparks through stubble;
they shall judge nations and rule over peoples,
and the LORD shall be their King forever.

Those who trust in him shall understand truth,
and the faithful shall abide with him in love:
because grace and mercy are with his holy ones,
and his care is with his elect.

I think today of my beloved dead. I love them and I miss them. Certainly, I pray for them to be happy and joyful in Heaven. And I long to see God's face ... which is a surprising longing for me to be experiencing. But one which I accept gratefully.

• Our two unborn children
• Mom 
• Dad
• GG
• Raymond
• Thelma
• Grandmama
• Deedah
• Tom's father
• Tom's mother
• Mrs. Ford
• Robin Ford
• Jeanmarie
• Sydney
• Matthew
  
• Ivar
  
• Dorsey
• Dorsey's mother
• Carole
• Heath
• Phyllis
• Alberta
• Aunt Laura
• Uncle Adolph
• Mark (Tom's cousin)
• Harry Steven
• Johnny Falcon
• Maggie Garcia
• Sarah Arnold
• Gregg Margarite
• Phyllis
• Jack
• Diane
• June
• Reisha
• Marshall
• Kathy
• Diana
• Diane and David Dozier
  
• Aunt Joan 
• Aunt CB
• Jenny Colvin
  
• Ted Walch
• John Michael Davis
• Aunt Beverly
• Annabelle Catterall
  
• Don Edinburgh
• Drew Watson
• Jerry Bauer
• David Davidson

Rest Eternal Grant Them, Lord!
Take we up the touching burden of November plaints,
Pleading for the Holy Souls, God’s yet uncrowned Saints.
Still unpaid to our departed is the debt we owe;
Still unransomed, some are pining, sore oppressed with woe.
Friends we loved and vowed to cherish call us in their need:
Prove we now our love was real, true in word and deed.
“Rest eternal grant them, Lord!” full often let us pray—
“Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine!”

Here is a litany for the souls in Purgatory.

You can read more about All Souls' Day here. For those with any questions about Purgatory I posted this extremely basic explanation a while back.

Catholic Culture explains indulgences and practices that Catholics can do during the month of November for the Poor Souls in Purgatory.

All Saints' Day: We Should All Desire to Be Saints

Today is All Saints' Day when the Church commemorates all saints, whether known or unknown. It is a Holy Day of Obligation, except this year when it falls on a Saturday. Go figure!

I repost this for today's feast of All Saints' Day because I simply love this excerpt from The Seven Storey Mountain ... and the meditation still holds true for me.

“What you should say”– Lax told me — ”what you should say is that you want to be a saint.”

A saint! The thought struck me as a little weird. I said: “How do you expect me to become a saint?”

“By wanting to,” said Lax, simply.

“I can’t be a saint,” I said, “I can’t be a saint.” And my mind darkened with a confusion of realities and unrealities: the knowledge of my own sins, and the false humility which makes men say that they cannot do the things that they must do, cannot reach the level that they must reach: the cowardice that says: “I am satisfied to save my soul, to keep out of mortal sin,” but which means, by those words: “I do not want to give up my sins and my attachments.”

Lax said: “All that is necessary to be a saint is to want to be one. Don’t you believe that God will make you what He created you to be, if you will consent to let him do it? All you have to do is desire it.”

Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain

This kept returning to my mind after I read it.

Yes, the goal is to get to Heaven, but didn't I expect a stopover in Purgatory? Didn't everyone I talked to laugh somewhat about how long they'd be stuck there too?

It struck me that what this attitude reflects is not aiming for Heaven, but settling for Purgatory. We should be happy that Purgatory is there like the net under tightrope walkers, to catch us if we fall short. But we should be aiming for, and expecting, to achieve our greatest potential ... that for which God created each and every one of us. That with His grace and our cooperation we can each be a saint.

St. Teresa of Avila crossed my mind. St. John of the Cross. You know where I'm going with this right? Saint Teresa of Calcutta (a.k.a. Mother Teresa). The dark night of the soul. I know that these saints thought it worthwhile but I'm not into signing up for that duty.

I then thought of my grandfather, Raymond. A wonderful man, always happy and cheerful, willing to work hard to help anyone who needed it ... an anonymous saint to the Church but one to all who knew him. No dark night of the soul there. Yet, I'm sure he skipped right over Purgatory. Would I be willing to follow his example? Of course.

I thought of my patron, Saint Martha (you know, of the "Mary has chosen the better part" story). The last time we see her serving is notably different from the first. Mary is washing Jesus' feet and Martha is mentioned as serving in the background. To me that says she has learned the lesson Jesus gave her about "the better part." Would I be willing to follow her example? Natch.

My glance fell on a book I recently received about Solanus Casey, a favorite of mine because he was a humble porter whose holiness shown through to the people of Detroit. Similar to St. John Vianney, another favorite of mine (yes, I have lots of favorites), in that both found studies difficult and consequently were not thought much of by their orders.

Of course, it was borne in upon me yet again that we have so many examples of all the different sorts of saints God makes to suit each time and place. Why I would feel that it necessarily requires a "dark night of the soul" I don't know ... how silly of me!

The culmination of all this thinking took place last night while I was waiting for the Vigil Mass to begin. I was saying the rosary (more about that in another post) and kept coming back to the subject of saints. I got a growing feeling of excitement and anticipation at the unknown future when we completely give ourselves over to God ... when we desire to become a saint. Nothing new here intellectually that's sure, but for me it is that sense of possibilities, of waiting for a surprise ... and that is always what we discover when God is involved.

I'm not settling any more. I'm aiming higher.

Isn't this gorgeous? There's more where that came from ... Recta Ratio.

C.S. Lewis's Ghost Story

We've had Padre Pio and a ghost, St. John Bosco and a ghost. For Halloween itself, let's get one where the famous person is himself the ghost!

At the time, J. B. Phillips was in a deep depression that threatened his life. He refused to leave his chambers, refused proper food or exercise, and seriously questioned the love and election of God [in his life]. It was in this state of detachment and depression, leading to his early death…that suddenly, a ruddy and glowing C. S. Lewis stood before him, entering his room through closed doors -- a “healthy Lewis, hearty and glowing” as Phillips was later to record.

In this vision, Lewis only spoke only one sentence to Phillips: ‘J.B., it’s not as hard as you think.’ One solitary sentence, the meaning of which is debated! But what is not debated is the effect of that sentence. It snapped Phillips out of his depression, and set him again following God. After Lewis spoke that cryptic sentence, he disappeared.

Phillips came out of his chambers only to find that Lewis had died moments before the appearance, miles away. He pondered this in his heart, with wonder, and never returned to his depression. Now, was this a case of God giving a detour of a soul on the way to heaven to a special friend, to save him? Who knows? But again, it is recorded evidence of the highest order, by persons of the highest order: Lewis and Phillips. It is a ghost story, a benevolent one, to all appearances – actually, not only benevolent, but redemptive [which I would take as an element of authenticity].

This story is found in a lot of places but I like this retelling which is from Thoughts of Loy.

Happy Halloween!

Kirsten's Jack O'Lanterns

I can't believe I know people who actually carved these. Talk about a labor of love! And of creativity!

And some poetry to go along with it!

"Hallowe'en in a Suburb" by H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937)

The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.

For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset's gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.

A chill wind weaves through the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.

Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,
And looses the vast unknown.

So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb's black maw
To shake all the world with awe.

And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.

Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penned,
For the hounds of Time to rend.

St. John Bosco's Ghost Story

This is a little reminder that All Saints' Day is on Tuesday (formerly known as All Hallow's Day), without which we would not have Hallowe'en (formerly known as All Hallow's Eve).

Nothing like a saint telling a ghost story to both celebrate spookiness and also ... saintliness!

While a young man, St. John Bosco (1815-1888) and his friend, Comollo, agreed that whoever died first would return and give a sign about the state of their soul. Comollo died on April 2, 1839. The evening following the funeral, Bosco sat sleepless on his bed in the room he shared with twenty seminarians.

“Midnight struck and I then heard a dull rolling sound from the end of the passage, which grew ever more clear, loud and deep, the nearer it came. It sounded as though a heavy dray were being drawn by many horses, like a railway train, almost like the discharge of a cannon…While the noise came nearer the dormitory, the walls, ceiling and floor of the passage re-echoed and trembled behind it…

Then the door opened violently of its own accord without anybody seeing anything except a dim light of changing colour that seemed to control the sound…Then a voice was clearly heard, ‘Bosco, Bosco, Bosco, I am saved.’… The seminarists leapt out of bed and fled without knowing where to go. … for a long time there was no other subject of conversation in the seminary.”

Isle of the Dead

Arnold Böcklin, Isle of the Dead: "Basel" version, 1880

This was so popular that the artist did several different versions of it. Read all about it at Wikipedia. Here's a bit.

All versions of Isle of the Dead depict a desolate and rocky islet seen across an expanse of dark water. A small rowboat is just arriving at a water gate and seawall on shore. An oarsman maneuvers the boat from the stern. In the bow, facing the gate, is a standing figure clad entirely in white. Just behind the figure is a white, festooned object commonly interpreted as a coffin. The tiny islet is dominated by a dense grove of tall, dark cypress trees—associated by long-standing tradition with cemeteries and mourning—which is closely hemmed in by precipitous cliffs. Furthering the funerary theme are what appear to be sepulchral portals and windows penetrating the rock faces.

A Lane

John Atkinson Grimshaw, A Lane

John Atkinson Grimshaw's work all seems wonderfully gloomy, which is perfect for this time of year. Who is that figure in the moonlight, dwarfed by the trees and sky? An innocent traveler out late? Someone sinister? Someone in need? We are left to wonder.

Padre Pio's Ghost Story

Speaking of ghosts, since Halloween is close upon us ...

Padre Pio told the story of being in the choir alone one evening to pray. He heard rustling and looked up to see a young monk dusting and straightening up the altar. When he asked who the monk was, he was told: “I am a brother of yours that made the novitiate here. I was ordered to clean the altar during the year of the noviciate. Unfortunately many times I didn’t reverence Jesus while passing in front of the altar, thus causing the Holy Sacrament that was preserved in the tabernacle to be disrespected. For this serious carelessness, I am still in Purgatory. Now, God, with his endless goodness, sent me here so that you may quicken the time I will enjoy Paradise. Take care of me.”

Source

Portrait of Padre Pio by Solomenco Bogdan
via Wikipedia

O Death, Where Is Thy Sting?

... we can give the supernatural world of evil too much power. I guess it's a case of either the devil isn't real or the devil is on every street corner hiding inside a pumpkin. Surely there is a middle ground where we acknowledge supernatural evil but we recognize its limited power in the face of the power of Christ.

Ironically I wonder if this might have been what some of the Christians were doing when they celebrated All Hallow's Eve and All Saints Day in the past. Those festivities were opportunities to laugh in the face of evil spirits, to dress up as them and sort of mock them, saying, "Hey check this out. These big, scary demons, they're just empty masks. When you compare them with the power of the risen Jesus Christ, they're not up to much."

I wonder if Halloween offers us a chance to affirm our eternal life while looking into the face of death which has actually lost its sting ... For Christians the scariness of death is not scary. Not really. Because we've got eternal life.

Peter Laws

St. James Church Cemetery

St. James Church Or Goose Creek Church And Cemetery, 1872 Engraving

Deliciously spooky!