Catholic

Wow you guys!
Sunday’s post regarding the word DEVOTION  and all that it means really got our  blog family thinking…and talking!

Lots of great feedback in the comments, several emails and a couple of you were even compelled to text!

Many of us it seems, responded to a kind of Catholic Cosmic Memo, feeling a slight nudge, or in my case an insistent calling to Go Sit In Church.

More than that, it became a full circle moment, ripe with emotion, healing and even some tears – Who knew?                  

To get the memo, listen to it, share it with you guys and then get to hear about all the synchronicities, you guys, that’s why I do this!   

I went to bed Sunday night grateful and giddy, really happy that a bunch of us had shared that experience.

So you can imagine my surprise when I read that yet another soul had received the memo, and it was someone whom I really admire.

It seems that we can count the author, lecturer and life coach extraordinaire Cheryl Richardson, among our ranks. Her experience was very close to mine, which affirms the fact that we’re all connected, (but I have to admit, it still freaks me out a little when that happens).

So who else was with us? Although I’ve called it the Catholic Cosmic Memo, that’s only  because I’ve heard mostly from them (confession).

You Guys, it doesn’t have to be a church. Did you make a long overdue visit to a Temple for Passover, or visit a Mosque?

I’m so curious now about who else received this Cosmic Memo!
Please share.

God sure does work in mysterious ways!
Carry on
xoxJ

Take it away Cheryl:

~*~ How God works in mysterious ways

This morning I went to church for the first time in years.
I’d been thinking about going to celebrate Easter and a last-minute invitation from a friend who wanted company sealed the deal.
Raised Catholic, I spent every Sunday morning at church with my family. We’d file in, one-by-one, all nine of us, and sit in a pew near the front of the altar so we could watch the priest as he said Mass.

Today, staring at the coffered ceilings, the stained glass windows, and the mighty arches overhead, I was transported back in time.
My body knew the rituals by heart. Stand. Sit. Kneel. Stand.
My mouth remembered every word.
My spirit lifted as I listened to the thundering organ and felt the sacredness of ceremony.

When we sat down for the sermon, I stared at a young girl – maybe ten years old – sitting in a pew in front of me. She had long, dark hair and she wore a pale, pink dress with a matching ribbon tied in a bow around her ponytail.

Wiggling back and forth, doing her best to sit still, I smiled as I remembered my own restlessness as a kid in church constrained by the fear of getting ‘the look’ from one of my parents.
Watching her, I felt emotion well up inside me, bringing unexpected tears to my eyes. I lowered my head and squeezed them shut, unsure about what prompted this reaction.

I took a slow, deep breath and tuned in.

This is where my spiritual life was born, I thought to myself, the place that introduced me to the love of God and the belief in a power greater than my small self.

These are the rituals that formed the spiritual backbone that, to this day, supports my life, my work, and my soul.
This may be where my love affair with beauty began.
I felt overwhelmed with appreciation for my mom and dad’s commitment to instill in us a reverence for the sacred in spite of our resistance.

I’m sure we complained a lot about going to church.
It’s funny how things change with the wisdom and maturity of age.
Over the years, as my spiritual life widened and expanded to include the rituals and teachings of other faiths, I lost touch with my Catholic roots.

Today, it felt good to revisit them again.

At the end of the Mass, something beautiful happened.
As I walked out of the church, the priest who led the service smiled as I passed by and, when my friend stopped to introduce us, he threw his arms around me before she barely said a word. He hugged me tight and began to recite a blessing, asking God to fill me with love, to protect me, and to give me what I needed to continue making my way in the world.

I stood there, returning his embrace, a little stunned at his warmth and informality.

When finished, he stepped back and looked me in the eye. Then he started laughing.

“You get it, right?” he said to me.

I started laughing, too.

Yes, I get it, I replied, without a second thought.
My head unsure, but my heart and soul fully onboard.

God sure does work in mysterious ways.
Happy Easter to you and yours… may we all be raised by the Light.
heart emoticon Cheryl

You can subscribe to Cheryl’s blog here:
http://cherylrichardson.com/

DEVOTION

de·vo·tion
dəˈvōSH(ə)n/
noun.
1.) Love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity
synonyms: loyalty, faithfulness, fidelity, constancy, commitment, adherence,allegiance, dedication.

2.) Religious worship or observance.
synonyms: devoutness, piety, religiousness, spirituality, godliness, holiness, sanctity
“a life of devotion”

3.) Prayers or religious observances.

Devotion. What does that mean to me? What does it mean to you?

As a Catholic I thought I had an idea; but the edges have blurred and I’ve been left to define it for myself.

This is an interesting time of year.
It’s ripe with the energy of endings; and new beginnings.
Deaths and re-births —— figuratively and literally.

We can practice our devotion inside this energy of change with Easter, Passover, the full moon, eclipses, and all other assortments of ancient and new age cosmic rites of passage.

Take me for instance; I am sitting as I write this, in a pew, basking in the warm glow of stained glass, inside of St. John The Baptist De La Salle Catholic Church— the church I grew up in — the church of my youth.

The one where I whiled away hour after hour of my childhood.
Some in innocent devotion, kneeling with sweaty little girl hands piously folded together, fervently praying my little girl prayers and later, in a pre-pubescent stupor, stifling yawns during my eight years there in the late sixties, early seventies.

Now, I’ve gotta tell ya, this retired Catholic is finding it…surreal to be back here, and I have to make this snappy.

I could spontaneously combust if the powers-that-be realize I’m here, or the light from that stained glass baby Jesus hits me just right.

All kidding aside, recently my Catholic roots have been calling me. Their siren’s song running lightly in the background of my life.

It all started when I began burning Frankincense incense in the mornings. I attempted subconsciously to counteract its effects by simultaneously playing a Buddhist chant, with mixed results — that smell to me, still to this day signals Lent.
Then I noticed, lo and behold it is exactly that time of year. Hmmmm…

That smell transports me back to Stations Of The Cross, a ritual of remembrance of the worst day in the life of Jesus Christ.

As a little girl I loved rituals.
The smells, the cool, dimly lit ambiance, the notes played on the organ that resonated inside my chest and head, and the drone of the priest’s voice. They all conspired to “send me” to another place and time. (still do).

As I write this there is an actual organ rehearsal happening right this minute. Sending me…

Yet, even as that devout little girl I had a hard time wrapping my brain around commemorating the days leading up to someone’s horrible, torturous, barbaric death and THAT little kernel of doubt right there started my life as a seeker.

Devotion as religious observance.
I sat with my dearly departed father Friday in another church much closer to my home, (that now makes it twice in one week, a personal record as an adult).

We sat together devoutly, he with his invisible hand on my knee to keep me from bolting during Stations Of The Cross, the first one I’ve sat throughout since eighth grade. It was faster and much…dryer than I remembered.

And no fragrance of frankincense — a crushing disappointment.

Still, I sat with my dad on the tenth anniversary of his passing; in church; during Lent; and only one of us made it out alive…barely.

I’ll tell anyone I did it for him, but truth be told, that experience was calling ME.

Devotion.  

To others?  To a practice?  To a cause? 

I think we can all relate to that.

How about…

Devotion as Love and loyalty, enthusiasm for a person or an activity.

To tradition.

To family , friends and matters of the heart.

To times past.

To ritual.

To the planet.

To sacred places; temples, sanctuaries, churches, nature, Sephora, the bakery.

To whatever sends you and floats your boat.

To kindness and courage.

To mala beads, crystals, chanting, yoga and meditation.

To ancient childhood memories resurfacing.

To triggers; Smells. Sounds. People.

I’m getting a bit misty eyed over here.
It must be a combination of the lousy organ music (he just needs more practice), and fact that my fifty-seven year old butt is currently seated on the same hard wooden bench that my innocently sweet, but always questioning, seven-year old butt sat.

Devotion to change.
I used to believe that religion and spirituality were mutually exclusive.
One told you no, the other said… perhaps.

Call it old age, or just a general unclenching of the fists that happens naturally over time; but I’m finding myself more and more belonging to Team Meh where our motto is: “Well, that’s not my thing — but good for you!”

Devotion to Neutrality or I’m in a Switzerland State of Mind
Daily I struggle with judgement. I know, it’s just me.
I’m striving to be for more things than I’m against.

I feel like after this week I can move the Catholic religion to my neutral list. At last!

Some people hang out in groovy cafes and write.
I sit weeping in Catholic Churches.

Who knows what’s next?

Can you explain devotion? What are you devoted to, I’d love to know.

Happy Easter & Passover my loves,
Xox