Keeping Jesus Company

"In the silence of the heart, God speaks.

If you face God in prayer and in silence, God will speak to you.

Then you will know that you are nothing. It is only when you realize your

nothingness, your emptiness, that God can fill you with Himself. 

Souls of prayer are souls of silence."

- Mother Theresa 

     Holy Week began on Sunday with Palm Sunday. As per the tradition, the choir met at ten am and practiced with Sister Regina with the same Palm Sunday songs we do every year. However, there was something different: she wanted me to sing the opening antiphon: Hosanna to the Son of David. I'll be honest; I didn't think I could sing that loudly or strongly. But when she made me sing, I felt like she was Sister Mary Clarence and I was Sister Mary Robert from Sister Act...you know that scene when Whoopi comes in and rearranges the choir and then tells Sister Mary Robert to sing out - loud? Yeah, that happens to me everytime Sister Regina makes me sing. Needless to say, I was a little nervous to sing out in the rotunda in front of all those people. But, after Mass I could feel the Holy Week High coming on.

    In years past, Holy Week was always my most favorite week. This year, I was praying to be filled with the same excitement for Holy Week. For some reason, I had lost my excitement for Lent about week three of fasting and almsgiving. Although, SEARCH did help with my excitement about LIFE, my excitement about Holy Week was still being tucked dormant in my soul somewhere. Starting with my emotional sob fest after Palm Sunday Mass on Sunday Night, the week was a roller coaster of emotions. I cried and laughed many times.

    Again, this year, I partook in the Busy Person's Retreat and this time around my Spiritual Director was Sister Mary. A big focus of my reflections was the idea of servitude to God. My whole life I felt I had been called to be a Servant of the Lord. Even the very word, servant, is important to me. The second day of retreat I prayed with the first reading from ISAIAH in which it was proclaimed: by your mother's womb, I have called you by name. My name, Rebecca, means servant of God in Hebrew. So, as you can see, the word servant is so important and it plays a huge part in my discernment story. 

     As I shared with Sister Mary, often the tears came as I spoke about all the times I have already been blessed to give of myself to others. Tears came when I spoke about the blessing Immaculata has been. And of course, the tears came when I spoke about the Sisters at school who have become a family to me. But as we spoke, she seemed to notice that I wasn't as talkative as usual. Perhaps it was because our meetings were at 9 in the morning or maybe because I didn't get much sleep. But I remember bringing up the idea of having two ears and one mouth for a reason. The reading of the day for Wednesday, our last day of retreat, said something about God hearing us when we cry out. And so, there was suddenly a reflection on not only hearing God's word as a servant of His, but also knowing that God is always listening. 

     Flash forward to Holy Thursday night. In keeping with tradition, Sister Marcelina and I headed to Our Lady of Czestochowa in Doylestown for Mass. While we were a few minutes late (red lights...every single one) and walked in during the Gloria, I couldn't help but notice one thing: the music. But it wasn't actually the music that struck me even though the voices were absolutely beautiful, it was the lack of organ playing. The music was only voices. They sang a meditative hymn: Ubi Caritas and I closed my eyes and listened to the gentle silence of the hymn. All throughout Mass, all I could think of was silence, silence, silence.

     When we got home to the convent, I got in my car and turned off the radio (I have a bad habit of leaving it on when I turn the car off). Typically on Holy Thursday, I make a pilgrimage to either three or seven churches. While I knew I wasn't going to make seven churches considering the hour, but I made it to three. As I traveled, I was surprised to see how many children were out late with their families visiting churches. It made me smile to see how many beautiful families, the true witnesses of the faith, were out and keeping with the Old School Traditions. My first stop was Saint Katherine of Siena parish (aka where I parked my car at the convent). There, everything was stripped down and silenced in the very physical form. There were a few children, families and older couples.  At my second stop, St. Charles, again I noticed the quieting of the atmosphere. Statues were covered in purple linens so as to maintain the quiet and silence. I also noticed that it really drew the attention to the focal point of Holy Thursday night: Jesus. 

      Finally, at St. Ann's, my favorite chapel, it dawned on me. I knelt on the floor and gazed at my beautiful and beloved Savior. All around me was quiet, I had no more words for Jesus. Silence overtook my heart. It was in those sweeping moments that I realized why Holy Week wasn't quite Holy Week for me yet; I wasn't engulfed in a sea of silence. Although, I did share in the tears of Christ all week, I hadn't shared in the quieting of His mind and soul. I realized though, that Jesus' mind was restless on the night of His betrayal. He kept asking His father to let the cup pass. He was experiencing the true pain of being a servant of God as we so often do. I realized last night that I had shared in so much of Christ's passion already and I didn't know it. I had shared in His tears, His anxiety about His future, His overwhelming knowledge of His Father's presence, His pain in being a servant of His Father...and of course, the silence in the garden. As I kept Jesus company in the garden last night, I felt true solidarity with Him. I felt, again, peace of Holy Week. I felt Jesus speaking to me in my silence of heart and mind. It was there in the garden of silence and agony, that I felt one with Him. It's beautiful what simply sitting with one's Beloved can do for one's soul. Thank you, Jesus. 

Normally, I'd add a song here. But in keeping with the tradition of silence, 

my invitation is that you, too, can spend a few minutes in silence with Jesus. 

Shoeless Joe Jackson Celebrates the Triduum

"Down the Via Dolorosa, called the way of suffering,

like a lamb came the Messiah, Christ the King.

But He chose to walk that road out of His love for you and me.

Down the Via Dolorosa, all the way to Calvary."

- "Via Dolorosa," Sandi Patty

     These are the days I live for: the days of the Triduum. Out of all the days in the year, these three are my absolute favorite: Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Lent is my favorite Liturgical Season, as you may have read in an earlier blog, but these three days are absolutely perfect. Once Palm Sunday rolls around I get super stoked. Except this year, my energy was a little low since I  was still a bit under the weather.

      Monday of Holy Week started the three day Busy Persons Retreat that God wanted me to partake in. Loooooooong story short, I had not signed up for the retreat, which essentially lasts about three hours over the course of three days where you meet for a daily hour-long meeting with a spiritual director. At the end of our final play on Sunday, I was listening to my voicemails when I got one from Sister Mary Jo, my retreat spiritual director. After working through all the confusion, we decided to meet for the first time after work on Monday night. In all honesty, meeting with Sister Mary Jo as my spiritual director for the three day retreat was the most fruitful three hours of my week. We read the psalms together (ironically two of our favorites...139 and 116) and prayed with them. She also asked me quite a few questions about the Scriptures and my life in general. One question I remember in particular: What are you most looking forward to during the Triduum? I couldn't quite answer honestly because there were just so many things I was looking forward to. But I told her about my personal Holy Thursday tradition of visiting the seven churches. Ironically enough, I didn't get to do that this year.

       I woke up to my little sisters begging me to take them out for the day. And since I had some shopping of my own to do before the Triduum festivities began, I figured why not drag them along to the Mall with me. Of course any car ride with Lizzie means surrendering my cell phone to her so she can keep herself occupied. In the middle of a game of Temple Run 2, a text message from Sister Marcelina, CSFN interrupted Lizzie. That meant...I got my phone back. Within a few seconds, my plans to simply go to my home Parish for Mass and then the route of seven churches I had planned out earlier in the week were changed. Suddenly, I found myself agreeing to join her and her brother (who is a Pauline Father) at the Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa for Holy Thursday Mass. How blessed and beautiful it was! Of course, the car rides to and fro were quite entertaining as they consisted of conversations of mice in the trunk and heart to hearts about my vocation. 

       When I agreed to go to Mass, there was a part of me that was so unsure to go out of my traditions. I was also afraid I was not going to understand a word of what was going on as they often have Mass in Polish there. But, God is good, and Mass was in English for me. However, there were plenty of people surrounding me whose first language is Polish, Sister included. As I was listening to the readings of the Scriptures, I began to reflect on feet. I know, two days ago it was hands, and now feet...but bear with me and see if you can follow where I am going here.

      Back in Jesus' time, every one either wore sandals or no shoes. They didn't have paved roadways or sidewalks to walk on. Instead, they walked in the dirt, mud and rocks. Absolutely, positively disgusting. It's like walking on the beach forever but with the addition of mud and rocks. Ouch. From what I've heard, before entering a person's house, you would most often remove your shoes. So imagine, Jesus and all his disciples, after walking for days in the dirt and mud and rocks, enter into this room where they will soon share a meal; none of them have shoes on and it stinks. After the meal is over, Jesus gets up, takes a pitcher of water and starts washing the disciples' nasty feet. Gross, man, gross. Not only is He washing the dirty, disgusting feet of the disciples, but He is also the "Master" or the "Teacher." Typically, a servant or a slave would wash the feet of the guests, but Jesus is doing it. He once again, humbled Himself to the form of servant, to wash the feet of His disciples. Of course the disciples are either all : "Ok, this is weird, Jesus. No way are you washing my feet," or "You're gonna wash just my feet? Better do my head and hands, too; I'm pretty dirty." And then Jesus responds by saying, "I am going to wash your feet." So He does it. All of this is playing through my head as Father Nicholas is washing the feet of twelve men on the HUGE altar at the Shrine. 

     I have been known, at random times, to be caught without my shoes in Chapel while praying. In high school, I would leave my clumpy, combat boot shoes at the doorway of Chapel and walk up the aisle, find a pew and just sit and be with Jesus. Sister David, CSFN told me once she always looked forward to seeing my shoes at the door of Chapel after school. At school now, often times I'll do the same but only at Marian Chapel. Sometimes, I won't even wear my shoes down from my room. Just last Sunday, Palm Sunday that is, I was walking down the hallway with my stockings on when Sister Regina, IHM saw me and said, "Bec, you barely have anything on your feet." I just smiled and shrugged as I continued to Chapel. I hate wearing shoes, and if I could, I'd go barefoot anytime. Someone told me once that it was very Franciscan of me to do that. But, because it's illegal in most places to not wear shoes, I keep them on. Except in Chapel. Even during Mass, I can be caught swinging my bare feet under the pew. Here's why: Sister Mary Annette, CSFN, once told me that where Jesus is, is Holy Ground. Just like the disciples would have removed their sandals before entering the House of the Lord, we should remove our sandals before entering God's House. God's House, is after all, Holy Ground. God also tells Moses in the Old Testament to "remove the sandals from your feet for where you are standing is Holy Ground." So, it essentially became a little tradition for me, to enter into the Chapel with socks or tights on, or to remove my shoes at some point during Mass. It's subtle, so most people would never really know, unless for some reason, you just happen to look at my feet. 

      While I was reflecting on the feet of the disciples last night, I realized that just because the washing of the feet was over, the prominence of feet wasn't going away. You see, Jesus was stripped of all His clothing and most importantly, His sandals before He was forced to carry the cross to Calvary. I realized this as I was swinging my bare feet under the pew (Ok...I had tights on...). I couldn't imagine the pain that Jesus must have felt while not only walking up hill, but while also carrying a huge and heavy wooden cross. As I was trying to fathom this, I felt in my heart, a whisper to join Jesus on that road to Calvary. What exactly did that entail? Well, not wearing shoes of course. And I had already accomplished step one: taking my shoes off. 

       About halfway through Mass, the gentle, old Polish man next to me realized I had no shoes on. The look on his face was priceless. As I told Sister Mary Jo, IHM, I often try to visualize what the Scriptures are saying and so I was doing the same during Mass. After our "Last Supper" during Holy Communion, I decided to remove my shoes for good...well, until the end of Good Friday liturgy. I imagined Jesus and his disciples walking through to the garden just to pray. It is the Garden that I visit at seven different churches, that is, staying up super later just to be there with Jesus. As we processed from the church to the chapel, I felt the cold marble under my feet and imagined the cold of the desert like ground the disciples and Jesus would have walked on. I knew when we got into the car that I most likely wasn't going to make it to seven churches that night, but I could keep my shoes off. So I did. 

       After Sister Marcelina and I made it back to St. Katherine's and participated in Night Prayer, we walked through the convent so I could wish my sisters a happy Triduum. At this point, it was close to 10:30 at night, Jesus had already been arrested. I stood shoeless in the kitchen while we chatted for a few moments and soon, I was headed out the door and on my way home. Don't tell my mom...I drove home with no shoes on. This morning, I woke up, put on the same tights and went about my morning visits to the various Chapels and Repositories to pray with Jesus some more. I started at my home Parish, where I joined a solitary soul in Chapel. When I was leaving, she turned to me and thanked me for being so open on my blog. I was surprised; I didn't know she read it. I continued my journey outside to pray the Stations of the Cross, something I absolutely love so dearly. It was about eleven in the morning, Jesus was just finishing up His being questioned. He still had His shoes at this point...mine were long gone. 

       I visited a few more chapels and then headed home. Around noon, my family decided it would be a good time to go out food shopping. So, I donned my shoes for this adventure. But soon, we were headed home again and I enjoyed a small nap. At two, I woke up with this intense, burning feeling in my heart. It was Jesus calling out to me, to go with Him, to carry His cross. So, I left the house in a haste, shoes in my hand, and walked to church from my house. At first, it wasn't too bad. The black top was warm, and smooth since we just had our street re-paved last summer. But a few blocks later, I was feeling the rocks in my heel and between my toes. And trust me when I say, I know there's tons of broken glass out there. I began to really think how grateful I was for having shoes to wear on my feet and I understood the pain Jesus felt as He walked to Calvary. A few people I passed by looked on questioningly and a little boy even asked his older brother why I was carrying my shoes. I had to laugh...no one asked Jesus why He wasn't wearing shoes; they thought He deserved it.

      Well, I finally made it to church and as I knelt (yes, I knelt :)))) ) I had the most beautiful conversation with Jesus. I didn't NOT wear shoes for attention from anyone, nor for any other reason other than Jesus called me to it, so I did it. And out of curiosity, I wanted to know what He felt. I left my shoes off for our Good Friday service and quite a few parishioners came up to me and asked me where my shoes were. I simply shrugged. I wasn't going to actually do a blog about going shoeless until one of the parishioners asked me why I wasn't wearing shoes. And then three more people asked me. So, I decided that I would just to clear up all the confusion.

      So, yes, I got this crazy idea last night in the middle of Holy Thursday Mass to go shoeless for a day. But it really wasn't as crazy as it first seemed. In going shoeless, I had a conversion of sorts. I may not have understood what it meant to walk in the dirt and mud, but I understood the rocks. I may not have carried a cross, but I carried my shoes and the prayers of all those I promised to pray for. I may not have walked three miles, but in the twenty minutes of walking through Croydon shoeless, I had a deeper understanding of Christ. Somehow, I know it was truly Jesus who called me on to this mini sacrifice. I know it was Him who whispered into my heart to take off my shoes and walk with Him on His way to Calvary. I took my shoes off because Jesus knew I needed something to help me go deeper in faith with Him. Besides, where Jesus is, is Holy Ground and and Jesus is everywhere, so every where is Holy Ground. I'm not suggesting you walk to church in your bare feet, but maybe next time you're at Mass, just slip your shoes off and let your feet experience what it's like to stand on Holy Ground. Besides, look how far Jesus walked shoeless out of love for you and me...what's a few minutes bare foot? 

Visiting Jesus in the Garden ... Seven Different Times

     Happy Triduum!! These days are my most favorite days out of the whole year!! Ever since I was a little kid I was enthralled with Holy Week and the traditions. When I was little, our traditions included going to Holy Thursday Mass with my Daddy, watching him get his feet washed, singing at Mass, and visiting three churches after Mass. Every single year we would visit those churches and it was a tradition I simply loved so much. I don't know why they excited me so much, all I know is that I loved it.
      So, last year, I googled (like a good student) why we did this tradition. There are so many reasons and so many number of churches. Some say it's a walking pilgrimage, to walk to three different churches to remember the walk to Calvary. However, this can only really happen if you live a big city with churches on every other block. Some say it is a custom to remember the seven wounds of Christ. Some say, for a novena and they visit nine churches. Some even say it goes back to Mary searching for Jesus when he was lost in the Temple. But I like the one explanation that explains it is like visiting with Jesus in the Garden.
       Now that I was a fully informed scholar, I made it a goal of mine to visit Seven Churches on my own last year after I went to Mass with the sisters. I succeeded in making it to five, because two were closed for the night already. I remember getting upset because who closes churches at 10:30 at night, I mean really?! But honestly, when I thought about it, I understood. So this year, my goal was the same. I had a whole route planned out in my head and knew I would make it! I went to Mass with the Sisters again, but this time my little sister came with me as well. Mass was beautiful, as always!! And then, my little sister, in all her innocence, invited one of our closest sisters with us. And so, we made the journey!
       After traveling to many different churches, seeing so many of my sister friends at each one (which really warmed my heart!), I dropped my little sister off at home and went to our final church of the evening with my "Big Sister." It has always been my favorite chapel to visit on Holy Thursday and it is always the last one I visit. It is the most beautiful by far and the most enriching. We had just made it for the final twenty minutes of the night before they locked up the Chapel at midnight. Yes, we were out that late visiting churches!
      At the last church of the night, I always reflect on the lateness of the night and what this means to Jesus. Truly I felt, that while everyone else was sleeping, we were still up with Jesus. I think that if I had been a disciple on the night of the Last Supper, I would have had no problem staying up with Him while He was in the Garden. Now that may sound presumptuous, but let me tell you this: I am a college student, which is a synonym for insomniac which means, too many times have I done my praying at 2 or 3 in the morning after finishing all my school work. I think I would have made it. There's something mystical about this night, too. On any other given night at midnight or later, I probably would have been a little terrified going out by myself in places I rarely ever go, at night. And yet, last night, and every Holy Thursday, there is no fear for myself. But rather, for Jesus, and His awaiting of the news that He was going to be crucified. My Jesus, my Beloved Jesus, was just waiting for the bad news to come. I can't tell you how many tears I shed at the various churches we visited!
     The truth is, out of all the days of the year, late, late night on Holy Thursday is when I really feel the closest to Jesus. Because while everyone else is asleep, I'm awake in the garden.