Three Years Later

As I continue to reflect on last night’s Easter Vigil, I am reminded of the first Easter Vigil that I experienced, 3 years ago.  At that time, my husband and I were received into full communion of the Catholic Church.  Within a few weeks of that experience, I posted the following thoughts to another blog.

As you read, understand that these were the thoughts of someone fresh off the boat.  So while I stand by the sentiment behind the words, I have to say I’d be softer in my wording today.

A Few Post Easter Thoughts – Originally posted April 16, 2009

I’ve actually got two or three posts sitting in MS Word, in various stages of completion. I think the problem is that what I put on paper doesn’t really convey what I want to say. Words escape me.

Tonight, we had our first night of mystagogia. We went over the liturgy, to an extent, in an effort to call Holy Thursday to mind. We came up with words or phrases that conveyed our impressions for the night. Reverence. Awe. Those were the only things that could come to mind for me. Timelessness. I’d always thought of the Body of Christ as being all of the Christians alive at any point in time, but good grief, that is so incredibly limiting! The Body of Christ is all Christians over time, and we are as connected to the Christians of 500, 1000, or 2000 years ago as we are to those of our own time and those to come.

My reaction? I wanted to worship. Just worship. Give me a place to kneel and pray for a week or two, and let me worship. That was the reaction that the Triduum produced in me.

I’ve been on “worship committees” where we tried to recreate the experiences of Holy Week, to drive home the feelings and sensations that Christ went through during his Passion, Death, and Resurrection. So when we were told that these services were “unlike any other all year”, it really didn’t mean all that much to me.

I’ll be blunt. We were clueless.

If one were to only look at the sequence of events, there really wasn’t all that much to distinguish the liturgy of the Triduum. Scripture was proclaimed. The faithful received the Eucharist. They weren’t exactly the same as a typical Sunday Mass, but the real difference really had less to do with the sequence of events and more to do with the nature of the services themselves. The goal was different – these services weren’t there to spoon feed and cater to the faithful, so that they know what Easter was all about. These services were held to worship the One who suffered, was crucified, and rose again on the 3rd day. They weren’t held for us. They were held for Him.

It’s funny how that little change in focus can practically knock a person over. And it’s also interesting that when we keep our focus on Christ, and use our time and effort to worship Him, the other ends (bringing home the reality of Holy Week) just sorta fall into place.

I’ve tried to put my finger on how and why the services were different. We are one with all Christians throughout history, and if by entering the Mass we are essentially suspending time to worship Christ with all the Christians who have been and are yet to come, then this is doubly true during the Triduum. And in the Eucharist, we really are keeping watch with Christ. So the effect was that the during the Triduum services, we were there with Christ, praying for Him as He was betrayed, as He agonized and prayed, as He was scourged, and as He was crucified. It was real. We were there.

The non-Catholic services that we had been to, by contrast, were just pretending. There, we tried to tap our ruby slippers together, close our eyes really tight, and try to imagine that we were in Jerusalem in the early 1st century. As much as we try, we were still opting for the stale 6 month old candy, rather than the gourmet feast that God longs for us to experience.

One of the effects of the services of the Triduum was to remind me of how spiritually hungry I was for Communion. Yes, it’s not the same thing in non-Catholic churches, but it still meant a lot to me. I had abstained from receiving that last month before we left, ready to wait for the time when I’d receive the real thing. But often, when you’re hungry, you stop noticing the hunger pangs, and don’t realize what you’re missing. I knew we were on the path, so I didn’t think much of not being able to receive the Eucharist. I just accepted where we were.

But by Easter Vigil, I was HUNGRY. I remember my sponsor asking me, after we were Confirmed, what I thought. I whispered, pointing at the altar, “I’ll let you know after THIS.” I wanted it – the real thing. And oh, the blessings of being able to receive it.

I am thankful. I am oh-so-on-my-knees thankful. I’d been reading some of my old posts here (I am so glad they’ve been blogged), and I remember my first post. I said, “I’ll chase God anywhere. If I can be closer to Him, I’ll chase. I want that.” I am thankful to those who originally said the things that opened my eyes and knocked me off my high horse. I am thankful for the person who told me to be careful for what I pray. I am thankful for every prayer and every answered question.

And most of all, I thank my Lord, for bringing me Home.

Growing Up Amish

When you can’t move around much, you end up reading a lot.

This past week was Holy Week, and I think I wanted to focus on God a little more by trying to clear out the distractions of the world around me.  The three days of the Holy Triduum are so much more powerful when I’m not that distracted – I’m distracted enough just recovering from neck surgery, and I didn’t need to intentionally add distraction by way of fluffy fiction.  So I didn’t really want to start the second book of the Hunger Games trilogy until after the week was over.

I went for a more sedate book.  I read Growing Up Amish by Ira Wagler.  I loved, loved, loved this book and thought it to be the perfect reading for this week, to be honest.  As the title implies, this is the story of someone who grew up in an Old Order Amish community.  It is very much a story of grace and redemption, and I thought it appropriate that I finished the book as I was resting up for Thursday night’s Mass of the Lord’s Supper (one of my favorite Holy Days all year).

One of the points in the book that struck me was Ira’s friendship with Sam, a man who converted from being “English” to being Amish.  I have to say that I really identified with Sam’s point of view.  He was able to communicate with Ira precisely because he was not Amish from birth.  He brought with him his background and experiences, and because he converted, he could articulate his faith in words that went way beyond “because that’s the way we’ve always done it.”  I feel that way often, especially as someone who wasn’t born Catholic but entered into full communion with the Church after much prayer and study because that’s where my soul found its home.  I often find my non-cradle-Catholic self articulating why I love the Catholic understanding to people who were raised as part of a Catholic family.

This, however, was my favorite quote:

“But God is who he is. Forever.  Unchanging.  And always there, even when he doesn’t seem to be.  This I have learned.  And this I know.  Ultimately, I rest in that knowledge.

And if my readers glean only one thing from my story, I hope that’s it.  That God is there, even when he seems far away.”

As I’ve mentioned, my Lent wasn’t quite what I had envisioned it to be.  And because of the neck pain, along with responsibilities that come along with being involved with RCIA at this time of year, I wasn’t as present, as in the moment, as I have been in years past.  But this quote has been in my head since Thursday, as a very powerful reminder.  Even when I don’t recognize it, He’s there.

Triduum Thoughts

Just a couple of quotes that caught my eye . . .

“Once the sun sets on Holy Thursday the entire Church is swept into its Passover. Time stops…we enter eternity. The Christian Passover will not be understood apart from keeping watch, waiting, anticipating. The Paschal Triduum requires of us a liturgical piety that prods us to put everything aside – even time itself – in the presence of the awesome mystery.” (Peter Mazar)

“It is Maundy Thursday… There is something about this night..specifically tonight… that feels wrong. In past years we’ve shared a soup super and then communion. Tonight we met in the sanctuary, shared communion and then moved to the garden with the arrest through music and scripture. As Easter people, we look back on the Last Supper with joy, but during Holy Week we must remember the disciples gathered to celebrate the Passover, then the mood quickly changed when they heard Jesus talk of betrayal before the dawn. No, as much as I want to celebrate, it is best to leave unsettled. There is something wrong but it will be made right on Sunday!” (A Facebook friend)

“You can’t reach Easter Sunday without Good Friday. It is a day for reflection and humility. We make mistakes. We hurt God and we hurt other people. We have been hurt by others. Someone must heal the wounds. For all our talents and abilities, we are still a people in need of a savior.” (Same Facebook friend)

May your Good Friday be one of watching and waiting, of hopeful anticipation.

Lessons of Lent

Over the past few years, I’ve loved Lent.  Our pastor calls it a retreat, in that it’s an opportunity to draw away from some of the things that crowd out God in our lives.  I’ve looked forward to dialing things back and having more time for prayer and reflection.

Enter this year, which has been anything but reflective.

We started with the remains of a stomach bug on Ash Wednesday, as our family traveled to a basketball tournament.   A karate injury sustained early in February decided to bear its full force on my neck, leading to a month of neck and arm pain, way too many visits to the chiropractor, and ultimately, surgery almost two weeks ago.

Not the most conducive conditions to reflection and contemplation.

As I’ve gone through Holy Week, it’s become clear that this Lent, despite it not being what I wanted it to look like, I can’t quite call it a failure.

I’ve been reminded that there is meaning in the trials of life.  That Christ suffered more than anything we can whine about, and that we have the opportunity to conform ourselves to Christ through the trials we encounter.

About that surgery:  there are two parts of my body that I never wanted to have surgery on: my eyes and my spine.  But I was given a gift through it.  I received the Anointing of the Sick right before (first time for that sacrament).  What struck me was not the anointing itself, but the prayers of those there.  A deacon I know likes to say, “Watch out when little old Spanish ladies are praying for you.”  How true.  Their prayers were and are precious and touched me in a special way, and I was way more comforted going into surgery than I otherwise would have been.

I learned humility.  Really, I learned a very difficult lesson – how to ask for help.  When I got home, I couldn’t do anything.  I couldn’t lift anything over 5 pounds, and last week, I couldn’t even reheat leftovers for lunch.  I watched as my wonderful husband tried to keep the kids in check, deal with a massive workload as he worked from home, deal with a broken air conditioner, and try to put meals on the table.  I felt so helpless because I couldn’t do anything.  So I called in reinforcements.  I called one of my homeschool groups, and asked if some meals could be organized.  I hated doing it, but we’ve been blessed by it.

So it wasn’t what I would call a loss.  God just had different plans than I did.  As Lent closes tomorrow and the Holy Triduum begins, I look forward to communing with my Lord and basking in the joy of the Easter season.

Introverts and the Sisters of Lazarus

I often see the sisters of Lazarus, Mary and Martha, used to illustrate how different people love and serve Jesus.  Mary was the one who dropped everything to sit at the Savior’s feet. Martha was the one who kept continually busy, even complaining that Mary wasn’t pulling her weight in the kitchen.

In today’s speak, Mary would be the one in constant, quiet prayer, and Martha would be the one serving in at least 5 different ministries at one time.

Without a doubt, my introvert self identifies more with Mary.  One of the things that drew me to the Catholic Church was its varied prayer life (and I’m not talking about asking saints to intercede).  I loved the quiet reverence of the Mass.  I love Liturgy of the Hours.  I love love love my 2:30 a.m. Adoration time slot.  I love that there are tons of opportunities to simply sit at the feet of Jesus and soak it all up.

Then I was called to serve in a very big way.  And I use that word, called, in all seriousness. This wasn’t someone asking me to do something.  It was a convergence of several independent events through which God screamed, “HERE!  I want you HERE!”

Got it!  Heard ya loud and clear!

I serve the RCIA ministry for the parish.  I love this ministry as I have never loved a ministry before.  But I was called to a very big role, and there are times I feel so very, very, very unprepared for the task set before me. I know, I know.  God doesn’t call the equipped, he equips the called.  This equipping, however, can be a drawn out process, especially in this case.  And I must give up time that I’d love to be sitting at the feet of Jesus in order to do the work to which he has called me.

I must give up some quiet time.  Introvert that I am, I must learn to adjust.

I am struck by the fact that most of us aren’t called to be either Mary or Martha.  Now, there are some contemplative religious orders out there that devote their lives to nothing but prayer – this prayer is their work, the way they live out the Gospel.  But not all of us are called to a life of constant contemplative prayer (although I can’t say I’d mind it!).  Most of us are given other work that needs to be done.   The prayerful times as Mary nourish and strengthen us for our service oriented Martha times.

So onward I go, looking for the time that I can just block out the world and pray.  Without doing what I’m doing right now, that is, which is setting myself up for a world o’ hurt in the morning when I need to be alert to the world.

Good night, all.  Happy praying!

Recent Reads

I mentioned on the last book post that I was looking forward to reading Priestblock 25487, an account of one of the survivors of the clergy block at the Dachau concentration camp. Although a short and very readable account, it took me forever to get through it, mainly because my favorite time to read is before I go to sleep at night.

One does not read books about concentration camps before bed.  If you want to sleep, that is.

I don’t think it’s possible to love or enjoy a book about a concentration camp, but I definitely appreciated it.  Stories about the horrors contained within the concentration camps are ubiquitous enough that you sometimes don’t flinch any more when you read an account.  I had to remind myself of that as Fr. Jean Bernard described how weak his condition had become as he spent more time in the camp.  There were so many details in which you could see God’s hand, guiding him through.  He could have died so many times, but seemed to be saved at each turn.

After a little research, I learned that Dachau was second only to Auschwitz in notoriety.  It was the first concentration camp opened in 1933, less than 6 months after the Nazi party had come to power in Germany.  I had assumed, for lack of better information, that most concentration camps housed more Jews than anyone else.  I knew there were political prisoners, but the millions of Jews exterminated tended to overshadow the other victims of the Third Reich.  In Dachau, however, only a third of the prisoners were Jews – the rest were prisoners that were either under suspicion of, for lack of a better term, not being loyal enough to Nazi rule.  Of these, there was a special section just for clergy.

Well worth a read, especially if you’re not in the habit of reading before bed.

I also finished Jane Eyre, the next in my series of Books I Was Not Ready to Appreciate in High School.  I loved it.  Jane has such a strong-willed personality, yet she’s able to turn it down when necessary (now if I could just learn that lesson. . .).  I appreciated that she had to grow up a little before she could truly be happy with Mr. Rochester, and he had to humble himself before he could fully appreciate Jane.  There’s not too much to say – it’s a classic. I’m happy to have read it now that I have a little life experience behind me with which to appreciate it.

Next on the book list:

A list I frequent will be reading The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis during Lent.  I try to keep my internet time to a minimum during Lent, so I don’t know how much I’ll be participating in the discussion, but the reading does sound interesting.  I’ll be borrowing the book from the Kindle Owner’s Lending Library, which hopefully means I’ll finish it (since I’ll eventually have to return it).  So far, I’ve been good about finishing the books I’ve borrowed for the Kindle.

Next on the Books I Was Not Ready to Appreciate in High School list is probably Tess of the d’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy.  I’m also wanting to re-read Wuthering Heights at some point.  I actually remember quite a bit from Wuthering Heights, and remember appreciating it enough to write a fairly decent essay on it in high school (after hearing a classmate utter an opinion I considered to be complete bunk, and having been given free reign on the essay topic).

A group of moms at my kid’s homeschool PE class were talking about book clubs, and one that came up was Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons by Lorna Landvik.  A title like that begs at least a second glance, no?  I’ve currently got the sample on my Kindle, but we’ll see how much of it I’ll read after that.

Happy Reading!

Why I Won’t Be Going on an ACTS Retreat

The requests have died off of late, but at one point, I had a few well meaning friends trying to persuade me to go on an ACTS retreat.  For those who are unfamiliar, ACTS stands for Adoration, Community, Theology, and Service.  It’s a three day weekend, and from what I gather, is similar in structure to other three day weekends, patterned after the Granddaddy of them all:  the original Catholic Cursillo weekend.

(More background – the “three day weekend” is a type of retreat.  Most are very structured, fast paced, and highly prayed over.  It’s heavy on the extrovert quotient, but even for the introvert, it still tends to be a whack upside the head with a holy 2×4 – in a good way.)

I’d recommend such an experience, to be sure.  Many Christians of all stripes grow up surrounded by all the prayers and rituals, but either don’t know or don’t try to take the time to find out what they mean, or spend time in prayer so that the Holy Spirit can truly minister to them and work through them.  These weekends, with their prayer, structure, teaching, and example, provide that spark that grows into an incredibly devout life.

I’ve been on one.  Protestants do a version of the three day weekend, created with the help of the Cursillo organization, called the Walk to Emmaus.  I went on one when I was pregnant with my now nine year old, and yes, it did change my life.  Growing up, I was baptized when my parents divorced, but after about a year, I never really attended church again until I started going again with my husband.   I’d never been confirmed, and when I formally entered the Methodist church, I didn’t even have to make a profession of faith.  There was no background with which to build a spiritual life.  I had doubts, and while I wanted more spiritually, I had no idea how to get there.

Then I went on a Walk to Emmaus.  I was brought face to face with the love of God through others and their acts of sacrifice for people they’d never even met.   Apart from that, God showed up in ways that are too coincidental to be mere coincidence.  He was there, plain and simple.  Most of these three day weekends have a lot of surprises that you generally don’t divulge to people who haven’t been on a weekend, but I needed to be able to talk to my husband (who didn’t attend for another nine months).  I found it telling that the most profound moments were the ones that had nothing to do with the surprises, and ones I could tell my husband.  Oh yes, God was there.

I’d even say that the Walk to Emmaus is one of the main reasons we’re now Catholic.  That weekend awakened in me a hunger that left me frustrated and searching for the next several years.  It was as if that Easter Vigil, when my husband and I were received into the Catholic Church, was the real finale to that weekend.  The Fourth Days before that were an important part of the journey, to be sure, but still a work up to the final scene.  That Easter, as I was anointed with the Sacred Chrism and received at the table of the Eucharist, I came home – as least, as close to home as I will be while I still have breath in this body.  But it started with the Walk to Emmaus.

One of the key points of Catholic theology is that two Sacraments (Baptism and Confirmation) aren’t repeated.  Baptism and Confirmation are works of the Holy Spirit, filling you with grace and marking your soul for God.  To say that you want to, say, be baptized again is to say that God didn’t do it right the first time.  While Emmaus/Cursillo/ACTS isn’t a sacrament, I see it much the same way.

Within the Emmaus, Cursillo, and other 3 day communities, you only go once.  As I neared my profession of faith and entrance into the Catholic Church, I contacted the local Cursillo organization, because I wanted to get involved.  Schedules prevented such involvement, but I would have been welcomed in as someone who had “been through it.”  Those who go on Cursillo weekends (and not all are Catholic – Emmaus started out as a “Methodist Cursillo” weekend) do not go on an Emmaus weekend.  As the Emmaus community gathers, those who attended “other expressions of the weekend” are acknowledged.

I find great wisdom in this.  One of the talks of the Emmaus Walk, a later talk when most everyone – pilgrim and team alike – are on a mountaintop, exhorts the pilgrims not to think that Emmaus is the end all, be all of encounters with the Holy Spirit.  Hopefully I’m remembering the exact words, but it’s something like this:  ”People have been encountering the Holy Spirit for 2000 years before Emmaus.  It’s a good way to draw closer to Christ, but certainly not the only way.”

I know people who have no need of a Cursillo weekend, ACTS retreat, or Emmaus walk. They have such a relationship with Christ that it shines in their every move. I am in awe of the love they have for their fellow man, often in spite of themselves.  No, the three day weekend is not the only way.

I go back to the analogy of Baptism and Confirmation.  My Emmaus Walk was a profound turning point in my spiritual life.  To say that I need to go on an ACTS retreat, simply because it’s “Catholic”, is to cheapen what God did in my life over 10 years ago at Emmaus. It’s to say that God didn’t do it right the first time.

I refuse to cheapen the work of the Holy Spirit that way.

Chicken Nuggets and Oreos

This morning, I made a massive amount of what I affectionately refer to as Toxic Sludge.  It’s a green juice, made with apples, romaine lettuce, lemon juice, and some other high-octane green.  NORMALLY, I usually use spinach in my sludge, which results in a reasonably tolerable tonic.  Today, however, I used one large leaf of a mustard green and another leaf that I got in my food co-op surprise box that is supposedly very healthy (I can’t remember what it’s called).  It’s also very peppery and somewhat bitter.

And I made about twice as much of the stuff as I usually do.

I took the concoction to my son’s basketball game, and managed to ingest the rest of it.

While I don’t usually do the healthy thing as some kind of justification to pig out on all manner of junk, I felt that my ingesting 20 pre-ice ounces of barely tolerable green juice warranted a bit of a reward.  Besides, the kids had been to a birthday party earlier today, so we had more of a snack-y type of evening.

Which led to our pigging out on chicken nuggets and Oreos.

I do not repent.

Jesus and Religion

If you are anywhere near Facebook, and you may have seen the latest viral video about how Jesus is more than religion.  I saw one rebuttal on Bad Catholic, posted to Facebook (ironically) by a Protestant friend whose husband went to a Baptist seminary.  Intrigued by her posting this very Catholic opinion of a decidedly non-Catholic piece, I somehow got into a discussion about what religion really means.  The only problem is that this isn’t something that lends itself to one liners and sound bites, which means that on Facebook, it’s best to say “I respectfully disagree” and walk away.

So I’m developing my thoughts here.  And it’s taking great restraint not to start with a dictionary definition of “religion”.

I must first admit that I see where others come from.  The mere word religion, for me, used to make my face scrunch up into some sour expression.  Religion, in this mindset, is the practices devoid of the requisite smacking upside the head with a holy 2×4 that happens when you encounter Christ.  Set of motions with nothing behind it?  It’s a baaaaaaad thing. So, yes, I understand that view.

I would like to submit, though, another definition.  Religion is the form that your worship takes.  The post on Bad Catholic does a wonderful job of illustrating just where Jesus endorsed ritual and instructed his followers to do the same, but I’ll also say that if one shows up at an average contemporary church on a Sunday morning, sings praise and worship music of varying types, listens to a little Scripture, hears a sermon, and prays, then they have just as much “religion” as someone who attends a more liturgical church. It’s just that the form is different.

And while we’re on the topic, let’s talk about two words, that when said in sequence, give me nervous twitches.  Dead is the first, and ritual is the second.  Dead ritual.  Twitch, twitch, twitch.

Let me go on record at this point in saying that I still agree that most of the time, going through the motions isn’t a good thing.  Most of the time, to perform a prescribed set of actions just because someone told you to, without even a hint of why you’d undertake such a thing, doesn’t do you a bit of good.  That’s not worship, it’s not even religion, it’s performing a set of steps in a certain order.

I have a problem, however, when we decide to throw the baby out with the bathwater.  Not all ritual is dead, and where it is dead, it can be made alive again.  We forget how certain rituals came to be, or what each little phrase means, or why we do it, and we just assume that we need to just sacrifice it on the altar of relevance or authenticity or some other such nonsense. Now don’t get me wrong.  There is nothing wrong with wanting to be authentic, and I understand the desire to want to relate our worship to our present situation.  I just think that when we reinvent the wheel, we end up with something that is neither. I’ve experienced both, and I’m not sure the new is such an improvement over the old.

I’ve tried to put my “religion”, the form of my worship, into words that convey more than actions.  I can’t, which is why I couldn’t say much on that Facebook thread.  Every attempt ends up merely a list of postures, motions, and words.  I can only say that the totality of all those postures, motions, and words is ever so much greater than just the sum of the parts. I am not just singing, or praying, I am in the presence of God in a way more profound than any well crafted sermon or perfectly sung praise and worship music could ever be.  It’s more than where two or more are gathered in His name, although there is that.  It’s more than the Scriptures proclaimed, although there is that as well.  It’s being part of the great Wedding Feast of the Lamb, outside of time, with all of the angels and saints.  I at least get to see darkly now what I hope to see as bright as day after this earthly life is over.

I’ll take my religion, as it is where I am most in union with Christ.

Well Red Reads

I’ve finished a couple of books recently.  We won’t, however, go into when these books were actually started.

The Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis – This isn’t the first time I’ve read the correspondence from Uncle Screwtape to his nephew Wormwood, but I read it again on the advice of a friend who makes it a point to read it once a year.  Because we’re all at different places spiritually at different times, new things jump out every time it’s read. This time, I paid particular attention to the sections on prayer.  In the afterword, C.S. Lewis admits that although he cranked out Screwtape rather quickly, he never wrote with less enjoyment, because he had to basically take on the character of a demon. However, I am thankful for his sacrifice in this work, as it’s a great “what not to do” manual for Christianity.

Crazy Love by Francis Chan –  My first impression of this book, before I’d read it, was that this was another book that is intended to whip up lots of spiritual warm fuzzies in the reader, with no follow through afterward.  Given that, I probably wouldn’t have bought this book to read, but I was able to get this one through the Kindle Owner’s Lending Library on Amazon, so I gave it a shot.   Other than the fact that I don’t see eye to eye with him on what the term “saved” means, I have to say that I liked a lot of the substance of the book.  He really drives home the point that (a) we are more blessed than we can possibly know ourselves to be, and (b) we have a great responsibility to live out our Christian calling to the fullest.  He takes a lot of time explaining what a lukewarm Christian is, and how not to be one.  The book drives home the point that when our life on this earth is over, we will have to give an accounting on how well we loved others while on this earth. With that, I wholeheartedly agree.

I’ve got a continual list of books that are in the process of being read.  No telling when I’ll finish them, but here are a few that are of higher priority on the “I want to finish these” list:

Jesus of Nazareth by Joseph Ratzinger/Pope Benedict XVI – This is a wonderful, thick, truly Biblical treatment of who Jesus is.  This work was a labor of love for the current pontiff, the result of a lifelong plumbing of the depths of Scripture.  From what I’ve read, I’ve been blown away at the sheer intimacy with Sacred Scripture that Pope Benedict has.  It is a very thick, heady book, and I haven’t been able to do much with it since the summer, which was the last time I was able to spend hours in quiet while I contemplated the ideas contained therein.  Fortunately, I’ve got a study guide and have taken copious notes, so hopefully I’ll be able to pick it back up without having lost too much.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte – I’ve read quite a few classics in the past few years, most by Jane Austen.  I find it interesting that I’m getting more into these stories now than when I had to read them in high school.  Perhaps it’s experience?  I think I’m more aware of the subtleties of relationships than I ever could have been at 17, and the result of that is I’m enjoying it more.

And one I just checked out from the Kindle Owner’s Lending Library:

Priestblock 25487: A Memoir of Dachau by Fr. Jean Bernard – As I haven’t even started this one yet, I’ll just give you the teaser from Amazon:  In May 1941, Fr. Jean Bernard was arrested for denouncing the Nazis and imprisoned in Dachau’s “Priest Block,” a barracks that housed more than 3,000 clergy. Priestblock 25487 tells the gripping true story of one remarkable priest’s survival amid the inhuman brutality and torture of a Nazi concentration camp.

*Sigh*  Too many books, not enough time.