Word of the Day: Mindfulness

My daughter Martha and I used to trek to Boston each week as pastoral musicians for morning Mass at Emmanuel College. On our return trip, we’d stop and enjoy a meal and catch up on conversation. Not known for my timidity to initiate conversations with anyone (ask my husband and my kids for some really hilarious stories if you doubt me), I particularly enjoy engaging the young wait staff who serve us, to inquire about their lives. I often discover their hopes and dreams while they take our orders, pour our coffee, deliver our food and tally the tab. As they intersperse  service between prompted conversation, this venerable community of diverse gifts and abilities open up and eagerly share their hidden desire for their ‘real work’ to begin as artists, engineers, physicians, teachers, business executives and just about everything under the sun. The wait staff job pays the rent:  their desire to begin their true calling can visibly be seen and heard as they share their earnest aspirations. I never leave those conversations without feeling as though I’ve met another version of God.

One day as we ate, our young waiter wore seven colored pens in her white shirt pocket.  Intrigued, I asked, “Are you an artist?” “I am,” she responded smilingly. “Do you study somewhere?” I continued, thinking that she may be art student in the myriad of local schools in the Boston area. “I graduated,” she replied. “I went to Rhode Island School of Design. “I’m at Rhode Island College!” Martha exclaimed. “I study music. What would be the odds?!”

“What kind of art do you produce?” I prompted the young woman further. “I’m an illustrator,” she replied.  “I really love to explore the world of fantasy through the use of color and exaggerated art forms,” and Rochelle proceeded to tell me a bit about her most recent product of The Tree Top Colonies (“I mean, who doesn’t want to live in a tree house?” she chuckled.) and Reading Under a Mushroom (I would nestle under a giant mushroom to read a good book in a New York minute). She enthusiastically proceeded to describe a fanciful world that prompted me to explore when I reached home. So I did. (Check our Rochelle’s artwork on http://rochellebrown.blogspot.com/)

I told Rochelle that I read from books to my children in their formative years. I also would create stories that included them. All three of my children continue to urge me to publish their favorite original story, The Land of No Color. I always argue that the story needs an illustrator, one who can grasp the concept of the story and breathe life into the story lines through a particular kind of pictorial imagination. Acting purely on instinct (or maybe the grace of God), I told Rochelle about my story and asked her if she would be interested in a joint venture. Intrigued as I explained the story to her, she agreed. Et voila. A relationship is born.

After Rochelle left our table to place our order, Martha cocked her head and asked with intense curiosity, “How did you know she was an artist?” “She wore seven different colored pens in her shirt pocket,” I answered. “Only someone invested in art in some way would do that.”

Mindfulness. The Word of the day. Pay attention to the signs around us. As the grace of God unfolds around us in every action, in every person, at every moment, do we keep our eye on the ball? For the Christian, and particularly for pastoral ministers at every level of ecclesial life, mindfulness requires a particular discipline, a watchful eye on what unfolds before us as Paschal Mystery in every person and event.

Today, we mark the 48^th anniversary of Sacrosanctum Concilium (Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy), a prophetic document that turned the course of liturgical history through the wisdom and vision of Angelo Roncalli, also known as Pope John XXIII, a prophetic voice in the wasteland and wilderness of church in desperate need of renewal. As we do our work and begin a new chapter in the history of the Church during this Advent of new beginnings, do you talk to your people about what they remember, about their hopes and dreams, about what they long for? Do you initiate conversations with your people that prompt relationship between ecclesial ministers and community? That requires conversation beyond “What do you think of the new translation, the new Mass parts?” Mindfulness includes mystagogy and theological reflection, which embrace a deeper conversation that lead to discovery of who we are as Church in this time and place and expand our understanding of what Sacrosanctum Concilium began  – our celebration as the Eucharistic people of God in this time and place. Now that’s prophetic. 

Practical tool for Advent use:

One of the best Advent songs I’ve ever used is a text written by sterling writer Dolores Dufner, OCB set to the hymn tune TEMPUS ADEST FLORIDUM (Good King Wenceslaus). The text can be found in a book called Sing a New Church and published by OCP. The book contains some great Dufner texts set to familiar hymn tunes that your community will love. If you have a license to publish for parish use, print the hymn in your bulletin. I guarantee that your assembly will love this song throughout Advent. You can purchase a license to print just one song at a minimal cost. Send me an email if you want the Gif file and I’ll send it to you for your parish. Here’s a sample of one out of three verses and the refrain:

Verse 1

Nations, hear the prophet’s word:

God will come to save us!

O, be still and know the Lord;

How else may God save us?

Refrain

People, be not sad of heart;

God will come to save us!

Be forever glad of heart;

God will live among us!

Remembering Sr. Theresa Sparrow, RSM

Remembering Sister Theresa Sparrow, RSM

Some people just get into your bones and stay there. You may not see them for weeks, months or years. Yet, when you do encounter them, time dissipates like fog that evaporates when the sun hits tar and burns away the steam. I think of Sr. Theresa Sparrow, RSM that way -- a sun that burned away the fog with her warmth and found a home within your bone marrow, where the meat and matter of life co-exist. 

Sr. Theresa died last week at age 85. I met her when I worked at St. Julie Billiart in North Dartmouth, MA. I served as the parish music director. Sr. Theresa directed the hearty religious education program that served approximately 1,000 students. Formerly the coordinator of religious education for the Diocese of Fall River and a teacher with many years of classroom and administrative experience behind her, Sr. Theresa knew how to get the job done. She welcomed everyone and then rolled up her sleeves and went to work, either leading the team or working beside them. She combined wisdom and mirth that created a perfect recipe of insight, intelligence and humor. Often times the work day extended into fifteen hours for Sr. Theresa. I never once heard her whine or complain. Even when her severe rheumatoid arthritis kicked in and must have hurt like hell, Sr. Theresa just kept going. She was a cheerful ‘doer’.

Sr. Theresa loved children and made time in her extremely busy day to babysit my daughter Martha when I needed to provide music for a parish funeral. She patiently took the time to decipher Martha’s conversation (“Sis Teesa, I wear my babing soop today,” translated, “Sr. Theresa, I’m wearing my bathing suit today,”) and would laughingly report back every single thing that Martha said and did during that hour spent with her friend ‘Sis Tee.” Every action, every conversation and all thoughts expressed by my little daughter would find their way back to me with loving and deliberate attention to detail. No person was too small to be considered unimportant by Sr. Theresa.

After my first back surgery, Sr. Theresa caught me moving a heavy piece of furniture in the church hall near the music library. The heaviness of the furniture exceeded the recommended weight limit and put me in danger of rupturing another disk. Rather than chiding me for my stupid obstinacy, Sr. Theresa said with kind straightforwardness, “You know, Denise, someday your children will marry. You’ll want to walk down the aisle rather than be pushed down in a wheelchair.” I’ve never moved a heavy piece of furniture since that day, even when it frustrates the beeswax out of me. When tempted to ‘cheat’ and dismiss the endless restrictions ascribed to back patients, Sr. Theresa’s wisdom reminds to knock it off and ask for help.

When the parish staff decided to book my original piece The Way of the Cross as a prayer event for St. Julie’s, I asked Sr. Theresa to narrate one of the voices. I’ve performed this work 48 times in 36 different parishes over a thirty-year period and heard many superb readers narrate this text. Sr. Theresa’s narration blew me out of the water. She didn’t read the text; she prayed it. Sr. Theresa’s narration moved me so much that I asked her to narrate the same text when I produced the studio recording of The Way of the Cross. When I commented on her poignant recitation, she just smiled. “I was living it,” she said.

In 2001, Sr. Theresa fell down a flight of stairs and sustained a neck injury. My husband and I were in Boston the week after the incident occurred and went to Massachusetts General Hospital to visit her. As we entered the room, there sat Sr. Theresa in her bed with a steel ‘halo’ around her head and neck to secure them and prevent any movement and further fracture. “Well, you never know what you’re going to see in life, do you?” she quipped when we entered the room. Even in pain and anticipating weeks and months of painful recovery, Sr. Theresa could not resist inserting some dry humor into an extremely serious event in her life. Sometimes laughter really is the best medicine. If anyone believed that, it was Sr. Theresa.

Sr. Theresa taught me many valuable lessons just by being herself. She was really one of the most authentic people I’ve ever known. Honest, humble and full of a lively joie de vivre, Sr. Theresa found pulsing life through her love of people and her service on their behalf. I could write much more about my memories of this great lady. But I believe that the essence of Sr. Theresa can be summed up in how she received each person that broke into her day.

Often times, I would find Sr. Theresa buried up to her eyeballs in piles of papers, books and the materials that educators surround themselves with ‘just in case.’ When I knocked on her door to ask, “Do you have a minute?” to seek her advice or opinion, Sr. Theresa would put her pen down, push her chair away from her desk and beckon me in. “I’ve got all the time in the world,” she’d say. Even though I knew that she was lying through her teeth because of the paper evidence that surrounded her like an armed camp, I would sit in the chair across from her desk and have her undivided attention. Never did I feel hurried or worried that I might be taking up too much of her time. And if I did try to excuse myself because I thought that she might need to get back to work, her answer would always be the same. “Nothing that I do is more important than you. Come on in anytime.”

I learned from Sr. Theresa that good ministry happens within the interruptions of our days. Life happens within the interruptions. The interruptions are life. That’s the good stuff, the interruptions, where the people and their events get into our bones and become a part of our own bone marrow. The interruptions shape us, our personhood and our ministry. I wonder if I can welcome the living Word when it appears as an ‘interruption’ as graciously as Sr. Theresa. If I’m in the middle of something ‘important’ and someone or something interrupts me, I think of Sr. Theresa more often than I can say.  “Nothing is more important than you. Come on in anytime.”

Sister Theresa, when frustrated or exasperated for one reason or another had a saying that still makes me chuckle and one that I’ve adopted in her memory: “Get me ready!” I would say that Theresa, when she saw Jesus face to face, he opened his arms wide and said, “Come on in, Theresa! You’re ready!”

Thank you Sr. Theresa. Well done, humble receiver of the Word and faithful doer. Rest in peace.

Farewell to the Old, Staying Open to the New (New Roman Missal)

I served Emmanuel College as a pastoral musician on Sunday mornings. One day, the director of Campus Ministry decommissioned the existing liturgical prayer book, the Sacramentary and offered a prayer of gratitude for its years of service on our behalf. A student carried the current Sacramentary out of the chapel. We sang the current acclamations for the last time. We recited the Nicene Creed as we know it for the last time. “And also with you” took flight. I acclaimed “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again” for the last time. I actually became a bit choked up as I bid farewell to old friends in ritual celebration.

I left Emmanuel’s chapel and went to my spend the rest of the day and part of the evening in the recording studio to work with young artists and lay down the vocal tracks of my newest CD release Tell Them About Me. No longer the singer as in past recordings, I found new life in my work as not only the composer but the producer and teacher for this very eclectic production of original music with talented young musicians who love the church and love music. With my producer and my engineer, we steered young artists into the recording world of God song and witnessed a new incarnation of the Spirit as these gifted young people breathed life into music that I thought would go unheard and sit forever on a shelf. I went from a moment of goodbye to a day of hello, a day of dusk to a day of dawning. And then I had a thought.

We have to say goodbye in order to say hello. What lies in store for us as we wait for the Spirit of God to breathe in us completely depends on our willingness to relinquish what we know and accept that we need pruning to bear new life. Unless we remain open to change, nothing will. What does that say about us and our faith if we resist a God pregnant with possibility to deliver

new offspring fresh with magnanimous gifts for the common good?

Grieve for what you know is gone but don’t grieve long. Say goodbye and then say hello. We begin anew, today, now. Who knows what awaits us when we open our arms and welcome the Spirit at work within every day, every hour and in every moment? From dusk to dawn, a new advent beckons us.

Thanks be to God that moments of imagination, beauty and power prod us to continue to plough the fields and scatter good seed to inspire, propel and catapult assemblies into service on behalf of those who need God the most – the sick, the imprisoned, the dead, the hungry, the homeless, the naked, the poor. Eyes on the prize: the open invitation to respond to God’s creative beckoning and stay open-minded to change feeds the people in our pews more than we realize. Our own future depends on it; you can rely on that.

Goodbye, hello; a mantra for the days, weeks and years ahead.  

Reception of Communion under Both Kinds: A fuller sign

Reception of Communion under Both Kinds: A fuller sign

Who among us goes to a wedding reception, eats the food and drinks nothing? Yet, I continue to observe the absence of the distribution of the Eucharistic cup in more than half the parishes I visited since I began my blog nine months ago. We go to the wedding feast and participate in half the banquet.  

Whenever I ask about the omission of the cup at the distribution of communion, I hear different answers. “The distribution of the cup lengthens Mass. People will go to another church if Mass becomes too long here.” “People are afraid of germs if they drink from the cup.” “Scheduling more extraordinary ministers becomes problematic.” “Wine for every liturgy gets expensive.”

Consider Jesus celebrating Seder with his followers. After praying the He tells them,

"Take and eat, this is my body."

Giving thanks, he then took the chalice and said:

"Take and drink, this is the cup of my blood.

Do this in remembrance of me."

Mt 26:26-27; 1 Cor 11:25

Before he breaks bread and drinks wine, Jesus recites the Hamotzi and the Kaddush. The prayers at the preparation of the gifts use these Jewish table prayers as a model.

Hamotzi:  Praised are you, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.

Kaddush:  Praised are you, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the Universe, who creates the fruit of the vine.

“Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation,for through your goodness we have received the bread we offer you; fruit of the earth and work of human hands, it will become for us the bread of life.”

Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, for through your goodness we have received the wine we offer you; fruit of the vine and work of human hands, it will become our spiritual drink.”

takes, blesses, breaks and gives his body and blood to his followers  These special prayers are based on ancient Jewish table prayers  They recall that God is both  the  source and recipient of this food offering.  We praise God for the works of creation and fruits of the earth that with human labor also symbolize our world, our life and our work.

The prayers at the preparation of the gifts are modeled on a Jewish table prayers, the Hamotzi

when breaking bread and the  Kaddush when drinking wine:

While the Catholic liturgical adaptations of these  prayers retain much of the traditional Jewish texts, they also add much by way of acknowledging the element of human labor that goes into turning wheat to bread and grapes into wine.  Our liturgical texts also anticipate the consecration to come, where mere bread becomes the Bread of Life, and wine becomes “our spiritual drink.”    

Consider ritual dining in your parish. How do you celebrate the wedding feast of the Lamb, a foretaste of the heavenly banquet? A bit of liturgical mystagogy may be helpful here.  

Recall the words of the epiclesis in the Eucharistic prayer, the calling of the Spirit upon the eucharistic gifts of bread and wine.

“Look, we pray, upon your people’s offerings

and pour out on them the power of your Spirit,

that they may become the Body and Blood of your beloved son,

Jesus Christ, in whom we, too, are your sons and daughters.”

(Roman Missal, Third Edition: Eucharistic Prayer for Reconciliation I)

Finally, read this next section from Norms for the Distribution and Reception of Holy Communion Under Both Kinds in the Dioceses of the United States of America (United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, 2001).

Holy Communion has a more complete form as a sign when it is received under both kinds. For in this manner of reception a fuller sign of the Eucharistic banquet shines forth. Moreover there is a clearer expression of that will by which the new and everlasting covenant is ratified in the blood of the Lord and of the relationship of the Eucharistic banquet to the eschatological banquet in the Father's kingdom. (30)

The General Instruction of the Roman Missal provides that “the faithful should be instructed to participate more readily in this sacred rite, by which the sing of the Eucharistic banquet is made more fully evident.” (GIRM 282)

Ministry to the Sick and the Homebound: A Fuller Sign

Ministry to the Sick and the Homebound: A Fuller Sign   

After a long stint of suffering with Alzheimer’s disease, my mother died three years ago on March 12, 2009. She and my dad, a retired permanent deacon, lived in an in-law apartment connected to our family room. My dad survived my mother; he will turn 92 years old on March 27, 2012. Profoundly deaf and no longer able to walk steadily, Dad wisely surrendered his license after a brief illness and hospitalization about a month ago. Sooner is better than too late,” he stated. True that.

Dad now depends on me and my husband Patrick for meals, laundry, cleaning services, elder law services, health care paperwork and errands. We developed a relationship with Southcoast VNA and New Bedford Coastline Elderly when Patrick and I cared for his elderly aunt and during my mother’s illness as well. We continue to utilize their excellent services. Family and friends visit and care for Dad whenever needed. Care giving takes a village and we consider ourselves wealthy in our wonderful community of compassion on his behalf. 

Being homebound because of age or health reasons can be a desolating experience, especially for those folks like my dad who grew accustomed to daily celebrations of the Eucharist and devotions in their parish and now depend on others to keep them connected to sacramental life. As a Christian community, how do we care for the sick, the homebound and those who care for them? A legion population exists: elderly spouses who care for the other; single parents who care for a child with a long term illness; an only child who cares for two elderly parents; widows, widowers and single adults who grow old and lose vision, mobility, well being; post-surgical patients. An infinite list exists. 

If you belong to a parish, consider the people you no longer see in the pews. Who’s missing? Who do you know that needs a meal, a visit, a phone call? Further, if you serve in one of the parish ministries as a lector, a pastoral musician, a communion minister, a minister of hospitality, a server, how do you exercise Christian responsibility after the blessing and dismissal at Sunday worship?  How does a Christian community minister to those who live on the periphery? Intercessory prayers alone within a Eucharistic celebration just do not cut it. How can we become a fuller sign of Eucharist as we become the body and blood of Christ when we leave the church parking lot?

In the history of the church, we see that people who assumed liturgical responsibilities assisted in their particular roles after the celebration of Eucharist. Deacons assisted the church in matters of charity and social concerns. The people who proclaimed the gospel and led intercessory prayer embodied those aspects of prayer, knowing who need to be prayer for because of their particular ministry to the poor and the marginalized, the sick and those who care for them, those who died. The people who served as readers also served as catechists outside the liturgy and taught the word of God through faith sharing and study groups. Music ministers took liturgical psalmody into people’s homes, believing that music can sometimes be a potent as any medicine. Gospel action with integrity in the middle of the marketplace speaks volumes to people beyond words.  

I began A View from the Pew nine months ago. In all of the parishes that I visited, I only witnessed one dismissal of communion ministers sent from worship into service to bring Eucharist to the homebound. Perhaps the sending forth of commissioned extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist occurred at a different liturgy than the one I attended. However, I did not see that particular ministry to the sick and homebound listed in a majority of the bulletins I read. Nor did I hear any announcement or invitation to inform the parish of someone’s illness and a desire to welcome a visit from an extraordinary minister of the Eucharist in their home on a weekly basis. That’s not a judgment; that’s an observation. Ministry to the sick and homebound includes prayer, scripture reading, reflection on the scriptures, and the rite of distribution of communion as an extension of the Sunday liturgy. To people like my dad, that would mean the world. Can you imagine the pastoral outreach if every parish developed this ministry? Can you envision a spiritual, theological and practical preparation for communion ministers to fulfill this beautiful ecclesial corporal work of mercy?

 In October, the Catholic Church will celebrate the opening of The Second Vatican Council, which envisioned full, conscious and active participation of the Christian community within worship and a renewal of Christian action as an outcome of the source and summit of the celebration of Eucharist. I think that we’ve only begun to scratch the surface of what the council imagined. Yes, the liturgy moved from Latin to the vernacular. Lay ecclesial ministry found an active role within a Eucharistic celebration. And yes, priest, deacon and the assembly dialogue within the rites. But do we engage the rites beyond the liturgy, intentionally living as a fuller sign of how we are changed and made different through our involvement as Eucharist for others?  

We are what we eat. In this case, we might say that we are who we eat. As we approach Triduum and Holy Thursday: The Lord’s Supper, keep in mind Jesus’ mandatum to serve one another and share his body and blood as his body and blood. We could change the world if we got this one right. One consideration may be to begin a robust ministry to the sick and homebound. What’s stopping you from developing a strategic plan to become a fuller sign of who we are as disciples of Jesus?