Ask me a question, and I will answer accordingly. In social media, Aleteia started its post by raising this question: “How long should an engagement last?” It sounds rhetoric to me. I am more interested in the question rather than … Continue reading
This is the bright home
in which I live,
this is where
this is where I want
to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.
This is the temple
of my adult aloneness
and I belong
to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.
There is no house
like the house of belonging.
The House of Belonging- David Whyte ©1996
Take me to church sang by Sinead O’Connor has a very catchy tune especially the first three lines of the refrain.
Oh, take me to church
I’ve done so many bad things it hurts
Yeah, take me to church
It’s not so much that I have done so many bad things; it’s the bad things that people did to the world that hurts. It has nothing to do with the church either just life in general. You know, the existential angst that is part of living.
When I am hurting mentally, emotionally, physically or spiritually, I take refuge in a church. Even if it’s not a catholic church, it does not matter to me. Even if it’s a temple, I will still go in, sit in the quiet, calm myself down and talk to my invisible God.
In a church, temple, mosque, forest; they are more than an oasis. It’s a place for me to connect and replenish my spiritual needs.
Here’s the song. It’s just a song with a catchy beat. But if you want something deeper, I found the song at Friar Musings and there he wrote more about Sinead.
when we are hurting it’s difficult (and) to understand where God is. I know that God is using her to educate not just the Catholic but as well as the whole world.
I went up the hill to visit the old man who lives there.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, “Since I’ve seen you.”
“Yes,” I said, “I know. But I’d not forgot you.”
Then, in welcome, he sang to me.
But what I had remembered as a youthful voice
full of vigor and fit for forever was turned now into a croak,
a rasp, a sad affair of the heart.
When he dies, I thought, a little of me will die with him.
“These bones go deep,” he said with an effort
as he stood there proud yet, “How can you forgive yourself?”
I thought about that as I kissed him goodnight
and laid him down to rest, up there on that hill.
“In nomine Patris,” I said gently, “In nomine Patris.”
The poem is written by Book of Pain by John Etheridge. John wrote a synopsis of this poem and it’s quite touching. Thank you, John.
Leaving work mid-morning, my commitment was at 11 a.m. It’s close by to work, walking distance but I haven’t been to this place. Plenty of time to walk the inside streets, enjoy the beauty of the autumn day and the rain stopped.
This is the west side of Vancouver, a beautiful neighbourhood that takes pride of their surroundings. The environment is warm and welcoming. Homes are old, mostly heritage, painted houses in living colours and well-kept. Luscious garden, recycled items, ornamental trees and chair to sit around.
There’s nobody around and understandably so, it was work week and the children were at school. I found myself alone in sweet serenity to commune with nature.
I reached my destination.
St. Augustine Church. This is the first time for me to visit the church. As mentioned in my previous post, Candle in Spain, I say the same prayer when I visit a church the first time hoping my wishes will be granted. I did not because I was there for my friend to attend a Mass of Christian Burial of her mother.
Related Link: Candle in Spain
There are so many parishes around where I live. I go where ever the wind blows me.
The one closest to me is St. Frances de Sale I go should I feel like walking. Down the hills is St. Therese but I’ve never went because walking uphill is just a challenge for this old body. Our Lady of Mercy I visit should I wish to see my family.
Since I prefer the easiest route, I hop on a Sky train and attend a mass at St. Mary’s Church. Here I love listening to Fr. Pierre, a Frenchie. Somehow French man has a sing-song way of speaking English and his sense of humour is effective when he speaks his sermon. It is much easier to shallow his teaching when he lifts the congregation up rather than talking down to us. That is what I call effective communication.
Should I feel the need to drop by at a church on a way home, I go to the Cathedral. Here I meet all kinds of people including the pan handlers, the addicts, the alcoholics, the mentally ill or anyone who wants refuge from an inhospitable weather. Most of the priest here are on the higher echelon. Their sermons are okay. For as long as I get my dosage of Spiritual healing and thanksgiving, that is what I am after.
When I really missed being with the elders, I go to the Indian Reserve and attend a mass at St. Paul’s.
As I mentioned before, the whole world is my church. So far, I haven’t met anyone who understands this mentality until recently I read an article from UCAN News.
Faith revolutionizes our lives…
I would like to tell you what my expectations are regarding this World Youth Day. I would like us to make noise, I would like those inside the Dioceses to go out into the open; I want the Church to be in the streets; I want us to defend ourselves against all that is worldliness, comfort, being closed and turned within – Parishes, colleges and institutions must get out otherwise they risk becoming NGOs, and the Church is not a Non-Governmental Organization….
These are the words of Pope Francis. Finally, a man who understands me.
The World is my Church, this is the best part.
God bless you, Starr Pedron. This article is a true story written for Writing Challenge: Truth. Related Articles:
What do I know? Not much. Actually, much to my chagrin, I am kind of beating myself up a thousand lashes of wet noodles and at the same time, hitting my chest, and murmuring: Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa. Yesterday was a … Continue reading
Peace be with you. Seeker