Joy, Joy, Joy, down in my heart, down in my heart ….. I have the peace that passes understanding down in my heart, down in my heart; I have the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart to stay.
Joy has chosen me. Joy first chose me last September 19th, when arriving a day late to my Secular Franciscan fraternity retreat, I was handed a piece of paper – we drew your virtue for you last night – Joyfulness. The slip of paper read –
Joyfulness is an inner sense of peace and happiness. You appreciate the gifts each day brings. Without joyfulness, when the fun stops, our happiness stops. Joy can carry us through the hard times even when we are feeling very sad. Joy gives us wings.
Indeed, I was very sad that day, having attended a funeral that morning–the reason behind my delayed arrival. Joy is hard to grasp in moments when you do not understand the workings of God. Joy was found in the fellowship of fraternity that weekend.
In December, at our fraternity Advent Social, we exchange prayer partners and a virtue to share in the upcoming year. Peacefulness chose me in December. Maybe the root of Joy is the inner Peace.
At our January Secular Franciscan fraternity meeting, for Epiphany, we observe the Franciscan custom of extracting Saints and also a verse from the Bible, or, SFO Rule, to be a companion for the new year. Joyfulness chose me again in a verse that was drawn for me –
Messengers of perfect joy in every circumstance, they should strive to bring joy and hope to others. — The Rule of the Secular Franciscan Order, 19
In both cases, Joyfulness was drawn for me by someone else. Not only must I be joyful, but, I must bring joy and hope to others. My saint of the year is St. John Bosco (Don Bosco). St. Bosco founded the Salesian Order. I am just now trying to uncover what this Saint will offer me this year. The Salesians have been hit hard in Haiti. Perhaps I will uncover Joyfulness in future posts.
I recall singing “I’ve Got the Joy, Joy, Joy,” in my earliest days of attending Sunday School – I was about seven years old. The simplest songs can mean the most. As adults, perhaps part of the Joy is in watching children.
Today was a most unusual start to Advent. I spent most of the day venerating a 1st class relic of St. Mary Magdalene which was on exposition at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers, GA. This is only the second time the relic has ever left France and its first trip to the United States. Mary Magdalene, I believe, is an appropriate Saint to begin Advent. As we look forward to Christ’s second coming, we can look back to the garden of resurrection and recall that Mary Magdalene stayed when others left. She sought Jesus and was the first to see the risen Savior. I pray for her intercession that I might know her true devotion to Jesus.
1st Class Relic of St. Mary Magadelene -- tibia bone
For several years, about the ages seven to twelve, my dad traveled in a Southern Gospel quartet. I’ve mentioned this before. I recall with vividness the song “Jesus Is Coming Soon” — “morning, or night, or noon.” I was baptized at the age of 9 — thinking of Jesus coming soon — the song said “many will meet their doom.” For some, “troubles will soon be over.” I was certain I would never make it to High School. It sounded very soon indeed. Seventh grade brought fear that High School would arrive — no return of Jesus would save me from it. A lot of time passed, I realized the early Church also thought he was coming really soon. I eventually stopped thinking of Jesus suddenly appearing one day. I got caught up for a time under the influence of an Associate Pastor who had attended a very fundamentalist bible college. He taught of the dangers of New Age. I began to look for Satan everywhere — this was the early 90’s. Halloween began to bring out the church sponsored horror houses of tribulation. I went into a dark place then and looked over my shoulder a lot then — a spooky and suspicious time for me. Catholic theology has helped me get a grip on it all — put it in balance. Jesus comes at every Mass. If I had only known sooner in life. I love this time of year when we dabble in Revelation — all the while the Christmas crib is not far off on the calendar. The Incarnation.
From time to time, over the course of the last fifteen years or so, I’ve had occasional dreams that I recorded soon after, so as not to forget. I think about these two in particular, in November, when our liturgy turns to readings from Revelation. The two dreams that follow — I thought about the first one recently while listening to a podcast — probably themed on the Feast of the Archangels. A person asked where Gabriel is now.
On July 11, 1991, I had a dream one night while sleeping.
I seemed to be in a desert place near the top of a sand dune. Though it was the desert, it was not hot at all. From over the hill, I hear a voice call out, “Gabriel.” I followed the sound and looked over the hill. It was bright daylight. About 20 or so yards away were two persons. In the flash of a moment, I knew the one kneeling in prayer was Jesus. He was wearing a flowing white robe. His right profile was toward me and I could see the flesh of His jaw that was mostly concealed by the robe covering His Head. Gabriel was standing facing Jesus also wearing a white robe. He had a staff in his hand and had long white hair and a beard. He appeared to be keeping watch while Jesus prayed. A bright, white light then shown around them, which was brighter than sunlight. I was unable to look directly at them. I was on my hands and knees and began to crawl back down the hill away from sight. I felt as though I was trespassing and should not be there. But, Jesus looked my way, held out His right hand, and said, “Come.” I was compelled like a magnet. Like a child, I crawled toward Him. I could not stand. “Come, take My hand,” He said as I came very near to Him, His right hand stretched forth to me. The sleeve of His robe draped around His wrist. I stretched forth my right hand and He took it in His. It was the hand of a man and the air was immediately filled with electricity. “There is healing in My touch,” Jesus said. A surge of power entered my hand and consumed me all over. I believe things were said which I do not remember. I fainted. I had the sensation of falling and falling.
I was on my bed. I felt as though I had fallen from the sky and hit the bed. I sat up and was sweating profusely. The radio alarm was going off and it was 5:30AM. I’ve no idea what prompted this dream nor am I certain of its meaning. It is true I felt different for many days after this dream. I felt a lightness of spirit and it was as though my feet walked in a different place than earth.
On June 13, 1998, I had another dream which contained the following….
I was at my parent’s home, on the porch, when I heard a great sound of wings beating and birds screeching. I stepped from the porch to see what the matter was. I looked up and saw a great flock of white owls with huge wings flying all about. They had the resemblance of angels with wings spread wide. Then, they organized their flight into a formation resembling that of migration. The air took on a different quality and there was a strange light. I looked once more and the owls had rested in a single very large tree. Their number was so great that the tree itself could not be seen. There was a change in the atmosphere that I cannot describe in words. I can only say it was like the calm before a storm. Every tree stood still and nothing was stirring. I looked upward at the sky and saw a portion had opened revealing great beams of blue light shining downward to the earth. On the ground, the light fell on earth in a circular pool of light. In the center of the circle was the shadow of a cross. At that moment, I thought, “What can this be?” I began running to this light all the while looking up at the sky. The sky parted further and revealed a great throne upon which Jesus was seated. The light was blinding much like in my earlier vision. Jesus stood and stepped away from the throne and onto a cloud. He was crossing from Heaven to the Earth. I had been running toward the place on the ground where I saw the shadow of the cross. I had just reached this place on the ground as Jesus stood and stepped onto the cloud. At that moment, I fell on my knees with my face to the ground. I cried, prayed, and was unable to move. I felt great shame, sinfulness, and repentance. This lasted for a moment. Then, as quickly as it happened the moment was over and sky returned to its former state. When I looked up again, I saw nothing but the sun in the place that had just revealed the throne.
This dream of owls, beating wings, and Jesus stepping on a cloud take me immediately to the song, “Midnight Cry,” performed by Michael English. Singing, “When Jesus steps out on a cloud to call his children…” I looked up several videos and have chosen this one. It was recorded in a church this month so it is very recent.
I can’t close without “John the Revelator.” This is a song that my dad’s quartet sang and I’ve known by heart since I was a child. Really, who needs to know anything else about Revelation? This is Michael English also and is currently in my car CD player right now. This is awesome — loud in the car. See you in Advent.
It has been a very busy couple of weeks for me. My Secular Franciscan fraternity and friars of my parish were planning and preparing our celebration of the Transitus of St. Francis. It was the most solemn celebration I can recall in recent memory. As part of our service, we had six characters who encountered Francis speak about their relationship. I went first, speaking in the person of St. Clare–the first woman to follow his simple way and whose community is the Poor Clare nuns. I feel that I really bonded with her last year–even taking a book with me to Rome last October that I’d begun and couldn’t put down. Her encounter with Francis was life changing to her and I have a feeling she approached things one day at a time. When she first heard his preaching in the piazza near her home, I don’t think she could have imagined how it would all play out in the end. I don’t know that she saw her days lived out in a cloister. Francis’ way of life — for a woman — was unheard of in that day. At the end, Francis told his brothers that “I have done what was mine to do. Now you do what is yours to do.” Clare went the way that was hers to go–cloistered at San Damiano–the church most special to Francis as it is the first church he repaired — where the Cross spoke to him.
Then, there is Lady “Brother” Jacoba, a widow who lived Francis’ way of life of the Secular Order. Besides the Blessed Mother Mary and is own mother, Lady Pica — Clare and Brother Jacoba are probably the two most important women of his poor little way. Brother Jacoba delivered the items needed for burial — a new habit, candles, incense, and her own special almond cookies that Francis loved. Brother Jacoba is recorded to be there when he died — Clare was not. Poor Clare. But, Clare did see him one last time as the brothers brought his body by San Damiano. Surely there are facts and there are legends — but it is written there, as we read our character accounts at our Transitus — St. Clare and Lady “Brother” Jaboba. We venerated a first class relic and shared bread — bread that I gave away since I just found out I am wheat intolerant. We had a wonderful reception following the Transitus. I went home to begin again early on Sunday, October 4th……
I feel that I came full circle in my faith life — the Feast of St. Francis on Sunday, October 4th coincided with the 50th anniversary of the Baptist church where I grew up. I began the morning at 9:00Am Mass and stayed through the 10:45Am Mass homily — I wanted to hear both on the Feast of St. Francis. Being a Franciscan parish, we had permission to celebrate the Feast at all the Sunday Masses. After that, I did what I had not done in ten years — I headed up to the Baptist church to join in the anniversary celebration. I saw people I had not seen in over ten years.
One of my old youth group members is now a pastor. He delivered a sermon that asked, “Jesus paid a great price on the cross for our salvation — when Jesus bought you, did he get a lemon?” He went on to describe the ways in which professed Christians become “lemons” — wanting it all for no effort of their own. I’ll remember that little analogy for a long time. Lemons want great church programs but do not want to participate when they are provided. Lemons want a beautiful sanctuary but do not tithe. Lemons think the homeless should be fed but do not want to ladle the soup. All the lemons expect to be in heaven one day.
The day was nearly over before one person — only one person the whole afternoon — sidled up next to me and whispered, “I hear you are Catholic?” Yes. ” What is it about the Catholic Church?” I had mere nanoseconds to respond that it is the celebration of Mass — Jesus is not just a symbol. I told him that a Catholic friend had helped me with some questions and suggested I go to a Mass. It was the one Mass I attended and knew I wanted that Communion. Jesus is not just a symbol — and — we do predate the Protestant Reformation. That is as good as my nanoseconds allowed for a semi-thoughtful response.
So, at the end of the day, I’d heard two homilies and two and a half sermons and avoided wheat at the buffet lunch. I saw three eras of youth ministers, my prom date, and a couple other crushes from my teens. I’ve kind of lived my life one day at a time. I never would have expected to be where I am today. I live more on the interior than the exterior. God has illumined my path one step at a time. I have been to amazing places and seen great things — especially in the last ten years. At the end of the day, I was very happy with my life.
I began this year writing about Mary and how Secular Franciscans should “express their ardent love for the Virgin Mary” (The Rule of the Secular Franciscan Order, 9) My fraternity received a precious gift this year — the gift of a beautiful — and large — statue of Mary. We brought her to our Fall retreat at the Monastery in Conyers. We brought her to our fraternity meeting yesterday. We decided that she will go home with a different person every month along with a prayer journal — kind of like the Elijah Cup for priestly vocations. I got her this month and set her up in my bedroom. I wonder if she will talk to me like she talked to St. Therese of Lisieux?
Come let us worship the Lord in the company of his angels…
– Liturgy of the Hours – Sept 29 Feast of the Archangels
As I’m writing this, tomorrow is the Feast of the Archangels; Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael. I was a big fan of the television series, Touched By An Angel. The Christian bookstore carried merchandise from the show. Some ten years ago, I bought a Touched By An Angel perpetual calendar — a small flip stand. It is always on my desk though it is not there to remind me of the day. In fact, I may go days or weeks without flipping a page. The calendar is there when I need it — a moment of stress — a moment of thanks — a moment of reassurance that God is in control. I read it today.
How do people do it? They get up every morning and start all over again. It takes a lot of courage to do that … and they don’t even know what angels know.
