FEAST DAY: Happy St. Nicholas Day!

Today is the feast day of St. Nicholas of Myra, the good man who served as the bishop of that region (in Asia Minor) in the third century during the time of the Roman emperor Diocletian. He was the son of wealthy Christian parents, orphaned at a young age, and as he grew older his desire was obey Jesus' words: "Sell what you own and give the money to the poor."

Nicholas became a priest and was appointed a bishop while he was still a young man. He cared for the poor and the sick in his diocese, was exiled and imprisoned by Diocletian for his Christian faith and attended the Council of Nicaea in AD 325.

One of the stories told about his goodness is the one of the father who had three daughters of marriageable age. The father was poor and couldn't afford dowries for his daughters, which pretty much meant that his daughters were going to be living at home forever mourning because their beaus had gone off to marry other girls, because back then, unless you came with a goat and a pile of quilts and some gold pieces tucked in your shimmy, you weren't wanted and all I can say is thank goodness for the good new days.

Nicholas heard of the father's predicament and instinctively knowing how hard it was going to be for that poor papa to have to listen to the three of them weeping and whining because he was a selfless and generous person who loved to help the poor, he went to the house in the night when the fire's embers were banked up and tossed three pouches of gold coins down the chimney, although I don't think chimneys were invented for a few more centuries, so more likely it was the fire-hole. Although some stories declare that he tossed the pouches of coins in through the window of the man's house. Since this isn't Church doctrine or dogma, it probably doesn't really matter. What does matter is that the three girls got their dowries and went off to marry their young men and the man was able to grow old gracefully in his peaceful house, bouncing fat grandchildren on his knee when the girls dropped by to visit.

When Nicholas died, there were miracles associated with his relics. He was buried in his cathedral church in Myra, which is part of modern-day Turkey. During his life, he was known for his many kindnesses to children, which gave rise to his patronage of them and to the spread of his good deeds and generosity throughout Europe. As the stories of the good bishop spread, he became known by many different names in many different regions: San Nicola, Sao Nicolo and Father Christmas are three of them. In the United States, we took our name "Santa Claus" from the Dutch who settled New Amsterdam; their name for him was Sinterklass, the Netherlands version of St. Nicholas, which brings me to another story.

I have a friend who attended a home schooling conference here in Indiana. There was, as always, a vendors' hall, but there were also lots of workshops available for the attendees. My friend was interested in one titled "Keeping Christ in Christmas," so she went to it, hoping to hear some good advice on how not to let materialism rule your family's life during the season of peace of earth and goodwill to men.

Instead, she got a lecture on, let's see....COULD IT BE SATAN??!! Oh, yes, it certainly could!

"We should have known that allowing our children to believe in Santa Claus was evil," the workshop presenter told the assembled group of mothers, her eyes wide and serious. "Because if you re-arrange the letters of the word 'santa'? You get S-A-T-A-N." Then, according to my friend, the presenter crossed her arms, gazed beadily at the moms and nodded her head smugly.

"Did you...?" I asked.

"Sort of," she sighed. "I said, 'But the word 'santa' is actually an honorific that means 'saint.'"

"What did she say?" I queried.

"She said, and I quote, 'Same thing.'"

"Oh," I said.

"Exactly," she nodded. "So if you're the kind of person who believes that a saint is the same thing as a demon, there's no way I'm going to be able to convince you that Santa Claus is not evil, even if you'd actually prefer not to tell your kids that some jolly old elf is going to fly his magical reindeer onto the roof and come into the house in the dead of night to leave presents under the tree."

"Exactly," I said. "And they don't need to know who really eats the cookies then either, right?"

FEAST DAY: St. Elizabeth of Hungary

St. Elizabeth of Hungary is one of my favorite saints. She was born in the Middle Ages, a princess betrothed to a prince by the time she was four years old. In spite of the fact that she had a sweet and cheerful disposition, she was very humble. Elizabeth always took off her crown and set it aside before she entered the chapel at her castle in Thuringia (part of modern-day Germany), saying that she could not wear a crown of gold in the Blessed Presence of the savior Who had worn a crown of thorns.

Her husband, Louis, was tragically killed while on Crusade, leaving Elizabeth a widow with three young children while she herself was barely more than a teenager. Louis' brother forced her to leave the royal palace after he caught her in the kitchens giving bread to the poor and hungry. Homeless, she wandered the streets with her children until the Bishop of Bamberg, her uncle, forced the cruel prince to allow her to return to her home in the castle.

She thanked him, but chose to instead go and live in a small house she purchased in the town of Marburgh. Eventually she received the inheritance she was due from her husband's estate and she generously dispensed that wealth among the poor, nursing them in illness both from her small home and from the hospital she opened. Elizabeth preferred to live an austere life and is known still today as a happy and joyful saint who loved the life she was given.

Elizabeth died in 1231 at the age of twenty-four. She was canonized by Pope Gregory IX in the year 1235.

Feast Day: The Assumption of the Blessed Mother

Today is the feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Mother, one of the Holy Days of Obligation in the Church's liturgical calendar. Because it falls on a weekend date this year, the day of obligation is blended with the regular Sunday Mass.

This is the day when Mary was called up into heaven like Enoch, who "walked with God; then he was no more, because God took him" (Genesis 5:24) and the prophet Elijah, about whom it was said: "As they were walking along and talking together, suddenly a chariot of fire and horses of fire appeared and separated the two of them, and Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind. " (2 Kings 2:11).

Moses is the third Old Testament person who was assumed into heaven. Deuteronomy 34:6 relates that Moses was buried but no one has ever known the location. Secondly, the archangel Michael "disputed" with the devil for the body of Moses in Jude 9. I'm assuming the argument was over taking Moses' body up into heaven rather than letting it decay in the earth, and naturally St. Michael won. Then we see Moses with Jesus in the Transfiguration in Matthew 17:3 - he's already up there, part of the team and strategizing in power meetings on top of a mountain.

Sometimes people wonder why, if Mary was assumed into heaven, the Bible never mentions it, which is a good question. But when you think of it, it's also a powerful argument against sola scriptura, because the answer is that Mary was still alive when what later became the canon of New Testament scripture was being written. As amazing as the Apostles were, it's still kind of hard to write about the assumption of someone's body into heaven when the someone is still alive.

Since Jesus had no brothers or sisters to care for Mary after his death (and subsequent resurrection), he told St. John to look after her. Scholars think that St. John took Mary to Ephesus, which is part of modern-day Turkey, when the political and religious climate of Jerusalem became increasingly hostile to Christians, culminating in the martyrdom of St. Stephen in AD 37.

Author Donald Carroll wrote very compellingly about the historical, spiritual and archaeological findings of the further life of the Blessed Virgin in his book, Mary's House. It's a slim little volume of ninety-six pages and a fascinating read, one of those books that I simply could not put down. So I'm lucky that it wasn't, like nine hundred ninety-six pages long, or my arms might have fallen off.

Here's a picture of the house, which was excavated by archaeologists in the late nineteenth century. Interestingly, the locals who lived in seclusion and simplicity on the top of the hill nearby, had always known about "Meryemana," as they called it in Turkish. The evidence as to its authenticity was so compelling that Pope Leo XIII declared the house a place of pilgrimage in 1896.

There is a place called the Church of Mary Theotokos ("God-bearer" in Greek) near the West Bank by the town of Nablus which was thought for centuries to be the site of her empty tomb, but that church was built in the fifth century, hundreds of years after Mary's death and hundred of years before the excavation of Ephesus.

This little house was, then, most likely the site of Mary's assumption into heaven. Considering who she was, the role she played in bringing salvation to the world, and her importance to the Christians of the time who knew her personally, it seems extremely unlikely that they would have lost track of her grave, that there would be no cherished relics of her body. Mary was a quiet figure, but not one to be lost to obscurity. What is true -- a dogma of the Church -- is that her purity and goodness transcended mortal decay and that, like Enoch before her, she was no more, because God took her.

**********************

From the archives:
Feast of the Assumption 2008 on InsomniMom

Feast of the Assumption 2007 on InsomniMom

FEAST DAY: St. John-Marie Vianney

"There is a holy man in Ars; go and see him."

That's what the people said and first there was just a small trickle of villagers who came through the doors to see the new pastor in the 12th century church at Ars-sur-Formans, but it ended with a flood of people making pilgrimages from all over Europe between 1830 and 1859. A tsunami of over three hundred people a day swamped the little French hameau of Ars, which is a speck on the map in the east-central Rhône-Alpes wine region, not far from Lyon. Considering the fact that the entire community only consisted of two hundred people, that was quite an influx.

St. John Vianney was spiritually gifted by God as a confessor. He often spent up to sixteen hours a day in the confessional, dispensing prayer, advice, consolation and forgiveness through the Holy Spirit. His fame grew to the extent that people would mob him when he stepped outside the rectory to walk over to the church; he took to keeping a handful of blessed medals in the pocket of his soutane so that he could toss them up in the air, making a break for it as the crowds scattered to scramble for the medals.

He was committed to the Biblical concept of personal sacrifice for the spiritual benefit of others (for a chapter-and-verse list, click here) and fasted from personal comfort by sleeping on a hard bed and limiting himself to a diet of potatoes, bread and milk, offering up his sufferings for the village of Ars and the people who came to him. He became one of the truest ambassadors of Christ our world has ever known. Priests from the area who knew him testified to the fact that supernatural grace kept him going, because any other person would have crumbled under the strict fasting combined with his work load.

Because of his holiness and his success in drawing people to Jesus, St. John Vianney was tormented by evil spirits for a number of years. Demonic influence caused his bed to shake on the floor and voices to jeer at him; once the curtains of his bed were set afire. There were times when the manifestations included physical attacks on the good priest. These occurrences terrified the villagers of Ars, but St. John Vianney, with his gentle sense of humor (and knowing that satan's vast pride is outraged when he is mocked), would just smile and say, "Oh, the old Grappin* and myself? We are almost chums."

In spite of all this, St. John Vianney barely made it to the priesthood. In our modern way of naming things, we would have said that he had "special needs" or "learning disabilities." Undoubtedly, he did. Schoolwork was not his forte. He struggled with Latin for years while in the seminary, and the difficult theology courses soared over his head. However, he had been brought up in a godly home (his parents hid itinerant priests who traveled about the country in disguise to say Masses for the faithful in those days of post-revolution France, where the churches were still padlocked and it was illegal to attend Mass) to love and honor Jesus and to consider the Blessed Mother as lovingly as he considered his own maman. His sermons never expressed great depth of theological insight, but were instead simple catechetical observations that taught his people how to live simple, humble, prayerful lives before God.

St. John Vianney did such a good job of this that his church was literally never empty for years. There was always someone kneeling in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament.

St. John Vianney, one of my most beloved saints in the calendar and Meelyn's Confirmation saint, died on August 4, 1859 at the age of seventy-three. The year 2009 is a special one because it marks the 150th anniversary of his death.

His body is incorrupt and lies in state beneath one of the altars at the basilica at Ars. You can see the shrine, the basilica and pictures of Ars by visiting the official Ars-sur-Formans shrine website. And here's a great photo journal posted by a priest named Fr. Gary Coulter.

St. John Vianney, we love you! Happy feast day, saint of God.



*archaic French word for "pitchfork"

Feast Day! St. Louis de Montfort

Today is the memorial day of St. Louis de Montfort, a Brittany-born seventeenth century French priest whom we know around here as "St. Louey" because we are Hoosiers and funny things happen to furrin* words when you intone each and every syllable through your nose.

Anyway, St. Louis (Lou-WEE, please) is one of my favorite new saints because of this most amazing book I've been reading. I've had it forever, knowing that it was an important book, but had never yet managed to crack it open because, well, Survivor was on. Now you know the truth, but let me just point out that you can't say anything to me that I haven't already said to myself. Twice.

The book is The Secret of the Rosary and I think it is probably one of the best books of Christian philosophy and prayer I have ever read. Not that I'm any kind of scholar or anything, but I did read my way into the Catholic Church, so I do have some experience in this area. I read books that talked about the rosary in glowing terms of how it can lead to a greater depth of relationship with Jesus and advancement in the spiritual life and I read books that dismissed it as nothing short of the blasphemous, scandalous, idolatrous vain repetitions of godless heathens.

As I contemplated these two opinions, I couldn't help but notice that the authors who disparaged the rosary sounded like they wouldn't recognize one if you pressed it into their sweaty paws and murmured, "Prayer beads." And they certainly didn't seem willing at all to recognize that the rosary is a means of meditating on the great events of the life of Jesus as experienced by the Holy Mother.

If there's anything I can't stand, it's the injust spouting of misinformation and half-truths by the ignorant, so the rosary won another devoted follower.

My family's sixth anniversary of becoming Catholic happened at Easter Vigil, so in all these years, I don't know what has taken me so long to get around to St. Louis de Montfort's famous book, but now that I've started reading it, I gobble it up section by section, ponder what I've read, and then go back to read it again. The Secret of the Rosary is a very slim little book, but it is so rich, so full of life, that you can't just sit down with some popcorn and treat it as you would something by John Grisham.

The thing I like best about it is that it's both practical and mystical, just like the Catholic Church. St. Louis writes in the flowery style common to his era, and while that seemed a bit quaint and sweetly funny at first, it didn't take me long to perceive the fervent personality of this great saint and scholar shining through -- you almost feel that St. Louis could be sitting across the table from you at Starbucks, personally encouraging you to dig deeper in your prayer life. It is an informative, inspiring and completely lovely little book written by a beautiful priest, teacher and theologian.

St. Louis de Montfort died two hundred ninety-three years ago today of natural causes in Saint-Laurent-sur-Sovre, France. One of the huge parishes in Fishers is dedicated to him. Here's a really nice article about him from the Catholic Encyclopedia.

Happy feast day, St. Louis de Montfort. Please pray for us all.




*Hoosier pronunciation of the word "foreign."

FEAST DAY! The Assumption of the Blessed Mother

I love this gorgeous painting by Peter Paul Rubens, which dates from 1612. The little cherubs are so pink and sweet, so eager to escort her to her home in heaven. And the people on the ground, who were presumably gathered around Mary's death bed, are so enormously human: some of them are looking up into the sky, either in shock or in wonder. A few others (and I would have been in this group) are staring down at the empty shroud in bewilderment. "Huh?...Hey! What the?... Where'd she go?"

But Mary herself moves me so much. In some paintings of the Assumption (one of the most depicted religious scenes among artists), Mary travels upward with her hands folded against her stomach, whether out of her demure humility or because she was afraid she'd suffer from motion sickness, we don't know. But in this painting, she's reaching upward, ready to fly, face radiant. She's ready to be reunited with her boy. You can feel it.

And what a reunion that must have been, yes? I always picture Jesus's ascension into heaven as a very bittersweet time for the apostles and the rest of His followers, gathered there on the mountainside. But none must have felt that pang more than Mary. On the one hand, she must have had the enormous joy that her son had accomplished what he'd been sent from his Father to accomplish. And imagine how she felt at having him back for those several weeks after his resurrection, restored to her whole and in perfect health and even able to do some amazing things he hadn't been able to do before. What mother wouldn't rejoice in that, especially after what she'd been through as she went alongside him during his Passion?

But then there was the moment of parting. How did they say goodbye, I wonder? Maybe in a private, wistful moment before the crowd gathered? Maybe Mary and John and Jesus gathered in the kitchen at John's home and Mary made coffee for them all and they sat and talked companionably until Jesus said, "Well, it's about time to go..." and then John drained his mug and murmured some excuse about needing to go check on the goats or something, in order to give mother and son a moment alone. Jesus would have reminded her that he would always be with her in the Eucharist -- Body, Blood, Soul, Divinity -- as close as he had been before he was born. Even closer. That her role as the ark of the New Covenant was still continuing in their communion together.

And she, I think, would have always been brave and full of faith, always giving her yes to God, even when it hurt. She would have smiled as she sent him on his way.

I don't think this is a matter of dogma, but from what I've read, the Church seems to believe that Mary lived to be around sixty-three years old or so. Considering that she was probably around forty-nine when Jesus ascended into heaven, she had a good number of years on earth with his physical Presence at Mass, but without his shoulders to hug or his kiss on her cheek or the smell of his neck -- every mother knows her child's own smell, from infancy onward -- in her nose. So is it any wonder that she's reaching upward in that picture, glowing with happiness? Her wait was over.

I like to think of all the saints and angels lining up on either side of heaven's main street and falling to one knee to honor the one who was "blessed among all women" as the honor guard of baby-angels led her royal procession. But then I also like to think of that moment when a grown son, boyish again with a shout of joyous laughter, lifted his mom off her feet in a bear hug and swung her around the throne room, his bearded cheek scratchy against her skin.

For the rest of us, Mary represents the wonder of all God's own entering heaven. What a happy, happy feast day.

Here's a nice piece from Catholic Culture on the history of the Feast of the Assumption and Pope Pius XII's definition of the dogma, which was declared on November 1, 1950.

You can also read more about the Feast of the Assumption on the Saint of the Day widget on the left side of the page. Just scroll down a bit.

FEAST DAY! Our Lady of Mt. Carmel

"His mother said to the servers, 'Do whatever he tells you.'" ~John 2:5

Before converting to Catholicism, I never understood why Catholics placed so much emphasis on Mary. The first time I went to Mass with my friend Cathy (I was about seventeen at the time,) I remained on high alert for anything, anything at all, that would indicate that anyone other than the Father, Son and Holy Spirit was being worshiped. Because? I was going to hit the center aisle and start running before the lightning struck.

Imagine my surprise when Mary was only mentioned once, and that was to ask her and the angels and saints in heaven to pray for us all for strength to resist sin.

I couldn't argue with that and politely kept my seat, thus avoiding embarrassing Cathy and her parents and shocking the nuns who knelt in the front row.

In these past six years or so, I have developed a devotion to Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, mostly because I love the Brown Scapular and its meaning, but secondly because all the artwork of Mary with the infant Jesus is so beautiful. There are probably a thousand depictions of Mary and Jesus in Carmel mode, and I love them all.

I was surfing around on the 'net today, looking for some info to put here on the blog about Our Lady of Mt. Carmel and the Brown Scapular, which I wear daily. (I used to have an actual little woolen scapular, but it got so frayed and threadbare that I decided to switch to a medal. That scapular, its meaning and its physical presence, got me through a really difficult and depressing time about four years ago and I take great comfort in the meaning it holds for me.) I found this website, which is simply titled The Brown Scapular and I really love the way it clearly stated what the Brown Scapular is and what benefits it holds for the wearers.

The Blessed Virgin teaches us:

~To be open to God, and to his will, shown to us in the events of our lives;

~To listen to the Word of God in the Bible and in life, to believe in it and to put into practice its demands;

~To pray at all times, as a way of discovering the presence of God in all that is happening around us;

~To be involved with people, being attentive to their needs.

The Scapular finds its roots in the tradition of the Order of Carmel, which has seen in it a sign of Mary’s motherly protection. It has therefore, a centuries old spiritual meaning approved by Church.

It stands for a commitment to follow Jesus, like Mary, the perfect model of all the disciples of Christ. This commitment finds its origin in baptism by which we become children of God.
It leads us into the community of Carmel, a community of religious men and women, which has existed in the Church for over eight centuries.

It reminds us of the example of the saints of Carmel, with whom we establish a close bond as brothers and sisters to one another.

It is an expression of our belief that we will meet God in eternal life, aided by the intercession and prayers of Mary.

Some notable saints of the Carmelite Order are:

St. Teresa of Avila
St. John of the Cross
St. Thérèse of Liseux
St. Simon Stock
St. Elizabeth of the Trinity
Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection (author of the well-known little book The Practice of the Presence of God.)

Happy feast day, our mother of Carmel!

FEAST DAY! St. Benedict of Nursia

St. Benedict is one of my favorite saints. The little one decade rosary I always carry in my pocket has a St. Benedict medal on it and I really treasure that little sacramental because of the testimony of this great saint.

Here's an excerpt from the EWTN website:

ST. BENEDICT OF NURSIA
FOUNDER OF WESTERN MONASTICISM—480-550 A.D.

Overrun by half-civilized pagan and Arian hordes during the fifth century, Italy and the entire Mediterranean world was falling back into barbarism. The Church was torn by conflict, city and country alike were made desolate by war and pillage, violence was rampant among Christians as well as heathen. During this anarchic time appeared one of the noblest of the Fathers of the Western Church—St. Benedict of Nursia, founder of the great order which bears his name. We know little of his background, save that he was born about the year 480 at Nursia, in the province of Umbria, in north central Italy, and that his family was probably of noble lineage. We
also know that he had a sister called Scholastica, who from childhood vowed herself to God.

The remainder of that really interesting article can be read by clicking here.


One of the things I like about St. Benedict's philosophy -- his Rule -- is this line: "He who works, prays." That idea is a great source of strength to me during the busy days of school when I'm teaching the girls and supervising their studies and teaching the Shakespeare class.

Happy feast day, St. Benedict, patron saint of schoolchildren. We love you.