Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 46

Foodie Friday: Ladling out lentil to start soup season

Foodie Friday is back after a long hiatus, thanks to a favorite recipe that inspired me to kickstart the old weekly recipe post. The beginning of soup season always makes me a little giddy, in a foodie sort of way, and this week we dove into the cool weather cooking with a hearty and satisfying lentil soup that also happens to be vegan. I didn’t do that on purpose but it’s a nice coincidence. Try this on a cool autumn or winter night, and you won’t be disappointed.

Ingredients

1 pound lentils, rinsed and picked over
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 small onions, chopped
2 large carrots, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 bay leafs
½ teaspoon thyme
8 cups water (or vegetable broth, in which case you can drop bouillon cube)
1 vegetable boullion cube
salt, to taste
fresh ground pepper, to taste
dash soy sauce
splash of red wine (optional)
1 cup acini pepe pasta (or other small pasta — orzo, ditalini — or cooked rice)
fresh baby spinach, a few handfuls (optional)

Preparation

1. Saute onions, garlic, celery, carrots in olive oil until soft.

2. Add lentils, water, bay leaves, thyme, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to simmer and cook for about 15 minutes so lentils start to soften.

3. Add boullion, salt and pepper, soy sauce, and wine, if using.

4. Simmer for 90 minutes. Add uncooked small pasta (or cooked rice) eight minutes before serving. (If I want a slightly smoother soup, I will zap this with a handheld immersion blender for a few seconds before I add the pasta or rice. Be careful not to burn yourself!) If you’re using spinach, dump it into the soup at this point and allow it to wilt before serving.

5. Serve with bread and salad.

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I think I met Jesus this morning

I walked down to the Mission District in San Francisco today to visit the original Mision San Francisco de Asis, more commonly known as Mission Dolores because it’s near the Creek of Sorrows, Arroyo de los Dolores. After wandering through a beautiful old cemetery and the newer basilica, built in the early 1900s, I found my way to the chapel (first building erected in San Francisco) just as people were leaving daily Mass.

I waited for everyone to clear out and then went closer to the altar to get some photos. That’s when I noticed an old woman sitting in a pew, skull cap pulled far down on her head, raggedy oversized clothes, big bag full of something at her side. She had all the markings of a homeless woman and our eyes met and we both smiled and I said hello and walked on by. But for some reason, just as I was about to leave, something — perhaps the echo of “Whatsoever you do…” that was running through my head at that moment —  told me to go back. And so I did.

I sat down in the pew right behind her, leaned in and asked how she was doing. She smiled again and asked me where I was from and how long I’d been in town and if I had children and a home. And I asked her if she had any family nearby. She said her 27-year-old grandson took care of her, but it was pretty clear that they must be struggling mightily because this woman looked like she had seen some very hard times in her life.

I told her my name was Mary and she loved that and said she would pray for me. (Her name is Zenobia, by the way, in case you’d like to send up some prayers for her. I think she could use them.) And then we talked a while more — about the troubles in our world, about the need for peace and the need for prayers to get that peace. She pulled out a prayer card of St. Jude and told me to take it. Then she held out a little vial of oil from a nearby shrine to St. Jude and told me to bless myself with it. I did what she told me, all the while feeling that I was in the presence of someone very special. We finally said goodbye, promising to pray for each other, and as I walked away my mind kept coming back to Mother Teresa’s challenge to see Jesus in the “distressing disguise of the poor.”

A few minutes later, as I stood in the gift shop, waiting to buy a beautiful wood carving from Mexico, Zenobia came in, saw me, and told the shop manager, “This is Mary from New York!” Then she asked to borrow the phone, and the woman at the register ushered her behind the counter. She came back to me once more, took my hand for a minute, and then left. I asked the woman ringing me up about Zenobia, and she said, “She is the real deal,” and went on to tell me how holy and good and strong Zenobia is and how she has an “interesting effect” on people. And I knew just what she meant.

So I thought I was doing a good deed by sitting down with a poor woman in a pew, but it turns out I was the one who received the greater gift today. I set out to see a church, but I ended up seeing Jesus.

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Should Eucharist be the only thing that matters?

Over the past few weeks, folks here have talked about the role of Eucharist in their lives and in the liturgy, with a lot of people saying as long as there is Eucharist it shouldn’t matter how lame the rest of the liturgy might be. One commenter went so far as to say that even if Nazis did liturgical dance for an hour, it wouldn’t matter if Eucharist was at the end of it. Yes, someone actually presented that argument. So I thought maybe we needed to talk about this a little more, about Eucharist and how it plays into the life of an average Catholic.

First, I think we have to realize that those people who say that as long as they have Eucharist nothing else matters clearly have achieved some higher level of spirituality, because most regular folks in the pews — even the ones who are dedicated and deeply faithful Catholics — need some help to get to that place. It’s not so simple as A+B=C. It’s just not. There is nothing simple about Eucharist, and so to make a blanket statement that all people should be fed by that alone and never need anything else is unrealistic and kind of dangerous, at least in terms of evangelization. Because if we think that way, we’re going to lose a whole bunch of people who are looking for a pathway toward a fuller understanding of Eucharist in their lives. They will get lost long before they get there without guidance and nourishment along the way.

But let’s look at it a different way. When Jesus began gathering his followers around him, what did he do? He taught them. He told them stories. He showed them what love and mercy looked like in action. He didn’t start with the Eucharist. He couldn’t start with the Eucharist, because it wouldn’t have meant anything at that point. He needed to lead people, feed people, and bring people to a point where Eucharist could transform them.

If he had sat down with them upon first meeting and said, “This is my body,” no one could have understood. Even as it was, there was confusion and disbelief by some. Even today there is often confusion and disbelief. So to say simply, “Eucharist is all that should matter,” is misguided at best. Although we are all called to be saints, most of us still have a pretty long way to go, and most of us need a little help to get from point A to point B. At least I know I do. Without the word, without good preaching, without music and community and continuing spiritual formation and nourishment, we cannot possibly understand source and summit as it is meant to be understood this side of heaven.

Every time I walk up to receive Communion, I think to myself, “If I believed the way I should believe, I could do nothing but prostrate myself on the ground before the Eucharist.” Really, how could any of us do anything less than that before the sheer magnificence of what’s being given to us. And yet we do. We walk up and take it as if it is the most normal thing in the world, no matter how reverent we may be. So I think we all need to cut each other a little slack and recognize that we are all spiritual works in progress and we can use all the help we can get in whatever form we can get it. And that if we’re not getting that, we’re going to demand it and scream and shout — even if only in printed form — to get what we need to reach heaven.

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Shepherds who live with the smell of their sheep

I was going through some old posts this week as I was preparing for a radio interview, and I found this post from March 29, 2103. I thought it might be good to re-post it here. Two weeks ago, when I posted about Losing My Religion, many reacted by saying that maybe the priest was just having a bad day, as if my frustration was based on a single episode. And at that point it’s hard to argue without sounding defensive, even though I know what was in my own heart. Then I came across my own post on this exact topic from months ago. Maybe many who have joined the NSS ranks recently haven’t seen it since it’s buried behind many other posts. So here it is again, a reminder that what I’ve been talking about these past weeks isn’t new, isn’t isolated, and has been on the pope’s radar screen since the beginning of his papacy. Here you go:

I’d like to backtrack for a minute and make sure you all had a chance to read what I think is a critical and spot-on portion of Pope Francis’ homily — directed toward priests — at the Chrism Mass yesterday. When I read this, I was moved by the beauty of both the content and the language, and by the truth that this pope speaks.

I know what it’s like NOT to have this kind of experience of church, of liturgy, of priesthood, and it has affected my spiritual life mightily. This pope gets what people want and need. Now we have to pray that his priests and bishops are listening and take his message to heart.

From Pope Francis:

“A good priest can be recognized by the way his people are anointed. This is a clear test. When our people are anointed with the oil of gladness, it is obvious: for example, when they leave Mass looking as if they have heard good news. Our people like to hear the Gospel preached with “unction”, they like it when the Gospel we preach touches their daily lives, when it runs down like the oil of Aaron to the edges of reality, when it brings light to moments of extreme darkness, to the “outskirts” where people of faith are most exposed to the onslaught of those who want to tear down their faith.”

I cannot tell you the last time I felt “anointed,” the last time I felt the Gospel running down into my darkness like oil of gladness. How I long for that experience. My heart is crying out for healing oil to quench the parched earth of my soul, but it’s nowhere to be found. At least not anywhere I’ve been lately. And based on what I hear from lots and lots of people who have given up on faith completely, it’s not anywhere that they have found either. And so the pews are more empty than full, and those are that are full are often occupied in body only.

More from Pope Francis:

“A priest who seldom goes out of himself, who anoints little – I won’t say ‘not at all’ because, thank God, our people take our oil from us anyway – misses out on the best of our people, on what can stir the depths of his priestly heart. Those who do not go out of themselves, instead of being mediators, gradually become intermediaries, managers. We know the difference: the intermediary, the manager, ‘has already received his reward,’ and since he doesn’t put his own skin and his own heart on the line, he never hears a warm, heartfelt word of thanks. This is precisely the reason why some priests grow dissatisfied, become sad priests, lose heart and become in some sense collectors of antiques or novelties – instead of being shepherds living with ‘the smell of the sheep,’ shepherds in the midst of their flock, fishers of men.”

I know there are priests out there who fit this description, and thank God for them. I see it even on my Facebook feed and feel a pang of jealousy as various friends talk about the powerful beauty of a liturgy or homily that brought them to tears. Unfortunately the only tears I’ve shed over a homily or liturgy in recent years have been tears of disappointment, tears of confusion, and tears of rage. No wonder I’ve spent so much time in spiritual darkness of late. No on is minding the flock. No one is guiding us home. No one is willing to live with the “smell of the sheep.”

At Mass last night, as I listened to the subtle ways a priest can strip the Eucharist of its beauty — like by telling us that back in his day there was all this emphasis on the Real Presence and how today, instead, we shouldn’t worry so much about whether Jesus is really present and ask ourselves if we are really present — I kept thinking back to when I was a teenager and I did cry through the Good Friday liturgy because of a homily so powerful it shook me to my core. I thought back to parish missions that filled me with joy and fervor. I thought back to just a few years ago when I would sit at Mass and feel as though every Sunday homily had been written just for me and spoke directly to my heart. But those days are gone, or they’ve been gone, and I don’t see a return anywhere in sight.

Thank you, Pope Francis, for reminding your priests — for reminding us — what we need and what we should expect from those whose life work is to guide us closer to Jesus. We deserve shepherds willing to live with the smell of their sheep.

 

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Did Pope Francis read my blog post?

Yeah, hey, so guess what? I’m not the only one who has issues with bad homilies. Turns out Pope Francis feels the same way. And he gets applause when he talks about it! Have I mentioned yet today — this hour — that I love our pope? Yeah, I thought so. Check out what CNS tweeted today about Pope Francis’ comment on this very same issue.

#PopeFrancis gets lots of applause when talks about homilies that are "interminable, boring, where you don't understand a word"

— Catholic News Svc (@CatholicNewsSvc) October 4, 2013

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A saint for all seasons

In honor of the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, I thought I’d re-run a column I wrote about one of my favorite saints a while back. I hope to be back here later with a reflection on the pope’s homily while in Assisi on this feast day.

Out in my perennial garden, nestled among the stonecrop and candytuft, stands a well-worn clay statue of St. Francis of Assisi made by an artisan in Mexico. The unusual characteristics of the statue make it a conversation piece as well as a spiritual touchstone that helps keep me centered as I dig and weed and plant.

Of course, I’m not alone. Drive down any street and you’re likely to find St. Francis peeking out from both well-manicured lawns and wildflower gardens run amuck. He is just as likely to share a garden with a statue of Buddha as he is to share one with a statue of the Blessed Mother. He is a saint of the people – all people, Catholics and non-Catholics alike. His broad appeal is fascinating, but at the same time it begs the question: Do those of us who plant St. Francis in our gardens really know what the medieval saint was all about?

Today Francis’ concerns are often compartmentalized by well-meaning folks who want to claim him for their own. And who can blame them? He is certainly a challenging but endearing saint for the ages.

Environmentalists tune into Francis’ love for creation, his “Canticle of Brother Sun,” his diligence in protecting trees and even “brother” fire, and find in him a kindred spirit. Animal lovers hear stories of him preaching to birds and taming a wolf and see in Francis the kind of saint who has rightly earned his status as patron of animals. His popularity comes into full view every year at this time, when adults and children alike line up outside churches with everything from goldfish swimming in glass bowls to German shepherds straining at leather leashes just for a chance to get their pets a blessing on Francis’ feast day.

Peace activists, interreligious leaders, social justice organizers — the St. Francis fan club goes on and on. It seems everyone can find a piece of Francis to suit their cause. But, if you put all of those individual causes into the Gospel context that was at the heart of Francis’ rule and spirituality, you come away with a very different picture of our lovable saint, one that is not so easily shaped and molded by the latest trends or causes.

Would those St. Francis lawn statues be as popular if we really stopped to reflect on what they stand for? Francis’ life was one centered on his love of Christ, his commitment to a radical living out of the Gospel, and his “marriage” to the bride he dubbed “Lady Poverty”? The path that St. Francis chose was not an easy one. He was ridiculed and mocked as a madman during his own lifetime for what appeared to be an extreme response to his conversion experience.

He renounced his family’s fortune, fasted for days on end, heard the Lord speak to him from a cross in San Damiano, bore the stigmata. He lived and died for Christ. It would be a disservice to him and all he stood for to try to slip a politically correct mask over the spiritually devout saint who did not do anything halfway.

Sometimes I wonder how I can possibly weave Francis’ difficult and often uncomfortable lessons into my exceedingly comfortable existence. How do those of us with warm homes and busy jobs and nice clothes make St. Francis into something more than a decoration or a mascot? It’s not easy, but maybe, just maybe, seeing St. Francis from the kitchen window as we wash dishes or raking leaves from around his feet as we clean the yard will call us back to our spiritual center and remind us that what we do here on this earth cannot be separated from what we long for in heaven.

 

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Angel of God, my guardian dear…

Angel of God,

my guardian dear,

to whom God’s love

commits me here,

ever this night,

be at my side

to light and guard,

to rule and guide.

 

This was one of the first prayers I learned as a child, and it holds a special place in my heart, probably because I remember my mother sitting at the side of my bed saying it with me each night. But I have to admit that there came a point in my younger adult life when I felt I had outgrown angels. They seemed stuck in my childhood, a remnant of something long gone. And then came the pop culture angel fad. They showed up on everything from keychains to refrigerator magnets and that just made me like the little chubby winged cherubs of coffee mug fame even less.

But then something happened. I don’t know if was age or wisdom or the sudden realization that I could not protect my children on my own, but angels started making their way back into my life. First through my cursory spiritual nod to them every time we got in the car and eventually through my near-incessant pleading with them to watch out for me, my kids and just about anyone special to me, no matter how near or how far. Now it’s not uncommon for me to have a good long heart-to-heart with the guardian angel of a distant friend who just might need a little extra protection here and there. Frankly, I’m sure the angels are longing for the days when I had no use for them. I love knowing my angel is around, and there have been times in my life — however rare they are — when I have sensed my angel nearby.

So today, on this Feast of the Guardian Angels, why not take a moment to reintroduce yourself, if you’ve been out of touch, and maybe teach that old prayer to your children, if you haven’t already.

(The icon above was written by Minhhang Huynh, a woman I met when I was on retreat at the Abbey of the Genesee in New York two years ago.)

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Pope Francis on the “leprosy of the papacy,” the leaven of love, and the feminine Church

This time Pope Francis is talking with Italian newspaper La Repubblica. Second interview, just as fascinating, 4,600 words bearing the headline “Pope Francis: how the Church will change.” The pope called to set up the interview himself with Eugenio Scalfari, the atheist with whom he (now famously) exchanged letters.

I’m still reading, but here are a couple of snippets I need to share now (questions from Scalfari in bold, pope’s responses in regular type):

However, as we said, Jesus told us that love for one’s neighbor is equal to what we have for ourselves. So what many call narcissism is recognized as valid, positive, to the same extent as the other. We’ve talked a lot about this aspect.

“I don’t like the word narcissism”, the Pope said, “it indicates an excessive love for oneself and this is not good, it can produce serious damage not only to the soul of those affected but also in relationship with others, with the society in which one lives. The real trouble is that those most affected by this – which is actually a kind of mental disorder – are people who have a lot of power. Often bosses are narcissists”.

Many church leaders have been.

“You know what I think about this? Heads of the Church have often been narcissists, flattered and thrilled by their courtiers. The court is the leprosy of the papacy.”

It will be hard to top that quote, but how about this amazing exchange:

Do you feel touched by grace?

“No one can know that. Grace is not part of consciousness, it is the amount of light in our souls, not knowledge nor reason. Even you, without knowing it, could be touched by grace.”

Without faith? A non-believer?

“Grace regards the soul.”

I do not believe in the soul.

“You do not believe in it but you have one.”

 

And regarding the call of Christians and the Church today:

You Christians are now a minority. Even in Italy, which is known as the pope’s backyard. Practicing Catholics, according to some polls, are between 8 and 15 percent. Those who say they are Catholic but in fact are not very are about 20%. In the world, there are a billion Catholics or more, and with other Christian churches there are over a billion and a half, but the population of the planet is 6 or 7 billion people. There are certainly many of you, especially in Africa and Latin America, but you are a minority.

“We always have been but the issue today is not that. Personally I think that being a minority is actually a strength. We have to be a leavening of life and love and the leavening is infinitely smaller than the mass of fruits, flowers and trees that are born out of it. I believe I have already said that our goal is not to proselytize but to listen to needs, desires and disappointments, despair, hope. We must restore hope to young people, help the old, be open to the future, spread love. Be poor among the poor. We need to include the excluded and preach peace. Vatican II, inspired by Pope Paul VI and John, decided to look to the future with a modern spirit and to be open to modern culture. The Council Fathers knew that being open to modern culture meant religious ecumenism and dialogue with non-believers. But afterwards very little was done in that direction. I have the humility and ambition to want to do something.”

Now this is the pope asking a question, with the journalist responding in bold:

But now let me ask you a question: you, a secular non-believer in God, what do you believe in? You are a writer and a man of thought. You believe in something, you must have a dominant value. Don’t answer me with words like honesty, seeking, the vision of the common good, all important principles and values but that is not what I am asking. I am asking what you think is the essence of the world, indeed the universe. You must ask yourself, of course, like everyone else, who we are, where we come from, where we are going. Even children ask themselves these questions. And you?”

I am grateful for this question. The answer is this: I believe in Being, that is in the tissue from which forms, bodies arise.

“And I believe in God, not in a Catholic God, there is no Catholic God, there is God and I believe in Jesus Christ, his incarnation. Jesus is my teacher and my pastor, but God, the Father, Abba, is the light and the Creator. This is my Being. Do you think we are very far apart?”

The journalist makes a note of one of the pope’s final comments as the interview ends and he gets up to leave:

While walking his visitor to the door of the Vatican guesthouse, in a sudden aside the Pope told Scalfari that his reforms “will also discuss the role of women in the church,” reminding the interviewer that “the church is feminine.”

Read the full text HERE.

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From Eagle’s Wings to Agnus Dei

When we got into our, um, conversation last week about good vs. bad liturgy, people from both sides of the spectrum chimed in with what they thought would be the remedy, and I appreciate that, I really do, but I’m not looking to go to any “extreme.” In fact, I’m actually quite happy b0uncing back and forth between contemporary and classic, progressive and traditional. It was never a matter of needing one type of perfect liturgy or a perfect liturgical element but rather a matter of just wanting to participate in Mass and feel like I was getting what I need to deepen my relationship with God. I happen to be one of those people who can get that equally well from the often-dreaded “On Eagle’s Wings” or the old-school Latin “Agnus Dei.” In fact, I prefer a blend, which is precisely my problem. Again. I don’t fit into anyone’s “camp.”

Sometimes I think about the music I’ll want at my own funeral Mass. Yeah, must be the Irish coming out in me. And that kind of sums up my approach to liturgical music: Give me good music that moves me through it’s haunting beauty, like “Panis Angelicus” for instance, or something singable that doesn’t make me pass out from needing to reach notes too high for dogs to hear, like “Table of Plenty.” That’s correct. I just requested “Panis Angelicus” and “Table of Plenty” in the same breath. And you thought last week’s blog post was a problem.

I would like to suggest churches throw away the weird, impossible-to-sing but seemingly liturgically correct songs in favor of something classic or simple or just plain beautiful. And dare I even suggest that maybe we start listening to what’s going on in Christian music circles in general — not just Catholic circles — to hear the really great new spiritual music that’s out there. Some of it is jaw-droppingly inspiring. I’ve got a whole playlist of it, if you want to come over and listen. Stuff that brings me to tears every time I hear it, and other stuff that fills me with a come-and-get-me-God kind of conviction. Good stuff. Unfortunately, most Catholics are still struggling with that last verse of “Lord You Give the Great Commission,” so they never get to Laura Story’s “Blessings.”

And although this will send some progressive or contemporary folks into convulsions, how about we pull out one of those really basic old standards from days gone by. The ones even little kids can sing because they’re so easy; the ones older Catholics can sing because they’re engrained in our DNA: “Holy God We Praise Thy Name,” “Hail Holy Queen,” “Immaculate Mary,” “Praise to the Lord.” I dare you. Put one of those into rotation next week and stand back and be amazed at how many people will suddenly start singing. Why? Because they know the songs, because they don’t have to be opera divas to hit the notes, and because sometimes it’s just nice to belt out “How Great Thou Art.”

Folks like me aren’t asking for perfection. What we’re asking for is something real, something that makes sense to our hearts and souls, something that doesn’t make us want to wear ear plugs to Mass.

If you choose a song with five versus of allegedly profound words and no melody, expect people to stand there with mouths closed. And, guess what? If their mouths are closed in frustration, there’s a good chance their hearts will close just a little too, and soon you’ve got a church full of people looking at their watches instead of looking at their God.

 

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Receiving unexpected grace via the U.S. mail

Grace can be hard to put your finger on, like trying to grab at fog or hold onto a breeze. I remember even back when I was writing The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Catholic Catechism that I struggled to define it in a way that would make sense to people, especially people who maybe had never really contemplated that word before and what it might mean in their lives.

To make matters worse, we Catholics get into categorizing kinds of grace: sanctifying or deifying, habitual, sacramental, and even special graces and states of grace. If we’re not careful, it can make grace feel like something so complex and lofty that we begin to think it’s not something that ordinary, just-struggling-to-get-through-every-day kind of people can get without some special training or anointing, but it’s yours for the taking. It’s beautiful and powerful and a gift that we get for no other reason than simply showing up in this life and turning toward God.

The catechism defines grace as the “free and undeserved help that God gives us.” Most of us, I think, recognize grace when spiritual help arrives at the most unexpected but most needed times. For me, grace arrived this week in so many disguises, in the cupcakes and wine that a friend anonymously left at my house with a note reminding me that God is good, in the private emails from so many thoughtful and supportive people, in the form of a speaking engagement I had booked months ago but which brought me to the exact place I needed to be this week to regain some spiritual sanity and breathe deep of God’s beauty alive in the people of faith around me.

And it arrived yesterday in fabulous fashion, when I was feeling physically, mentally, and spiritually spent, like maybe all of this stuff I’ve been doing here lately was just getting in the way of my relationship with God rather than serving as the the way to the one who is The Way.

I had actually been laying down, feeling like maybe the flu or some sort of virus might be coming on, and Olivia walked in and said, who is Cathy A….. (Tricky last name there.) And I sat up and said, “She’s another Catholic writer I know.” (Although she is much more, a soul sister.) And I walked into the kitchen to see what she might have sent me, and there in a little pouch in a padded envelope was the beautiful silver necklace you see in the photo above, simply stating, “GRACE.” In that moment I felt such a flood of love surrounding me, from people I have never even met but who are with me on this journey, people who show me the face of grace every single day.

This necklace has double meaning for me since I know that Cathy had taken note of the fact that I named the baby I lost through miscarriage Grace. And so this is grace coming to me from all directions and lifting me up and carrying me forward.

So, as it turns out, grace isn’t so hard to define and sometimes we can even lay our hands on it and hold onto it, in the people around us, in the unexpected moments and signs that show up on our literal doorstep and on the doorstep of our heart. To every person out there who has blessed me with this grace, who has shown me God at work in my own life and the world around me, I say thank you. I will be praying for all of you and holding you in my heart.

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