Tenebrae

Last night, I went to a Tenebrae service which, until yesterday, I had never heard of.

This particular service was a succession of music, prayer and seven readings -- no traditional mass/no sermon. The church was fully lit with eight candles on the altar and after each reading a single candle was extinguished and the lights were dimmed. By the end of the service, we were in complete darkness with the exception of one candle, which was used to lead a silent procession, and a light shining on the crucifix above the alter. Faint light from the dusk outdoors was illuminating the stained glass windows throughout.

Just beautiful.

The music ranged from Mozart and Bach to Andrew Lloyd Webber; from simple and soulful to complex and discordant; from piano, violin and flute to tenors and sopranos.

You could almost palpably feel the pain and sorrow of the crucifixion -- especially the three hours of darkness that came over the land (Matthew 27:45). Unreal.
 

Namaste

At the end of yoga classes, the teacher typically puts his/her hands in prayer pose, bows to the class and says, "Namaste." It's a Sanskrit word that loosely translates to "The divine in me honors the divine in you." The students reciprocate the bow and sentiment.

It is a beautiful practice and reminder that God lies within each of us.

Last weekend, I was reading a book entitled Soul Prints written by Rabbi Marc Gafni that I grabbed from the free, discard shelves at our library. In this book, he states that "shalom" not only means "peace" but also in the Kabbalistic understanding of language conveys a wider intent--specifically, "The divine point within me greets the divine point within you." Wow. Really?

Early the same evening, after reading that point, and pondering its significance, I attended Catholic mass and couldn't help but notice the similarities. The priest says "The Lord be with you" and we respond "And also with you." Sometimes it's more elaborate (e.g., "The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all") but the response is the same, "And also with you."

Later, the priest states, "The peace of the Lord be with you always" and again we say, "And also with you." We then offer each other a sign of peace by shaking hands with everyone around us and saying to one another, "Peace be with you." Every week, bar none, this simple gesture reminds me of my grandpa Jack who always turned to us and said, "Shalom."

What an honor, right? To acknowledge the divine peace and presence in the family, friends and strangers among us. Although I've been performing this act my entire life, until last weekend, I had never fully appreciated the beauty.

Namaste.

Or, as the great spiritual leader Obi-Wan Kenobi once said, "May the force be with you."

The Way I Am

Our church service yesterday was absolutely gorgeous. The sanctuary was beautifully decorated with fresh greens and the trees were covered with white lights. We had an orchestra and full choir accompaniment as we sang all of the traditional Christmas hymns. At the end, as we stood to leave, I said to Son #2, "I just don't want this to end."

He replied, "Yeah, you should've married Pastor Rob."

I responded, "Hmmm. Daddy might not like that" to which he replied, "Neither would I."

"Why not?"

"Because he would probably make us go to church every week."

True. And he might not take me the way I am.

Ingrid Michaelson "The Way I Am" (music video)
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Deliver Us From Email

Our family's latest Sunday ritual involves whining the following line repeatedly: Do I have to go to church?

Last Sunday, I said to Son #1, "Maybe you could attempt this week to listen to the sermon because it's usually pretty interesting."

He responded, "I tried that last time. It was so boring that I began praying to God that he would knock me out. Hit me over the head. Anything so I could black out and then come to again when it was over."

It served as a nice reminder to me of why God doesn't answer all prayers.

The Yin and Yang of the Weekend

Somehow missed posting on mini-weekend day 7 (last Friday) which turned into a long weekend, instead. Nice! Gotta stay flexible for my boss and clients.

The long weekend ranged from calling hours to church, from biking to watching movies (Taking Chance with Kevin Bacon -- very moving), from hosting sleepovers to jumping on the neighbors' trampoline, from cleaning to getting my colors analyzed, from relaxing over delicious sushi with the kids at the Plum Garden to coercing them to finally take a friggin' shower. Engulfed in sadness at times. Bouncing as high as possible, and laughing my head off, mere hours later.

On the color front: I'm a dark autumn. Rich, deep colors. I can wear silver and gold. Together. And, unlike my "true summer" mom and sis, I can wear black. (Sorry Mommy Cash!) But, I cannot wear white or off-white. So I went through my closet, compared all of my clothes against my new color palette and put aside the clothes that reportedly are not best for me. This includes two lilac sweaters that I always get compliments on. So, do people simply like the color (and would make flattering remarks regardless of who is wearing it)? Or am I in black so much that they're just reacting to the fact that I'm wearing any color? Or is that a good color but a different shade would be even better? Or is the color consultant simply wrong? Only time, governed by a million and one new "Darling you look divine," comments will tell.

On the church front: I didn't realize the impact of taking my kids to a non-Catholic church all these years would have. As Grannie's car was being fixed due to a parking lot hit-and-run (which, by the by, happens to her gorgeous Lexus and not my rusty, 10-year-old Jetta: unfair), the kids and I decided to take her to her church instead of ours.

First question, asked loudly by Son #1 upon walking in, "What's that?" to which I responded, "Holy water." That was followed by a slew of related questions. I'm sure the devout Catholics around us were assuming we're the great unwashed. Next, while seated in the pew, "When are those bells going to stop? They're annoying me." That just happens to be one of my favorite sounds ever!

One kid was chewing gum. Neither would arise for the Catholic aerobics throughout the ceremony. I was continually peppered with "Is this almost over?" questions. I got two, rapid head jerks in my direction when the priest said, "ass" and I had to remind them that it also meant "donkey." One refused to take his arms out of his sleeves during the hand-holding, singing rendition of the Lord's Prayer. Both looked extremely perplexed during the Kiss of Peace. And, finally, one was dying for the bathroom but didn't know where it was -- so we ended up spawning against the tide during communion.

At the end, I asked, "So what did you think of Grannie's church?" and received the following reply, "Well, I wasn't listening but the stained glass windows are cool." Yes, they are.

Amen.

Merry Christmas!

From the kids' mayhem, glow stick (turned light sabre) Christmas service at BCC last night to the peaceful, inspirational mass at St. Louis Church today, I am filled with the joy of the season.

Merry Christmas from our Star Wars Legos/Jaromir Jagr hockey house to yours.

Catholic Guilt

I coerced Margaret and Martin to go to St. Patrick's with me last weekend since we were headed next door to Saks anyway. It was so crowded that you could barely inch your way to the front. We ended up saying a quick prayer while Martin sat behind us Googling places to eat for dinner on his iPhone. As we sat back in the pew, Margaret and I began talking (quietly I may add) about the Virgin Mary and the Catholic vs. Protestant viewpoint of her. The next thing you know, an old man in his priestly garb (perhaps a monsignor?) came and rapped me on the shoulder, shock his head at us in a reproaching manner and repeatedly put his finger to his lips to shush us.

Oooo, how shameful!

Key learning: It's okay to walk around as a tourist, chat about the architecture and stop to take pictures but do not, under any circumstances, whisper about religion! What do you think this is? A cathedral?

Next time, I'll have to remember to text God while I'm there. I'm sure he won't mind.

Thankfully, as I walked alone to meet Janette and Laura for lunch later that morning, I happened to pass St. Malachy's, the "actors church," where years ago my grandfather would meet me on weekends while I was visiting friends in Hell's Kitchen. There I had a few minutes of real peace and prayer. And I lit a five-day candle in memory of my grandfather whom I miss a lot. Still. Wild to think that it may still be burning right now!

In God We Trust

In the sermon at church yesterday, our children's minister made the connection between the "fear" everyone is feeling during the current economic crisis (yes, Governor Palin, I was listening) and our collective inability to trust in the Lord completely.

"No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth. For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?" (Matthew 6:24-26)

He went on to comment on how "In God We Trust" on our currency is more than just outdated lip service to our nation's motto (I'm paraphrasing but you get the point). It's a constant reminder that we need to put our faith in the Lord and, as a result, we'll be less anxious. In other words, no matter what happens, God's got our back.

"So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself."

This sermon came right on the heels -- pun intended -- of a week-long search for the perfect dress and shoes for my girlfriend Kim's wedding! Never mind the wallet when you can wear Calvin Klein's finest six-inch heels this side of the Bowery. (Note: These looked ridiculous so I put them on for a joke. Joke was on me; they're cute as can be. I'm just not sure I can walk.)

Never to be worn again unless the economy takes me to flophouse ruin? Then I'll be adequately prepared for the oldest profession in the world. Well, at least my feet will be . . .

Go! Team

I wore a Yankees cap sleeve t-shirt to church yesterday.

As I entered the sanctuary, the greeter handed me a pamphlet and jokingly stated, "We don't allow that shirt in here."

I responded, "Well, I'm not planning on taking it off."

His face turned bright red and he began stammering. Oh really, that's not what you meant? Oops. My mistake!

It's like shooting ducks in a barrel.

Son of a Gun

During the sermon this past weekend, our pastor was recounting the scene in Dead Man Walking when Sister Helen Prejean (Susan Sarandon) tells the convicted murderer/rapist (Sean Penn) whom she was counseling spiritually, "You are a son of God" and he responds with a bit of a laugh, "I've been called a son of a you-know-what plenty of times, but I've never been called a son of God."

Son #1, who just turned eight, turned to me and whispered, "I bet he's been called a son of a bitch."

Hmmm. Well, at least he was listening.

Could You Keep It Down Up There?

Whispered in church, with a tone of annoyance, earlier today:

Son #2: "I'm trying to fall asleep but Pastor Rob is talking way too loud."

Mommy's Alright

Recap of a conversation with Son #1 after picking him up from Sunday school at church a few weeks ago.

“Mama, did you enjoy the sermon today?”

“Yes, it was about surrender.”

“Pastor Rob talked about Cheap Trick??”

Please Just Go Away

Last year I had a "stalker" who worked in my building and attended my church and was causing significant angst in my life. He finally left me alone, after I told him to stop contacting me, but then called again yesterday out of the blue. I had my coworker tell him I couldn't come to the phone. But then I was disturbed about it all last night.

I was trying to piece together in my head when the relationship turned (in my brain, at least) from avuncular to creepy.

Was it when:

• He began putting flowers on my windowsill outside (because he told the window washers to chop down my rose bush and I got pissed)?
  
• He invited me to dinner parties at his apartment and encouraged me to bring my girlfriends (v. my husband)? (Why, may I ask, would any of us be interested in that??)
  
• He asked me if I had any single friends -- and when I told him he was old enough to be their father, he shared that he only liked younger women?
  
• He began acting surprised to see me at church (when I sit in the same basic spot week-on-week)? "Oh hi! What are you doing here?" WTF?
  
• He began telling complete strangers at church that he was helping me through marriage issues (puhlease)?
  
• He began sitting next to me in church, crying and telling me how lonely he was?
  
• He lured me into the boiler room before Mother's Day to give me flowers -- and he had approximately 12 other bouquets to give to other prey (ew)?
  
• I heard he got fired due to the lady across the hall telling the management company that she was getting a restraining order?
  
• I received an e-card after I told him to stop contacting me?

I kept telling him that he needed counseling and he insisted that he didn't. The final straw came when he told me that he was getting involved in women's abortion counseling. OMG! Talk about preying on women at their weakest moments. My girlfriends and I finally told the church leaders what we felt was going on. Needless to say, after being confronted, he shifted churches.

So, why is he calling me now? Last night, I was praying for help to know what to say if a) he calls back and b) I pick up. It's like the old saying, "don't go away mad; just go away."

Then my freakish brain begins to wonder if there is any real danger or if I'm perhaps overreacting . . .