Lenta e Calma

The things that give comfort and joy can be so strange at times. I was searching for something else when I came across a new CD that was released at the beginning of the year. On of the songs on the CD is a lullaby that I used to sing to my son at night which is a version of a hymn which we used to sing after Benediction at my home parish.

Finding this song made me so happy because it flooded my mind with so many happy memories of when my son was very small as well as the very beginning of my parish ministry, nearly 18 years ago.




Fr. Manzotti's version
Translation by Domini Sumus

Slow and calm over the earth
Night descends and light escapes
Now I want to say goodbye
Good night, my Jesus

O Lord, give us the blessing
against the evil that seduces
Guard my parents and I
Good night, my Jesus

At thy feet, O Virgin pure,
I ask for you motherly blessing
Good night, dear mother,
Good night my Jesus

The traditional version we sang after Benediction:
Translation by Domini Sumus

Slow and calm on the earth
Night descends; the light escapes
Now I want to say goodbye
Good night, my Jesus.

Silent in the tabernacle,
The rosy flame flickers
And gentle angels sing:
Good night, my Jesus.

My heart I wish you were
A sanctuary lamp
Because then I would not say:
Good night, my Jesus.

And you, O Virgin Mary
Give us your blessing too.
Watch over us tonight:
Good night, my mother.

The Dignity of the Priesthood

One of the things which I always noticed about my dear spiritual Father were his hands. My first reaction, when I was very young, was fear. They were huge, far larger than the hands of a man of his stature are ordinarily, but I soon came to realize that they were gentle. As I got to know him better, I came to see that they were not a source of fear, but that they were a conduit a grace and peace as I watched those hands bring Christ to people and people to Christ. They were used for the extraordinary as well as the mundane. The hands which brought the Eucharist and anointed the sick also washed dishes and dug in the garden. As his body grew weak, those hands were used more and more to steady himself. The hands which had given me every Sacrament grew bruised from injury, illness, and medical procedures, but even in his last days he used them to bring Christ to others. Finally, I saw those consecrated hands for the last time as they lay still: holding the rosary which he had prayed so often.

Today would have been my dear friend's 53rd anniversary of ordination to the priesthood. At his 50th anniversary the poem, "The Beautiful Hands of a Priest" was read and I would like to share it here.

The Beautiful Hands of a Priest

We need them in life's early morning,

we need them again at its close;

We feel their warm clasp of friendship,

we seek them when tasting life's woes.
At the altar each day we behold them,

and the hands of a king on his throne

Are not equal to them in their

greatness; their dignity stands all alone;

And when we are tempted and wander

to pathways of shame and sin,

It's the hand of a priest that will absolve

us----not once, but again and again;

And when we are taking life's partner,

other hands may prepare us a feast,

But the hand that will bless and unite

us is the beautiful hand of a priest.

God bless them and keep them all holy

For the Host which their fingers caress;

When can a poor sinner do better than

to ask Him to guide thee and bless?

When the hour of death comes upon us

may our courage and strength be increased.

By seeing raised over us in anointing the

beautiful hands of a priest!

Over the last week, I have come to realize that I love priests because I love Father, I love Father because I love Christ, and I love Christ because Father made him present to me.

It would seem impossible that anyone who claims to be a good Catholic could look at the funeral of a priest as an occasion to show disdain, but that is exactly what happened and it pained me greatly because of the disrespect it showed not only to this priest, but to all priests. The reason: Ordinary Form vs. Extraordinary Form. It was only one person, but it was a person who claims to love Christ and His Church, but who entered the Church during the wake clearly because he was forced to by his parents. See, he believes in the Extraordinary Form only. He looked at the body of the man, the whom he claims fed him politically correct fluff and was responsible for his poor catechesis as a child, and the priests in attendance with disgust - as though he thought himself superior to the clergy (who in his mind are clearly heterodox, if not heretics).

This man was young when Father left our parish, so it is likely that he never realized, or at least does not remember, the orthodoxy and fearlessness with which this priest preached the faith. He does not remember the fiddleback chasubles which, until I left my home parish, I thought were used at every church. He was unaware of the devotion with which which Father celebrated the Sacraments, his faithfulness and fidelity to his priestly commitment, his unwillingness to mess with the prayers of the Mass, and the self-empyting sacrifices he made for his parishioners, and his lifelong vocation which began when Father was a very young child. Instead, he only remembers the Charismatic Masses, the willingness to let his parochial vicars experiment with the "latest fads" which were sure to engage the young people (most of which would cause Father to roll his eyes as he declared them as insipid), and his deep desire to engage the laity in parish ministry and the life of the Church. I have heard many traditionally minded Catholics describe Father as being soft. "He should have been tougher", "he should have refused Sacraments to those he deemed unworthy", "he should have put his foot down unweildingly and made it clear that he didn't care what his parishioners thought" - "he should have made it clear that he was the boss."

There were times when he did all those things, but for the most part, he was a priest of gentleness and compassion. A good shepherd, who loathed needing to be harsh, and always sought to be the gentle, welcoming face of Christ. He always saw every person who came to the Church for assistance as a soul to be welcomed and loved and he truly believed that love and compassion would draw that person to Christ far better than a harsh rebuke - the rebukes were saved for other times.

Father was raised and ordained in what is now called the Extraordinary Form and celebrated the Sacraments for the first decade of his priesthood in that manner. He would often speak about both the beauty and the imperfections of the Traditional Latin Mass as well the excitement and confusion that surrounded Vatican II. He would never be called a traditionalist, but he was happy to see the Church returning to so much of what had fallen by the wayside after Vatican II. In his last years, we spoke often about his theological opinions and even after knowing him for so many years, I was often surprised by his traditional views which I did not know he held as well as the progressive views he held. Through these conversations, I came to see where a many of my own opinions came from and why people always fail when they try to fit me into their stereotypical theological box.

You don't have to agree with everything a priest does and says, and there are often plenty of times when criticism is warranted, but we must never lose sight of the innate dignity of the character of the priesthood which is present on the soul of every priest and always show honor to the priest. As St. John Chrystostom wrote "he who honors a priest, honors Christ, and he who insults a priest, insults Christ." 

“What a priest unites in himself is what tears him apart. At every moment of his life he must answer two callings and entirely satisfy each of them without ever sacrificing either . . .. Transcendent yet incarnate; here is that same fundamental dualism which . . . constitutes the mystery of the Church and the paradox of Christian humanism.”

Cardinal Suhard

I have known faithful priests and unfaithful priests, orthodox priests and heterodox priests, priests who are liturgical masters and priests who are liturgical nightmares, but one thing always remains: they are deserving of respect because of their priesthood. We should pray for them all, offer support to the good and faithful, and offer direction to the troubled. We must be patient and forgiving of their failings, even when they anger us and never place ourselves in the position as the judge of their souls always remembering that they are consecrated to God and the Sacraments come to us through their hands. Although there are a few who are truly bad, the vast majority are good men who are doing the best they can with what they have to work with in their own human fraility.

I will leave you with this quote:  

"You must never forget that priests are, and that they remain, men.

God does not perform a miracle to wrest them from the human state.

The priesthood does not of itself give a person the power to do everything or to excel in everything. It is important to remember this lest you fall into a very old error . . . that of dehumanizing the priesthood and consequently of setting the priest outside of ordinary life.

That does great harm for by thus isolating him, as unbelievers do, to the exclusive realm of ceremonies . . . he is deprived in good part of his reason for being. If men refuse to pass through him, he no longer can be, at least fully, their mediator."
Cardinal Suhard


 Jesus, Savior of the world, sanctify Thy priests and sacred ministers.

Mourning With Abandon

One of the benefits of being Portuguese is the ability to grieve with abandon. It is commonly accepted and even expected. This grief does not cause shame on the mourner or an uncomfortable feeling in those nearby as they look for a quick exit. Rather, it draws the onlookers to compassion as they approach and offer comfort. It is reflected in the culture and particularly in the music.



Here is a translation of the lyrics to the fado song “Grito”(The Scream) which is posted above

Silence!
From the silence, I make a scream
All of my body hurts
Let me cry a little.

From shadow to shadow
There is a heaven…it’s so collected
From shadow to shadow
I have lost my direction

Oh sky!
Here I am without the light
Here I am wiithout a star
I cry more

When I try to follow it
And I,
whom the sun has forgotten
the one the world has lost

I only cry now
Because the dead no longer cry
Loneliness!
Even this is always with me

Always as my companion
A deep bitterness
Oh loneliness,
you, who were scorpion

Oh loneliness,
You have bitten the head.
Goodbye
I have already gone far beyond this life already

From what I had already set
I am sorrowful shadow
Leaning against a wall.
Goodbye

Life which is so hard.
Come death which takes so long
Oh, how I hurt
the loneliness is like insanity.

These sentiments are very different from what I have seen at so many "American" funerals where grief is expected to be neat, clean and moderate. You know, the "grieving without smearing my mascara" where people tell you to "be strong" when you are really dying inside. To me, that feels so unnatural and even unhealthy because it is a denial of the truth. It also isolated the mourner and prevents him from getting the support which is so deeply needed.

One of the things that was the most comforting to me was that I was able to give into my grief at my dear friend's recent funeral was that I did not have to put on the “happy or brave or whatever face”, but I could drown myself in the moment without distraction and grieve freely. I will admit to breaking down into a wet ragdoll at the wake service as the casket was closed and several times during the funeral Mass only to find other mourners whom I knew, but were not as close to my friend as I gathered around me and literally giving me their shoulders to cry on. They understood the intensity of our friendship and so also understood the intensity of my grief.

Even a week later, although the pain is decreasing, it is far from gone. Healing takes time and we cannot force it to happen before it’s time, but this grief does not mean that I do not have faith or that I am despairing – it simply means that someone whom I loved is now missing from my earthly life and that causes a pain which is far more than a metaphor. It is the real physical pain of grief. A broken heart is called that because it perfectly describes the physical sensation which accompanies a great loss. This must not be denied.

The song does a good job of describing the feelings of deep and early grief. Those feelings and thoughts which rush to us in the silence - to the point where we want to be alone and quiet even though the silence draws out the pain. We walk in darkness and even though we know that heaven is waiting to recieve our loved ones, we are lost in the darkness and cannot see our way. We know we are in darkness and we are searching for the light. It can feel as though the world has abandoned us and God has forgotten us because we cannot see beyond our own grief. The lonliness never goes away and even when we appear to be going about as usual, the pain and the anger remain. The poison flows through us like the bite of a scorpion and we can lose sight of hope. We long to be with our loved ones again and for the pain to cease and it can truly feel as though we are losing our minds.

However, as Catholics, the story does not end there. As the Scriptures tell us, “We do not want you to be unaware, brothers, about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose, so too will God, through Jesus, bring with him those who have fallen asleep” (Thess 4:13-14). This hope allows for the time of grief described in the song to pass and for healing to begin. I know that I will see my friend again and we will always have a deep and abiding connection because I will pray for him always and I know that he will be watching out for me from Heaven just as he always did on earth. Even so, a piece of me will be missing until we are together with God.

Lord, Teach Me to Pray

We each have our own difficulties and struggles in our faith lives that we are usually loathe to share with others. This is doubly hard for people who work in parishes because we cannot burden those who come to us for help with our own struggles, but there are times when it is appropriate and helpful to share at least some of our own journey. Too often people look at us and think that we have it “all sewn up” and we have the ideal relationship with God. Well, let me tell you - Yeah right. I wish I had the perfect relationship with God, but I don’t.

My spiritual director hears all about my struggles and he gives me very good advice that I generally then struggle to follow. It helps, but I have found that there is more to it than good advice and a personal desire to overcome them.

For many years my struggle has been with prayer. Yes, I would talk with God randomly during the day and offer short aspirations, but I struggled to make consistent time to pray. When I did make the time, I struggled through prayer. I wanted to pray and I knew I should pray but I had little attraction to formal prayer outside of the Mass and sadly, often even during the Mass. This struggle is rooted in a far deeper problem with has long been overcome, thanks to the above mentioned amazing spiritual director who suggested the aspirations. I tried various forms of prayer and some worked better than others, but none really engaged me. Of all the types of prayer that I had previously loved, the rosary was the one that held the least attraction,

Through this, I have personally learned that the ability to pray is a gift. As someone who used to devote large portions of time to prayer, suddenly being unable to pray was a devastating blow, but it was also a necessary one. I knew the importance of prayer; I knew that we cannot get by with a superficial prayer life; I knew that I needed to make the time, but none of that helped.

As I wrote earlier this week, my priest mentor passed away one week ago today. He taught me the importance of prayer and he taught me how to pray. How to really pray: not just say the words, but how to put your heart into prayer and reach out to Jesus. As I was getting ready to go to his wake I felt a longing that I hadn’t felt in many, many years. I went to my desk drawer and pulled out my rosary.. I didn’t know why I was doing it, but I knew I couldn’t leave the house without it. When I worked with Fr. C, we used to pray the rosary together every day and I loved it. Oddly enough when I got to the church there was a priest leading the rosary. Of course, I joined in. The next morning I again took my rosary with me. I struggled to pray it before Mass only this time it wasn’t dryness that was keeping me from praying it was grief and tears. It took me an entire hour to pray five decades but I did it. Still, for the first time in years I was not forcing myself to pray.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to the church during Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and I again prayed the rosary without any struggle and I prayed it again this morning. I plan to continue this every day and I hope it becomes a permanent part of my prayer life.

In Fr. C’s last weeks he, who always had an inspirational prayer life found himself unable to pray because of pain and illness and he fell back on short aspirations. “My Lord and my God” was the act of faith which he repeated over and over again in his last days and they were the words on his lips as he slipped away.

Looking at all this I have come to the conclusion that this experience was necessary. Fr. C. was able to fall back on those short aspirations because they had been a part of his life for so many years that they came naturally to him. He had taught many of them to me, but I never found much value in them until I found myself unable to pray. Now I see clearly how important they are. We will not always be able to pray as we may wish to for many reasons and when our bodies are breaking down and we are too weak, whether it be physically, spiritually, or mentally, if these short prayers are engrained in our minds they will get us through our darkest times.

I owe much gratitude to Fr. C and to God for this one last gift and lesson. I am sure that as time passes I will come to realize the value of so much more that he taught me and life puts it into a deeper context.

Halfway There

I have finished my second year of college. When I first started it seemed like it was going to take forever. It didn't help that everyone in one of my first courses was a senior. Listening to them talk about graduation just made it feel like an endless process.

Now, here I am half way through. There is something about the halfway point that makes it seem like the end is coming too quickly. I am starting to check out grad schools and will be taking the GRE in just about a year. Wow!

I have two weeks off before I get back to school because I take summer classes, but I get the entire month of August off. I plan to spend the next two weeks reading things I actually want to read. So far, I have read two chapters of Archbishop Piero Marini's latest book, A Challenging Reform.

My Papal Mass Experience - The Mass

Part 2 is available here.

The music began and the Cardinals began to process to the altar. The music was spectacular!

The Cardinals in Procession (The first three are DiNardo, O'Malley and Rigali)

If you look very closely, you will be able to see Pope Benedict's miter and staff next to the black wall.

Incensing the Book of the Gospels. The candles which were held at the ambo are visible.

The homily

The Mass was beautiful even though we were watching it on TV. At seemingly every opportunity those seated in the front of the stadium erupted into cheers of Be-ne-dic-to! There was an exceptionally excited group in the upper left level. Before Mass, they had been doing the wave. The bleachers were very quiet.

Communion in my area went very slowly. We were instructed to descend from the top down and to go to the left, down the stairs, through the corridor, around through the inside and back to our seats. It was not even close to the way the video explained it. By the time the Holy Father gave the final blessing only the people in the upper 8 rows had received the Eucharist. I was in the 5th row from the bottom. For some reason, we did not receive Communion.

After Mass, the Holy Father returned to the Popemobile and finally the electric energy returned to the bleachers. We were going to get to see him. The people went to the lower area in order to get a better view, since the wall was higher than the Popemobile. The NYPD in my section did not like that and ordered everyone to return to their seats, although the people in other areas were not ordered to move. The people returned to their seats, but because the group in front of me was refusing to move and was preventing my return to my seat, I was stuck there. The police were getting very testy and I thought someone was going to get arrested. Finally, someone in charge said we could stay at the wall.

Finally he came to my area.

People were screaming and waving the white and yellow handkerchiefs.

Bye-bye Papa!

The Mass was beautiful, the music was perfect, the homily was awesome. I have since watched the Mass online and we definitely missed out on so much beauty. I know that planning a Mass like this is a huge responsibility, but I hope those who have this responsibility in the future will take care to ensure that the people in the back get as beautiful a view as those in the front. Also, I hope they will realize that even looking at the Holy Father's back from a distance is more exciting than looking at a TV and knowing that the TV is blocking our view. I and those sitting near me would have not minded watching Pope Benedict celebrate Mass ad orientum. It would have created a much more prayerful environment and a sense that we were actually at Mass.

While watching the video I discovered that the Vicar General of the Archdiocese of Boston was severely reprimanded by the Secret Service for reaching out to the Holy Father and it even appeared the Pope Benedict, himself, was slapped by an agent. Bishops who reached out to shake hands with the Holy Father did not fare much better. I found security to be far too harsh. I know they had the best of intentions, but I doubt the Pope needs to be protected from his own bishops.

To those who think I am just bitter and ungrateful, I am not. I am delighted to have been there. It was a momentous and spectacular day that I am grateful to have been a part of. I simply think that everyone should have been given equal consideration. This was my 5th time seeing Pope Benedict (I was exceptionally close all 4 previous times); but for most of the people there, this was their first and likely only opportunity. A police officer told me that only 1/3 of the people in the stadium could see the altar. I don't know why the sanctuary was set up the way that it was, but there must have been a better option.

To those who have to plan Masses like this in the future: remember the folks in the cheap seats too! We don't mind facing the same way as the celebrant.

So, after all that, what was the best part of the Mass? For me, it was seeing the Holy Father and being united with Catholics of all ages and walks of life from all over the country. The theme of this Apostolic visit was Christ our Hope and my hope was definately renewed by the large numbers of young seminarians, priests, and sisters, as well as the large numbers of young laity. The church is alive, even if it is not obvious in your own parish.

Photos by Domini Sumus

My Papal Mass Experience - The Concert of Hope

Part 1 can be found here.

Ronan Tynan

By the time we reached our seats, a good portion of the Concert of Hope was already over. Although the concert sounded great on TV, the loud songs did not sound as good in person. I wish the songs would have played more of a role in preparing us for Holy Mass, but it was still awesome to hear so many musicians I admire.

Jose Feliciano

The paper birds were pretty at first

The real birds were better

Security was in full force.

When the concert was over, we waited for the Holy Father. The excitement was electric. We waited for the popemobile to emerge and finally...Papa!

As he made his way around the stadium we expected that he would make a complete lap so everyone would be able to see him up close, but he stopped in front of the altar and went into the locker room to prepare for Mass. Many of the people seated in my area began to grumble because they had been unable to even see him.

Photos by Domini Sumus

My Papal Mass Experience - Arriving

After only three hours sleep, at 5 am, I headed to the parking lot where I was to meet the bus. I checked in with the bus captain and boarded the large charter coach bus. There were three buses, and 137 pilgrims traveling from my diocese (My diocese recieved 100 tickets, but the Archdiocese of Boston graciously provided 37 extra tickets). We left for New York promptly at 6 am and I finished up on my sleep.

Around 10 am we were treated to the video Inside the Vatican. It was an appropriate foreward to the Papal Mass. As we approached Yankee Stadium it became apparent that we were at the end of a long stream of buses. It took half an hour to reach the parking lot and get off the bus. It was now 11 am. No problem! We still have an hour to get in the stadium, right!

We walked from the bus to the skybridge that lead to the stadium. Along the way volunteers were offering pilgrims free bottles of water and police officers reminded us to have our tickets out for a spot check. I was waved through with no problem.

As I climbed the stairs to the skybridge, I saw a simple sign on the stadium announcing the Pope's arrival. There were so many people in front of us that at times I wondered if the stairs and bridge would be able to support all the weight. I didn't need to worry. We crossed the bridge with no problems and I saw the mob of people. A police officer checked my ticket and told me which gate to enter (there would be fewer people there, she said). I walked to the gate and after half an hour I finally reached the gate. As I handed my camera and purse to the Secret Service another Secret Service agent barked, "Bleacher tickets will not be accepted at this gate!". What! I just waited in line for half an hour and now you tell me! I had asked before getting into line if this was the right line and I was assured that it was. I pleaded my case, but it was futile.

Now I only had 15 minutes to get into the stadium before the doors would be closed. I kept thinking about the other diocesan pilgrimages where pilgrims had been left disappointed. (My diocese has a poor record for getting pilgrims into events. Pilgrims to World Youth Day in Toronto never made it into the Papal Mass, Pilgrims to the Consistory in 2006 missed both the reception at the North American College and Cardinal O'Malley's Mass of Thanksgiving.) I got into the line that the Secret Service instructed me to enter. The line was huge, but my Portuguese heritage and my Roman experience taught me a lot about dealing with lines. Yes, I cut in front of several hundred people. To them, I apologize. I trust that if you had just spent half an hour in a line only to be told that the person who told you it was the right line was wrong, you would understand. ;-)

After having my purse and camera bag emptied and searched, I passed through the Secret Service check and entered the stadium around 12:05. I recieved a package containing an issue of Catholic Digest, the Gospel of John, an issue of NY Priest, a poncho, and a white handkerchief. I could hear the music from the Concert of Hope through the speakers. Now, where were the bleacher.

I couldn't find the bleachers anywhere, but as I looked through the openings onto the field the sanctuary was beautiful! I had to get a program from another entrance because we weren't given them at my entrance, actually the same entrance I had originally tried to enter. Yes, I had to pass that entrance to get to my seat. Makes sense, right? I finally found my seat and what a disappointment. I couldn't see a thing.

Part 2 can he found here.

Photos by Domini Sumus

A Mother, A Father, and an Unborn Baby

As I am sure you all know, today is the 35th anniversary of the tragedy called Roe vs. Wade. I will commemorate the anniversary here by telling my story.

4 years ago, on January 13th I got wonderful news. After many years of infertility, my husband and I were going to have a baby. Our joy was indescribable, but like the road to conception, the path of this pregnancy would take us through trials I never imagined.

My first ultrasound was scheduled for February 3rd. I had no idea what to expect, but I didn't think I would see much on the little screen. I was wrong! Only 4 week and 4 days after conception, the ultrasound tech pointed out all the parts of this tiny human, arms, legs, face, heart. I watched arms and legs move and saw a tiny heart beating and pumping blood though this beautiful human being. My husband and I were in awe and when we got into the car he began to cry. I asked him why and his response was, "It's a baby. How can anyone have an abortion and kill a little baby like that". We sat in the car together and wept for all the children like the one growing within me that the world has lost. It didn't take much to see that it was a baby.

A little over two weeks later, at 7 weeks after conception I had another ultrasound. This machine wasn't as good as the other machine, so the images weren't as clear, but it was still clear to my husband and I. This was a human! Still, I had no idea the twists and turns which were in store for me.

I refused most of the prenatal tests which I was pressured to allow because I didn't want to be placed in a position where I was tempted to make a decision that I didn't want to make. That may sound dumb, but I knew that if there was something wrong, I would be pressured by family, friends and society in general to abort. To me not having to make the decision meant I couldn't make the wrong choice. Despite my best efforts, God had other plans.

17 weeks after conception, I had another ultrasound. This time there was no doubt. I watched him smile, purse his lips, and even scratch his head. This was when I discovered that this beautiful child was a boy. We named him immediately. A few days later we got devastating news: I needed to get a special ultrasound because there was a kidney deformity. I scheduled an appointment with the perinatologist and had another ultrasound. Once again I saw JP's beautiful features on the screen. Then we met with the doctor. He explained what was wrong and that it could correct itself or could be surgically repaired after birth, or even in utero if necessary. Then she began to tell us that this was a marker for Down Syndrome. She presented all sorts of statistics, then handed my pamphlets on abortion. "I'm going to step out while you decide what you want to do", she said. My husband and I just looked at each other, we both knew this baby was going to be born.

When the doctor returned we told her that we were not aborting. She said, "We can do it right now. You don't even have to come back. Let me explain to procedure to you and I'll give you a few more minutes." I said, "No, I am not getting an abortion". Then she said, Well, take the papers home, look them over, and call me back. Take your time, you don't have to decide today". My husband stood up, threw the pamphlets on the desk and said, "What part of this don't you get? No abortion! We already told you no. Don't ask us again. We aren't killing our baby!"

The doctor didn't get it because she repeated, "I understand that is how you feel now, but you can always change your mind." He said, "Don't worry we won't and we won't be back" and we stormed out of the office. The doctor and the staff seemed puzzled. I wondered how many people they had pressured into abortions they didn't want to have.

The craziest part of the story is that there was only a 5% chance of Down Syndrome. 5% chance! That means there was a 95% chance of everything being just fine.

JP was born 18 weeks later, and he was very sick. However, it didn't have anything to do with either Down Syndrome or his kidneys. It turned out that he had neither problem. JP was very sick because an overdose of Pitocin which was given to speed labor. JP was born without a heartbeat. The doctors worked frantically to resuscitate him. Ironic that they used the word resuscitation because that implies admission that he had been alive prior to birth. There was no ontological change which occurred during the birth process except the change from alive to dead and alive again. It was a traumatic week as I watched this little boy suffer attached to machines which kept him alive, countless tests, and simply being separated from him.

He survived everything without any damage. He is a beautiful, perfect, intelligent three year old who is sitting next to me right now trying to add to this post. I could have missed out on playing with trucks, sloppy kisses, tight hugs, and muddy shoes if I had listened to that doctor who was completely wrong both morally and medically.

Thankgiving

I finished most of my Thanksgiving preparations, a few minutes ago. The dressing, potatoes, and squash are done; the turkey is brining; the house is clean. In the middle of making the dressing, using my grandmother's secret recipe I realized what I am thankful for, in addition to God's loving providence, my husband, and my wonderful son: the woman who taught me how to cook.

I am thankful that I had such wonderful grandparents, who taught me about what really matters in life. I have written in the past about my maternal grandmother, but I have never written about my paternal grandmother. She went to her eternal reward 3 1/2 years ago. While my maternal grandmother taught me about spirituality, my paternal grandmother taught me about the Christian life.

Her grandfather was a Portuguese count, who banished his adulterous son for his indiscretions. He and his wife moved to the United States and my grandmother was born in the beginning of the 20th century, in a small apartment in Fall River. It was a long way from the comforts of the palace, but little changed. Her mother died when my grandmother was a toddler, and her father remarried quickly. Two more children were born and my grandmother was treated much like Cinderella is the old fairy-tale. When she became a teenager, she asked permission to move to Portugal to live with her grandparents and aunt. By this time, the Portuguese revolution had already taken place and her grandparents had lost the palace and their titles.

She loved her life in Portugal and met a young man, who was from a family of bakers. He was just one of several young men who would to serenade her from beneath her window, but he was different. He was a homebody. He went to work, went to church, and didn't hang out at the local cervejaria (bar). They married and had four children, the second of which was my father. Then WWII broke out and her husband urged her to return to America with their children. They left Portugal in 1944. It was a difficult decision because he would not be allowed to come with them. She would be on her own with four small children, one only an infant.

She waited in America until the end of the war. My grandfather arrived around 1947 and their family was finally reunited. Soon after, they had another child. Their youngest daughter was only a teenager when my grandfather passed away in 1963. After my grandfather's death, my grandmother moved into a housing project in New Bedford. She watched the neighborhood change many times, but she refused to leave. By the time I was born, it had become one of the worst projects in the city, but it was her home.

She was a firm believer that the way to a person's heart was through their stomach, and would spend many hours cooking for the neighborhood children. Many of these children did not have parents they could depend on and my grandmother's apartment was always filled with these kids. She fed their stomachs, minds, and spirits, and even when they were grown they never forgot it. I remember being at my grandmother's one evening when there was a gang fight outside her window. We ducked under the dining room table in a attempt to avoid getting hit by a stray bullet. I was shocked when after the fight, several of the gang bangers knocked on my grandmother's door. She opened the door without a care in the world. They wanted to make sure "Grandma" was ok. She assured them she was fine, gave them a stern tongue lashing, and gave them some food.

Sometimes I would visit her and find that she was playing dominoes with some of the neighborhood teens. They knew enough to keep their gang colors in their pockets when they visited her. For a long time I wondered why they had such a connection, but I think I understand it now. She cared; she understood. Although she was in her 80's she had grown up without the love of her parents, just like them.

Eventually she was unable to live on her own and moved into the suburbs with my aunt. It was a battle to get her to leave. When she left, it was like a piece of her essence had been left behind. A few years later she moved into a nursing home. Dementia robbed her from us in a slow, painful process, but she always asked if I was cooking her recipes. I always lied and told her that I was. She was thrilled when she found out that JP was coming, but sadly died four months before his birth.

I was shocked to see so many of the kids she fed, at her funeral. Some of them had risen from their childhood struggles to become successful adults, and others followed in their parent's footsteps. All of them remembered the love of a little old Portuguese lady, who made great food and had a place at the table for everyone.

I am thankful that I had that wonderful woman in my life. She didn't only teach me to cook, she taught me to look beneath the surface and see the child of God hidden "in a distressing disguise", as Cardinal O'Malley likes to call it. She taught me to be unafraid to give of myself to everyone I meet. She taught me to be strong and independent.

Vavo, thanks for the recipes, but even more thanks for the recipe of life.
God, thanks for giving me so many wonderful sources of wisdom, guidance, and inspiration.

Finally...a break

I have nearly finished two essays on the Summa Theologiae. I only need to interpret a scripture passage according to two of the four senses of scripture and I will be finished.

It feels good to have it done and even better to realize that I think I may be climbing over the "Summa Wall", as my professor calls it.

St. Thomas Aquinas, pray for me.

Bad and Worse

There are two things I could be working on tonight. I could be writing my essay on Summa Theologiae 1 q.1 a.10, or working on lector and EMHC schedules.

The schedules are the part of my job that I hate the most. I chose to work on the schedules. What does that tell you.

For those who are wondering, the Aquinas course isn't going well.

Study and Fun

I am one of those weird people who loves school (except at the end of the semester when I can't wait for the course to be over). I am a bona-fide geek. I know that is hard to believe, but if I am ever lost, just look for me in the theology section of any local library (the library at school is probably you best bet).

One of the courses I am taking this semester is Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas. I am looking forward to this class immensely. It should be excellent. Three months studying the Summa Theologiae sounds like theological heaven. Of course, in two months I may be saying otherwise. Our textbook, Knowing the Love of Christ, looks like an orthodox one. It is written by two professors from Ave Maria University, Michael Dauphinais & Matthew Levering. I don't know anything about them, but the notes on the back of the book are from well respected theologians. Plus, is got a positive review from First Things, so I expect it to be good.

Since I begin Thomistics on Thursday, here is a little Aquinas humor.



Summa Theologica, I.3.9

Ninth Article

Is God made of soap?

We proceed thus to the Ninth Article:

Objection 1: It would seem that God is made of soap. For whatever is highest in a genus must be predicated of God. But the highest in the genus of cleanliness, which the Philosopher says is next to godliness, is soap.

Objection 2: Moreover, Scripture says, "Wash me, and I shall be clean indeed." But it belongs to soap to wash.

Objection 3: Furthermore, Dionysius says in On the Divine Names, "For the being of the Most High, being beyond Being, which is what is, can only be denied, as of foamy lather that surpasses even the most excellent conception." But the principle of foamy lather is soap, and where the effect is found, there must the principle be posited.

On the contrary is the opinion of Saint Augustine, who says, "I did wander long among vain fancies, thinking that thou wert as the soap that cleanseth all things, and that evil was a grimy blot on thy purity."

I answer that, 'Soap' can be said in two ways. In one way, soap is the material principle of cleanliness as such. But we have already shown that there is no material principle in God. Therefore, God is not made of soap. But in another way, 'soap' is said of whatever is highest in the order of efficient causes directed towards cleanliness secundum quid by an order that is less than formal with respect to the finality of an end, simply as such, without respect of quiddity in potentiality to the sensitive appetite. And in this sense all men say that God is made of soap, and that in the highest degree, as is plain from the definition.

Reply Obj. 1: Soap is not the highest in the genus of cleanliness, as the Saponians heretically maintain, but only in the genus of material ablutions, which is related to cleanliness in the way that principles of natural reason are related to the eternal law, as the Psalmist says, "How shall a young man cleanse his way? By keeping to your law."

Reply Obj. 2: Scripture also says, "I will wipe away every tear from their eyes." But soap is an efficient cause of tears, and not of their remotion. Therefore, God is not made of soap.

Reply Obj. 3: In this place Dionysius understands 'foamy lather' in accordance with the way of remotion, so that it implies only the lack of such qualities as are inconsistent with foamy lather, as shortness of duration and irritation to the skin.

Accepting Jesus Like a Little Child

My 2 year old son...ummm, he just corrected me...my 2 1/2 year old son (He's actually 2 and 9 months) has an attraction for all things Catholic. I don't know where it comes from, but I have a good idea that it might come from me and my husband.

Now, let me make it clear that we are not one of those families where the kids play with Jesus dolls and learn to count by counting rosaries and marian statues. I think we are incredibly normal. Probably more normal than we should be. However, because of my job and our faith, ecclesial matters are common topics for conversation, when the TV is on, it is usually tuned to EWTN, and my son falls asleep to Gregorian Chant while riding in the car. Ok, so we aren't as normal as I think we are.

Today, while in the car driving to a Chinese restaurant to pick up take-out, we passed the bishop's residence. My son immediately shouted out, "Is that the Chinese food place?" I said, "No, that is the Bishop's house". My son said, "Oh, someday I eat in there". Now, that might not seem funny, but to me it was hilarious because of the other comments my son has made.

When he was about 1 1/2 I took him to the Cathedral for a prayer service for vocations. At the end of the service he became enthralled with Cardinal O'Malley's old episcopal coat of arms, which is located in one of the stairways in the back of the cathedral. A priest asked him if he wanted one. My son exclaimed, "Yes!" The priest told him that he would have to be a bishop in order to get one. My son said, "Ok! Bishop has hat!".

For the longest time after that my son told everyone that he wanted to be a bishop. He has since downgraded his aspirations and now declares that he wants to be a priest.

Last weekend, at the procession, my son decided that watching the procession wasn't good enough for him. He wanted to walk in it with the priests. Unfortunately for him, they don't make cassocks in his size.

The day that filled me with the most joy was a few weeks ago. He is in a new bedroom and the crucifix that usually hangs in his bedroom wasn't hung yet because we wanted to get him a new one. As he laid in bed he said, "Mommy, I don't have a Jesus on the cross. I need a Jesus on the cross for my wall". I said, "Ok, we will get you one tomorrow". He said, "Ok, I need a picture of Mary and Jesus wearing red for my wall too". I assured him that he could have a picture for his wall too. The next day, we went to LaSallette Shrine and he picked out a crucifix. Then we set out to find the picture he was looking for. He looked and looked and didn't find anything he liked. Then, he saw a picture of the Sacred Heart and Immaculate Heart and said, "That's it! Jesus and Mary wearing red!" So, we got the picture for him too. He hung it on his wall and that night told me that he had to pray to Jesus. All by himself, he knelt in front of his crucifix and asked me to help him pray. Now, he does it all by himself and recites the simple prayers I taught him.

I don't know if all this means something or if he is just picking up on our faith, but it makes me so happy. I hope this love which is burning within him never dies.

Rome - The Post List

Update - (April 5th)
The Rome Postings will resume after the Triduum.

Special thanks to Amy Welborn for posting about this series.

Day One - The Flight
Day Two - The Audience
Day Three - Touring Rome
Day Four - The Consistory
Day Four - The Apostolic Palace

Fr. Richard Beaulieu 1946-2007

There have been many priests who have helped me become the person I am today. Each of these priests holds a special place in my heart. One of these priests was Fr. Richard Beaulieu. Fr. Beaulieu was one of those priests who would go out of his way for his parishioners and even for those who were not his parishioners.

Although I was never a parishioner at a parish where he served, Fr. Beaulieu and I spent many hours talking about Church, vocations, other ecclesial topics, and just being friends. While his life was far from problem free, he always did his best to serve his parish and the universal Church.

Please remember him, as well as his family and friends in your prayers.

Rev. Richard W. Beaulieu, 60, of Bourne, died Tuesday, March 27, 2007, unexpectedly, while on vacation. He was the son of Florence (Goulet) Beaulieu of Acushnet and the late Octave Beaulieu.
He was born in Acushnet and was living on Cape Cod. He graduated from St. Anthony High School and attended Providence College, St. Thomas Seminary and St. John Seminary and obtained his Master's Degree from Boston College.
He was ordained at St. Mary's Cathedral, Fall River on May 22, 1971, by Bishop Daniel A. Cronin. His assignments were 1971-1977 as Parochial Vicar at St. Jacques Parish, Taunton and Chaplain of Coyle-Cassidy High School, Taunton; 1977-1981 he was Principal of Coyle-Cassidy High School; 1982-1985 he was Parochial Vicar at St. Louis de France Parish, Swansea; 1985-1996 he was Diocesan Director of Education; 1990-2001 he was Pastor of St. Patrick Parish, Fall River; Notre Dame Parish, Fall River; and St. Francis Xavier Parish, Acushnet. Father Beaulieu also served as an Advocate, Notary and Judge of the Diocesan Tribunal. In lieu of flowers donations may be made to St. Mary Education Fund, PO Box 1470, Fall River, MA 02722.
Survivors include his mother; three sisters, Susan Y. Garman and her husband, Gary of New Bedford; Diane C. Sweet and her husband, Mark of Acushnet; Anne M. Giammalvo and her husband, Larry of Wareham; nine nieces and nephews; seven great nieces and nephews; many aunts, uncles and cousins. He was the brother of the late Vivian Johns.
Fr. Beaulieu will lie in state at St. Francis Xavier Church, Acushnet on Monday from 2-4 and 6-8 PM with a Wake Service at 7:30 PM. His Funeral Mass will be on Tuesday at 11 AM followed by interment at Sacred Heart Cemetery.
Arrangements by Rock Funeral Home.

Source

Rome - Day Four - The Consistory

This post is giving me nothing but problems. I have attempted to post it 6 times. One time it worked but without all the pictures. Then I tried to fix it and ended up losing everything so I have to start all over again. I am frustrated.

Friday, March 24, 2006 was the day of the consistory and the surrounding receptions. It was absolutely exhausted, and exhilirating all at the same time.

Our day started early this morning at 5 am. Thankfully, the clothes that we sent to the laundry to be pressed came back perfect. We tried to get washed and ready in the incredibly small bathroom and "cell". We kept tripping over each other.

Piazza Sant' Ufficio

Somehow we did get ready and by 6:30 we were having breakfast. At 7 I looked out the window and saw that people were already beginning to line up to for the consistory. So, we left the hotel and joined the 40-50 people who were waiting in line. As we waited we watched the people who work in the Vatican coming to work through the Piazza Sant' Ufficio and the various delivery trucks coming to make their deliveries. The Americans who were in line were fascinated to see a Coca-Cola truck delivering to the Vatican. We were all freezing cold and hoping that it wouldn't rain. The skies were threatening and there were occasional rumbles of thunder. Fortunately, the rain held off until the consistory ended. Then the downpour began.

Within 20 minutes the line of 50 had become a massive crowd of several thousand which kept growing.

The barricade was opened at 8:30 and we were sent through security. We walked though metal detectors and our bags were x-rayed. People started pushing and running to get ahead, but the Swiss Guard and Vatican Police put a stop to that. Several guards called out to people, "Remember you ARE in church!" Some people who tried to force their way to good seats were detained by the guards and made to wait a few minutes.

We found some excellent seats in the middle of the first row. We were right next to the television camera. In the section in front of us, there were a few rows reserved for the cardinal’s families and visiting heads of state.

Archbishop Marini rehearsing with the servers

The square was buzzing with activity as gardeners made last minute changes to flowers. They even laid sod. Altar servers rehearsed under Archbishop Marini’s careful direction. Microphones were tested, furniture was repositioned and red hats were counted.

The Cardinals-elect

The choir stood against the wall of St. Peter’s and was almost not able to be seen. The monsignori sat on the left, behind the Holy Father. The Cardinals were in front of them and the bishops were in front of them sitting slightly askew.
The Gentlemen of the Vatican and their wives sat on the right along with more bishops.

Cardinal-Elect O'Malley

The new cardinals processed from the Apostolic Palace to the sagrato of the basilica. Seeing Bishop Sean in his cardinatial robes was such a moving experience brought me to tears. Literally tears of joy. He sat on the sagrato, directly in front of us. I was surprised when he noticed us and waved.

Pope Benedict walking to his chair

It wasn't long before Pope Benedict appeared in procession from the central doors of the basilica. The organ and choir sounded beautiful. Actually, the entire liturgy was spectacular.

The moment!

The new cardinal

One of the moments which caused a outpouring of emotion was when Cardinal Dery, from Ghana, was carried up the steps to the pope in his wheelchair. Pope Benedict rose, leaned down and embraced him. It was a loving, tender gesture of love and respect towards the 87 year old cardinal which got a huge "Awwww!" from the congregation.

After the liturgy, we left the square along with the massive crowd. We returned quickly to our hotel for a few minutes then headed to the Pontifical North American College. It was a short walk through a tunnel, a parking garage and a hill. Once we got to the PNAC we were surrounded by familiar faces. It was nice to see so many people from the Diocese of Fall River. There were also many people from the Archdiocese of Washington, where Cardinal O'Malley served as a priest for many years, and from the Diocese of Palm Beach.

The reception was in honor of both Cardinal O'Malley and Cardinal Levada, so there were many people from the Archdiocese of San Francisco. Several of the people at our table were from San Francisco and three others were theology students at the Angelicum. Since it is a Friday of Lent, lunch was eggs every which way and pasta.

William Cardinal Levada

After we ate, we joined the lines to greet both Cardinal O'Malley and Cardinal Levada. I must admit to being nervous to speak with the successor of Cardinal Ratzinger. However, he was very nice. I don't know what I was afraid of. It's not like I have never talked with a cardinal before, but it is the first time I have talked with anyone who works so closely with the pope.

Photos by Domini Sumus

Rome - Day Three - Touring the City

Thursday, March 23, 2006 was the only completely free day we had in Rome. There was some event planned for all the other days. We spent this day exploring the beautiful city and some of it's many churches.

Today has been a very interesting day. We have learned a lot. We woke up early this morning and went upstairs to the dining room for have breakfast. Our hotel is one of the few here which offers a full American style breakfast.

Soon after we sat down, we met a priest, Fr. T., from my diocese. He joined us for breakfast and we had a lovely time eating overcooked scrambled eggs, bacon, and red blood orange juice. We had such a great time that breakfast went on well after we had finished eating. It was well over an hour before we decided that we couldn't spend the whole day in the dining room.

Father asked us where we were headed for the day and we admitted that we didn't have a clue. He offered to take us on a tour of Rome. He knew exactly where he was going, or at least pretended to. We went to so many churches that I don't remember the names of them all. The only one that I remember was Santa Agnese. We also visited the Piazza Farnese and Piazza Navona.

We split at noon as Father had scheduled to have lunch with another priest from our diocese. We went to find, the clerical tailor, Gammarelli. In front of the shop, we met a group of seminarians from the North American College. One f these was from my diocese and a friend of my husband. We took some pictures together and talked briefly before they had to rush to their next class. He was very surprised and took some pictures with us. Afterwards, my husband and I went into Gammarelli to look for some gifts. After looking at many things, including the famous evangelists miter which was popular with so many popes (1,190.00 euro) , we made our selections.

Then we went for lunch because everything was closing for siesta. We found a little pizza place called La Sagrestia on Via Seminario. I got a pizza capriccia with sauce, cheese, prosciutto and mushrooms and peas. My husband had pizza margherita with sauce, cheese and basil. It was delicious.

After lunch we went to the Basilica of Our Lady of the Martyrs, better known as the Pantheon. It is amazing to think that that building is over 2,000 years old. It was built in 27 B.C. St. Peter probably walked right by it, if not St. Peter certainly saw it. I was quite surprised to see a painting where a pope or bishop is wearing the same style pallium as Pope Benedict wears.

As we were leaving we met up with Fr. T again. From there, the three of us went to see the church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva. The church doesn’t look like much from the outside but the interior is breathtaking. It was interesting to see the lines outside which mark the heights the city had flooded to.

As we were leaving it began to pour and then hail. We had to buy umbrellas from one of the many vendors in the square who we had rejected just a few minutes before. After visiting various church supply shops, we took a taxi back to our hotel.

When we got to our hotel, we met Archbishop Dolan from Milwaukee. We spoke with him for a few minutes. He is a delightful man with a great sense of humor. He sounds like a lot of fun to spend the day with. Archbishop Dolan is known to be rather conservative, despite what some people may think that doesn't mean he doesn't have a sense of humor.

At 6 pm, Fr. T, my husband and I went for dinner at Passegiata sul Borgo, better known as Roberto's. The restaurant is located on Borgo Pio, which is one of the main streets near the Vatican. The restaurant was empty when we arrived, but it didn’t take long for it to fill up. Most of the diners were clergy and their guests. I have never been in a restaurant before where there was at least one priest at each table. Actually, there were more priests and bishops there than lay people. There were even a few cardinals there. The food was great. I am getting used to the idea of a pasta course, a primi piatti (first course) and so on. We had pasta with meat and cream sauce, cannelloni, and for our main course veal. For dessert we had tartufo. It was all delicious. Dinner was very relaxed and took over 3 hours.

We will be waking up very early tomorrow morning to attend the consistory and the two receptions we have been invited to attend. I can’t wait!

Photos by Domini Sumus.

Rome - Day Two - The Audience

Here is the second installment of my Rome diary. Part one can be found here.

We arrived in Rome exactly one year ago today. On that day, I had a incredible encounter which helped change my view of so many things. I regret that it ever had to happen, but I am so grateful that it did. Here is what happened on my first day there.

After I finished my last entry into this travel log, I was able to sleep for about another hour. Since the girls who sat behind me apparently don't need sleep, I decided to read one of the two books I brought with me. I decided on Pope John Paul II's "Gift and Mystery". Although I have read it before, I thought it would be something good to meditate on sort of as a primer for the trip. It was even better this time.

Our plane landed at Leonardo DaVinci airport at 8 am. Once in the terminal, it was terrifying. We had no idea where we were going and those CD's that claimed to be able to teach me Italian in 7 days weren't helping me. We decided to follow a priest who had been on our place since he looked like he knew exactly where he was going. I hope that he was going to baggage claim and not to a connecting flight.

Luckily he was going to baggage claim and once we got our bags we met our driver so he could take us to our hotel. Our driver took us on a terrifying ride to our hotel. He didn't follow any traffic laws. He drove on the sidewalk, in the wrong lane into oncoming traffic, he darted between cars and Vespas, and turned two lane streets into three lanes. I was convinced I would die in that car and I prayed to at least live long enough to see St. Peter's.

Because there had been a traffic accident on the highway, our driver took us to our hotel through a back way. All the streets were quite dirty and decrepit. It was obvious that these were the slums of Rome. Between my prayers I told my husband, "If this is what Rome looks like, don't expect to leave the hotel much".

However, once we reached the Via della Conciliazione the scenery became much more pleasant. We were also surprised by two familiar faces, Archbishop Sean O'Malley and his secretary, Fr. Brian Bachand. They were out shopping and enjoying the beautiful day.

I wept when I saw St. Peter's Basilica. There was something about seeing it in person that was so powerfully overwhelming. It immediately felt like home.

Rezidenza Paolo VI from inside St. Peter's Square
Our driver dropped us off at our hotel, Rezidenza Paolo VI, which is across the street from the Apostolic Palace, St. Peter's and the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (Holy Office). The building, which is located in the Extraterritorial Zone of Vatican City, used to be an Augustininan monastery and is it obvious by the size of the rooms. They are incredibly small, but I am not planning on spending much time in the room. Our room overlooks the courtyard of what is the current Augustinian monastery. Just down the hall, there is an awesome terrace with overlooks St. Peter's square. The view from there is amazing, but unfortunately, the outer portion is restricted.

As soon as we checked in, the desk clerk gave us two tickets for the Papal Audience. We took the tickets and headed up to our rooms to quickly freshen up and head across the street. We had less than 30 minutes.

I am embarrassed to say this, but I really didn't care much about the audience. At least, that is what I was telling myself. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to see Pope John Paul II. I had been offered an opportunity to go to WYD in Denver, but my parents didn't let me go. I was devastated. Here I was in Rome with tickets to see the Pope and it was the wrong Pope. Here is my confession. When Pope Benedict was elected, I cried and it wasn't out of joy. It was out of certainty that he was going to destroy the Church I love so deeply. I remember screaming, "NO! Anyone but him!" My opinion softened a bit after I decided to take his books which had been collecting dust in my library and actually read them. As I studied them, I realized that he wasn't who people made him out to be, but I still had my reservations about him. That is one of the things that made be decide to write a term paper about him.

I rationalized that going to the audience would be a good way to stay awake. I was right. The audience energized me. There were more people than I had ever seen in my life and they were all singing, chanting, cheering. It was incredible to see.

Although we arrived only minutes before the audience began, we were able to get a place right against the barricade. I don't know how it happened, but I am sure there was a very good reason.

Pope Benedict came in the square in his white Popemobile. He immediately came down the aisle where I was standing. He shook a few hands and kissed a few babies then he came closer to where I was. I raised my enormous camera to take a picture and he immediately looked right at me and smiled. I don't know if he did or not, but it was like he posed. Right after I took the picture the Popemobile stopped. I was too busy looking at the Pope to find out why. The woman to my left extended her hand and he clasped it. Then he reached out to me. I couldn't move. I just looked at him in shock.
I kept thinking, "Here he is. Right in front of me. The Successor to St. Peter, the Vicar of Christ is right in front of me and I am wearing the blue fleece sweatsuit I wore on the plane". It was then that I realized that, no, he wasn't John Paul, but he was my Pope and I was going to love him anyway. He smiled at me and shook the hand of the seminarian to my right.

After the audience we returned to the room to shower in our tiny shower. It is literally the smallest shower I have ever seen. There is barely room to turn around and I have to remove the shower head from the holder to use it. Even still, after all those hours, just taking a shower felt so good.

We headed back out at 2 to find the bronze doors. The guards made us stand in the line for the Basilica. There were thousands of people in the line and hundreds more, particularly those with tour guides cutting the line. In true Roman fashion, we able to shorten our wait time. After we got cleared through security we had to wait in a much shorter line. I was 4th in line.

It was an incredible feeling to enter the Apostolic Palace. The Swiss guard directed me to a small room on the right where a man checked my name off the list and gave me two white envelopes with my consistory tickets. Before I left, I asked the guard if I could take pictures of the staircase and he let me.

Since we had already been cleared by security, we decided to see the Basilica. What a beautiful church. The first thing we saw was the Pieta. It was so sad to see it behind glass. Even though it was so far away, it was still a thousand times more beautiful in person than in pictures.
We were also able to see the body of Pope Innocent XI as well as Blessed Pope John XXIII and Pope St. Pius X. Since Pope Pius X founded the Diocese of Fall River, it was special to see him and pray before his body.

I was surprised at how small the basilica is. Perhaps it just looks small because everything is so proportional, but I expected the distance from the door to the altar to be much longer.

Afterwards, we did some shopping and went to dinner at 7 at La Vittoria. The food was delicious. I had beef scaloppini limone and my husband had scaloppini marsala. We also had tortellini soup and bruschetta. We finished it up with tiramisu and cappuchinno. Yum! The waiter brought us limoncello afterwards. That was one strong drink, but it was so delicious.

As we were leaving the restaurant, Archbishop Sean was coming in with a Franciscan priest and Fr. Bachand. He looked so happy and relaxed. The most relaxed and happiest I have seen him in quite some time. We were able to talk with him for a few minutes before we headed back to our hotel and bed.

Right now it is almost 3 am here at 9 pm at home. We got to bed at 8:30. It is so strange to realized that it is 3 am here and only 9 pm at home. By the time people at home wake up, our day here is half over. I also find myself desiring to sit on the balcony, even at 3 am and just look at the Basilica.

Photos by Domini Sumus