Feast of St. Benedict

St. Benedict, who composed the Benedictine Rule in the 6th century began his vocation (after education in Rome) as a hermit (eremitic). Later he would found in Italy what would grow to be the Benedictine Order and the windmill of the monastic movement. He wrote in his Rule: "Whenever you begin any good work you should first of all make a most pressing appeal to Christ our Lord to bring it to perfection; that he, who has honored us by counting us among his children, may never be grieved by our evil deeds." And, also: "So we should at long last rouse ourselves, prompted by the words of Scripture: Now is the time to rouse ourselves from sleep.
And, later in his writing: "Let them put Christ before all else; and may He lead us to everlasting life."

Yes, St. Benedict means "us", too: let us put Christ before all else. This very exhortation has been my poor but heartfelt effort in living my life omnia pro Deo: all for God.

Already my quiet, unspoken efforts have brought strain among the two older Americanos here. One in particular wants to reform me to chatter, going shopping, knowing what they are discussing at dinner. She asks questions of my personal life, of my past, and tells me how I should be. This is a wonderful trial in which to learn patience; I attempt quiet and smiling as response. However, when the dinner conversation was interpreted in English, and I was told they were discussing "The Simpsons" and I was asked about it and if I watched, I honestly replied that I do not watch television. I tried to explain that it did not help my too-many distractions, as it is, that by not watching television I had more time for prayer and reading the too many books I have purchased and not read. She did not accept this. Rather, she said she needed to watch programs so that she knew what her children were exposed to. Didn't I have children? Well, yes, and I explain that when my children were young I made the attempt to monitor their programs, but more so, they were busy with sports, music, activity so as to not have that much time to watch television. Now, I explain, my adult children watch as they will and desire, but they know I do not watch; and when we are together our conversations have to be about something else altogether, which is a benefit, overall.

Then I am pressed to go to a "super store" which reminds one of them of Walmart. I decline. I am pressed further, with disapproval. I decline again and explain that I have lost the desire over time, for shopping, unless I absolutely need something. This meets with further disapproval and question. I explain that I had a dream warning me of the white mold of materialism, and ever since that dream I have even more so not been drawn to stores. I explain that this does not mean that others cannot be drawn to shopping. I point out that I have found a grocery close by in which I got all I need for the next several days, for my lunches.

At dinner last night, this same one presses me to use catsup on my omelet, which in Spain is made with egg and potato. I do not respond, as she is quite insistent. It takes too much effort to respond to her, as my body has been in much pain, and I had just spent time in recollected writing and do not want to be pulled out of that glorious communion with God, so quickly and harshly--over catsup, of all things. But, the catsup is passed my way and offered under my nose. I say "Gracias" and "No." The catsup is withdrawn and placed on the table. They continue talk in Espanol. I smile and eat my omelet--plain and simple and delicioso. I am at peace that they converse. The Cruzadas understand; they allow me to listen, to enjoy their presence. I enjoy everyone's presense, it seems, until others poke and prod and stir my coals. Then my flames erupt and I burn if touched without necessity. I must learn to not flame when stirred. This is subduing a passion, of learning the virtue of temperance. Lord, help me.
The two older Americanos leave at the end of the week. I suppose the Lord will provide other practice pieces after them, until my flame learns to remain in the coals except when the Lord desires flame, and that for His uses.

Las Cruzadas still laugh about the mystical fruit. One is visiting who teaches during the year at Segovia. She speaks English and had started one of their houses in Ireland; she lived there ten years. She tells me that she taught English for computer students and now for other practical uses. She says her work is not spiritual. She says this with some self-deprecation, as the others have shared the joke of my mystical inclinations. I respond that her work is, indeed, quite spiritual, as it is the work of God which helps others to exist and provide for their families in the world. I pray she understands. Again, why are others bothered by the job God has for me, when I am thankful and grateful for the jobs He has for them? We are all one family with many parts and functions. Did not St. Paul explain this thoroughly? They all begin to sing American folk songs; they laugh and the Americanos join in. I do not sing. I thoroughly enjoy their fun, but I have not the energy to sing and laugh. I laugh interiorly, with them, for them; I must simply rely on God's providence. I must accept that they might not understand why I am quiet. The pain within requires great gulps of stillness in order to maintain the small level of activity I am allowed right now. It does not mean that I am opposed to playfulness; I simply cannot participate except interiorly, wordlessly, effortlessly.

This morning Jesus accepts me at Mass without having washed. I could not make the body rise early in order to use the bathroom. I marvel at how much time can be spent in a bathroom, and how little time is really necessary in the bathroom. But the bathroom is not available for great lengths of time. I wonder what all is going on behind the door that takes so long? But I don't wonder long. I meet Peter who has traveled from France to visit Monica of Christendom College. He stands outside the door of Tellamar and asks if I speak English. I had been praying for his safe arrival, as Monica told me yesterday he was way-laid at an airport. It is a joy to meet this young man whose soul is refreshing. He wants to keep his dufflebag inside Tellamar residence, and Estelle, of course, agrees. But first he wants to get out his book; he withdraws St. Louis de Montfort's Consecration to the Virgin Mary. Well, of course, Monica and Peter are deep-end swimmers.

On the way to Mass at Las Encarnacion, I pray that there be some way to convince shallow-end bathers that the deep-end is wonderfully occupied by fun, "normal", but holy souls. I beg God's forgiveness that I was too cowardly to have converted to Catholicism sooner, that I did not do even more to ensure my children went to strong, Catholic schools. There is quite a difference between the students here; and once more, environment does affect.

During the holy and meaningful Mass at the Encarnacion, I see a couple more views of the pool. I see older men with golf hats; I see many beautiful souls in the deep end: parishioners. I see a sandbar underneath the water in the deep end, in one area, and it is a beautiful foot-hold of swimmers engaging in water ballet. So, not all deep-end swimming is solitary. There is a symphony of movement even among the lap swimmers and divers.

My body is not able to do much today, and it is with effort that I return to Tellamar after Mass. This is a good reality-check; I am no longer concerned about getting even a part-time job in anything, for my body is not able to be consistently active. I pray to remember this, again, and to accept, to trust. Someone needs to just adore Jesus, to lie before His Tabernacle and pray and offer gratitude. Perhaps this is my job; and please help me, Lord, and others of the Body of Christ, to be satisfied.

Along the camino (way) I see a small garden, a rare garden, for most dwellings are built right to the sidewalk with small courtyards somewhere within, if at all. This is like our souls in our bodies. We know the soul is somewhere within, growing beautiful flowers and bathed in sunlight and moonlight but mostly protected from the passersby and cars and debris of the world. We must keep our exterior walls strong against the debris yet show our flowers from within to those who stop by, as I did this morning. I appreciated someone's small garden: Mary's Delights (petunias), Mary's Veil (Baby's Breath), Mary's Purity (white roses), Holy Mary's (geraniums), and an orange-fuzzy-something I recognize but cannot name.

In the churches and all about Avila are reminders of God in more visible manner than I have ever experienced. Art, architecture, use of soul-symbolic earthly materials, flowers, churches, convents, street names--all reflect Christianity. In my room on the desk is the English translation of Fr. Tomas Morales' book, The Hour of the Laity. I read the inside jacket; this book is of his founding Las Cruzades de Santa Maria and two other lay efforts. He died in 1995, but this priest's efforts continue today in a few countries. This Tellamar residence is large and lovely, but here, also, the workers are few. "Do they have houses in the US?" I have asked. Not yet; more workers are needed. Yes, more divers and swimmers of the deep-end are needed everywhere. I pray again about the request given me by my spiritual director. I ask Fr. Morales to provide a miracle and consider that perhaps, if deep-end swimmers can be found and trained, there could be a Las Cruzades effort in the Diocese. It would coincide with the prayer request planted last week.

But I am concerned more with how to get bathers out of the wading pool. How to entice them, how to convince them, how to train them, how to keep them in the deep end with all its richness and glory and overflow to the whole world and all peoples who can be baptized in the waters of Christ, who can learn to swim and help others swim. I am concerned with the reform of the parish pool, before much else. It is a good and functional pool, but I have already expressed the limitations of the shallow end except as entry point for beginning swimmers. These are issues for Fr. Morales, St. Teresa, St. John of the Cross and Jesus.

Now I must rest again and maybe find a sloping, wood-slat bench by the Avila walls, in the fresh air and hot sun. I will try to read a little more in St. John's Ascent to Mount Carmel. Then I will pray for energy to walk to the Universidad Catholica for this evening's class. God provides.