Acid42 is the Soft Asian Enemy

Each week, the Catholic Carnival goes up, putting together a bunch of Catholic posts from the blogosphere. Catholic bloggers can submit a post and the only real rule is that it cannot contradict Catholic doctrine. So far that rule has been enough to keep it as a high-quality location to find interesting Catholic thought on a weekly basis. Each Tuesday the Carnival is posted at a specific blog.

This week, Carnival #187 is hosted at A Catholic Mom Climbing the Pillars, and one of my recent posts is in it. Check out the fine Catholic blogs represented there!

Stained glass windows at St.Peter’s in Skokie, Illinois.

You can sum up my entire life in this sentence: God likes sending me black cats in the organ.

I arrived late for Mass this morning because I couldn’t seem to find the donations flyer I got in the mail for a convent of Benedictine nuns. Apparently, someone’s been throwing out my mail for me. This brought up irritation and a hint of bitterness which made me mad but also guilty. How do you worship the Lord with weight like that in your heart? So, en route to church, trusting in the Lord to deliver me from evil thoughts and irritation, I brought out the rosary and prayed the second half of the Glorious Mysteries since I was unable to finish the night before. Reflecting on Christ’s resurrection then ascension brings things back into perspective to tell you the truth. And by the end, the Lord lifted it from my heart.

“Metaphor the Dusty Cat,” photo by acid42 on Flickr.

I positioned myself at the aged electronic organ, despite my lateness, powering it up. And by the time the Agnus Dei came around I was ready to play. Except the volume pedal seemed stuck. It was at full volume and didn’t want to move. I took a look at it and there seemed to be some black foam blocking its path? So I jammed my foot on the pedal hoping to force it to move, and as it did…

A black cat flew out of the hole housing the pedal, racing for the nearest exit. I uttered an “Oh!” which was thankfully drowned out by people greeting each other with a sign of peace.

Looks like the church has a resident feline organist.

The organ worked okay after that. I just realized that some of the noise problems the organ displays, may be due to the cat scratching or biting down on the wires. Who would’ve known?

Thus says the Lord: “Stop taking your bitter pills, Lionel, and laugh. See? I sent you a black cat.”

I’ve been having particularly vivid and strangely macabre dreams of late. Which simply tells you that I’ve watched one too many horror movies in my youth. Here are the two that I remember most completely.

Escaping The Sorceress’ Clutches

Last night, this dream came to me: I was in a grand mansion, a place of debauchery, where people were getting drunk and committing acts of immorality left and right, and it scared me. It also attracted me. My wife was with me, and she told me she was leaving this evil place. I said I would follow. Upon her exit, I realized this entire place was owned and controlled by an evil sorceress and that if I didn’t escape before she came unto the premises, then I would never leave. I would become her slave.

From one wing of the mansion, I saw a door open. The sorceress was about to present herself! I hide behind a sofa, heart pounding, realizing that my chances of escape were dwindling. I ran behind furniture, getting myself out of the main building and to the main gate. Unfortunately there was nothing to hide behind in the last hundred meters to the gate. I was doomed. My cell phone was in my hands — I was trying to call my wife to ask her to pick me up at our usual rendezvous point, to tell her I was sorry for staying behind — but as I was calling and running, the sorceress spotted me. She let out a scream, alerting the guards. I got out of the main gate, only to find four more guards stationed outside on the road, each with a vicious attack dog on a leash.

I was running for my life, away from the evil den, away from the sorceress, all the while muttering then screaming one phrase over and over: “Please let me go, please let me go, please let me go…” But the sorceress would not hear my plea or have mercy. And then the dogs were unleashed.

“Neighbours ain’t sleeping…” photo by onnufry on Flickr.

The Phillips Resurrection Stable (a.k.a. Pet Cemetery)

A week ago, with my wife and mother-in-law off at their church camp, I was home alone and sick when I dreamt I was walking down a lonely farm road at night. There was a rusty tractor in the road, and instead of a seat it had an enclosed cabin for the driver which was lit by pretty, blinking Christmas lights. I entered the tiny space to poke around and look at the lights and Chrismas decor and figurines. And a man appeared outside the road, beckoning for me to follow.

We walked down to the stables, where he was employed. I looked out across the fields to the main estate mansion, which was lit brilliantly despite the silence. The landowners and masters were asleep, after a night of festivity. The stable doors were situated next to a cliffside, so the man entered carefully. The stables were pitch black. I followed the man inside and saw a magnificent steed, dark brown and muscular, standing in the darkness. I was about to ask the man whose horse this was except he had moved to a different room. I followed him with my gaze but when I turned back to look at the horse, it was instead lying on its side in the hay — a rotting, maggot-laden corpse, half-covered in a burial cloth. So this was what he wanted to show me! A place where the dead could be brought back to life?

In terror, I ran out, careful of the cliff’s edge right outside the stables. There on the ground, nearest to the chasm and half-hidden by the fog, was a tombstone which read “Cert Phillips, son and faithful servant.” I knew this was the servant’s son. I looked back into the darkened stables and saw the man trying to close the doors. Except behind him, a figure in a cloak was walking around. It was the servant’s dead wife, brought back to life by some evil force just as the horse had been. I ran away as fast as I could.

Bonus Materials:
A collection of my old dreams from 1990-2003.

For some time now, I’ve been wrestling with this problem: how do I serve the Lord more fully with the talents given me? There are so many ways I could. The possibilities burn in my heart and roll around in my guts, mainly because I know these blessings were given in order to be used for furthering the Kingdom. And yet there are so many obstacles. And so I asked Him:

How do you want me to serve you, Lord?

“Dark Prayers.” Photo by Stuck in Customs on Flickr.

You’ve given me the ability to teach in a classroom setting. If it is Your will, I’d love to become a catechist or a missionary one day, and share my faith with others. But I’m afraid I don’t know enough, I’m afraid I don’t have the maturity with which to defend the faith against those who would attack it. And how do I do make time for this?

You’ve given me the gift of music. I would love to play music for You in Your church on a full-time basis one day, perhaps, if You so desire. But how do I do this without sacrificing time for my family?

You’ve given me the ability to write and I would one day love to work as a full-time writer for a publication that spreads the faith to others, if You but will it. But I’m afraid of applying and leaving the comfort of the status quo. How do I provide for my family on what I understand to be a lower wage?

You’ve given me the ability to create music and audio and I would one day love to do so for a broadcast medium on a regular basis. But how do I start?

I love you and wish to serve you but I have no idea why You aren’t giving me any insight onto how to do all these grand things for You.

+ + +

Today, after Mass, at the adoration chapel, on my knees in prayer, I felt the Lord telling me one thing:

“Serve me where you are.”

And the rest of this came tumbling out of my fingers at a frightening pace:

“You want to share your faith with a classroom? I gave you 120 students over 2 years in a Catholic college, and how did you do? Not very well. So I took that away from you and now I give you one student whom I am asking you to teach to read and write in English. He’s already Catholic but doesn’t understand the faith too well. How are you doing with him? Serve me by serving him.

“Besides, you don’t need to be in a classroom to share your faith. All you need to do is use that mouth I’ve given you, and fear not what others have to say. Speak up instead of cowering in fear. ‘…But do it with gentleness and reverence.’ (1 Peter 3:15-16) Serve as my missionary to the people you meet daily: fellow commuters, officemates, your own family.

“You want to play music full-time for me? You’re asking me for something you already have. I’ve given you the daily morning Mass at your parish to minister to. There are no obstacles there. The organ works, the song books have beautiful songs, your brothers and sisters in Christ love to sing. So… why were you not at your post last week? How do you expect me to give you more when you cannot even be faithful in a little? (Matthew 25:29) If you will serve me, then I don’t want wishy-washy volunteers who disappear when they’re lazy or can’t wake up for the 7 AM Mass. I want full-time dedicated workers who will make it a point to be at their post.

“You want to write for publications? Is this really for me, or for the chance to see your own name in print? If you want to write, you already have this blog which I have blessed you with. I’ve made this blog possible by asking a friend to donate the server space and bandwidth, and what have you done with it? I see you’ve turned it around from what it once was — an altar to all that was worldly– and are now doing your best to serve me through it. You don’t have to be employed by a publication to write about me. Serve me where you already are!

“You want to make music and audio that can promote the faith and speak of me? What are you waiting for? A record contract, an external green signal to tell you when to create? You have the tools and the knowledge. Use them. Now. Serve me with what you already have.

“The problem you have is you seek grand gestures. You want to build great things for me and while that is well and good, I’m afraid you’re way too proud to be of use to me at this point. I seek no burnt offerings but … ‘the lowly (humble) and afflicted (contrite) man who trembles at my word.’ (Isaiah 66:1-2)

“How have you been a servant to your wife? Do you love her and support her in all she does, despite your differences? Do you serve your mother-in-law with humility? Do you serve my church with faithfulness? Do you serve your workplace with honesty and excellence? There are so many ways to serve me fully in your daily life.

“Serve me where you already are. With what you have. There is no need to look elsewhere.”

Hermits intrigue me. Stories of ascetic saint-monks like St. Simeon Stylites the Elder, or St. Anthony who had no one but the Lord and the void — these stories appeal to me. Because of the drama I can imagine unfolding within them. And because I cannot see myself surviving the silence of a life lived solo, away from the crowd. Can’t picture myself in their sackloth or sandals, without all the noise and the trappings of this material world we all share.

“Solitude.” Photo by eyesontheroad on Flickr.

I relish my noise too much I think. Haven’t had a silent retreat since I graduated college. Haven’t been totally enveloped by silence and alone-ness in a while (silence in married life is an indicator of something awry) . So these past few days, I’ve been at a loss. This solitude is strange to me. Though alluring in its own way. And yet, I can’t wait till it ends.

Both my wife and mother-in-law are out on Family Camp with their church for several days. And I am home alone, working. For fun, I bring in the noise: police procedurals on TV, 80s music on the mp3 player. The other day, I walked for 2 hours, just discovering odd streets in my city. Today, I explored a discount bookstore in a mall that no one goes to, it seems. The dishes have piled up.

I see now how easy it is for the lost and truly alone, those without faith in God, those trapped in the rat race, those who submit to a grueling daily routine and have nothing else, to begin losing their sanity, their hold on what is truly important. It’s easier to drown the silence around you with noise. Helps to forget.

The noise has kept me from thinking about things. It’s like I’m afraid to be silent. To actually quiet down and listen. Maybe the reason why monks intrigue me is because I am so far removed from that interior serenity that it’s not even funny.

So when this almost 20-year-old tune popped up in my MP3 player, it was serendipitous. It captures the bittersweet melancholy, the grating repetition, and solitude I’ve been experiencing. And I share it now with you: New Order’s “Leave Me Alone.”

My compiled links and info on hermit monks and the Carthusian Order at my tumblelog.

There are days when things get you down, when burdens seem so very heavy, when you end up noticing the cross on your back and feel every step is bloody. We all get them. We all need to get past them.

I had mine last Sunday. In order to get it out of my system, I walked home from my wife’s church in the gathering gloom of a chilly evening. Left a note in the car saying I was going to hoof it, and started hammering the cement. Took me a little over 2 hours via back roads — for a trip that takes 15 minutes by car. The wind was cold, but I walked briskly enough to build up a sweat. I ended up with a blister the size of a large coin on the heel of my right foot because I was in thin dress socks.

“Crosses” Flickr photo by crowt59.

During the walk, I wrestled with a problem, my personal cross. Trying to find a way to live with it harmoniously. Trying to find a way to bear it with joy. Because the gist of my problem lies in the acceptance of a cross which was tailor-made for me. Except how do I accept a repeating situation which angers and offends me? Being in the situation creates anger. The anger gets to me, breeding resentment, breeding bitterness at my inability to affect the situation. Eventually, I get bowled over by it all: the situation, my negative response, my inability to express myself in a way that makes sense to others.

But right there is the problem: my reaction. I can choose to react positively by letting words slide off me, or I can take offense at those same words and generate negativity, anger, bitterness. I can choose to embrace the cross given me no matter how difficult, or reject it because I want an easy life. How can I reject a cross given me by my Savior whom I love and chose to follow?

ENCOURAGEMENT

The next day at morning mass, our priest presider picked Matthew 14:22-34 as the gospel, where Peter sinks into the water after walking across a portion because he is distracted by the storm raging about him. Jesus says “Take courage, it is I. Do not be afraid.”

I heard the reading and thought to myself: “Stop looking at the waves. Stop panicking because of the winds. Look at Jesus and don’t take your eyes off Him.”

Saint Therese of Lisieux, also known as the Little Flower of the Child Jesus, has this beautiful quote that also came in the email a few days later:

“The only happiness here below is to strive to be always content with what Jesus gives us.”

I’m complaining because of a burden that God is giving to me to test me? I need to be content.

LOOK AWAY FROM YOURSELF

While walking, I realized that I was stuck feeling sorry for myself, and getting angry at my situation instead of accepting it as a sacrifice, as a trial of my faith that would allow me to develop perseverance as James 1:3 says.

There are so many other people going through trials much worse than mine. I think about my parents who are struggling with a business that is not exactly making ends meet. I think about Tara, a 23-year old musician friend who was shot in the head 2 days ago by a thief, and struggles for her life in an ICU unit in Manila. I think about Fr.Joey Fermin SJ, a friend and fellow Ateneo alumnus, who had liver transplant surgery a week ago and must now recover. I think about friends and acquaintances struggling with sickness and disease, cancer and lupus, heartbreak and poverty, and I realize just how many blessings I have.

THANKFULNESS

Bitterness is not an acceptable response. Not when there is so much to be thankful for: your life, your health, your employment, your family, the fact that you are reunited with your wife after 4 years of long distance.

After all, 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 gives us a formula for thankfulness even as we take up our crosses daily:

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

The Ruins by Scott Smith

Listen to / download the book review podcast here.

Let’s see, here are my running notes on this novel: potato chip novel, horror without redeeming value, a man-eating vine, six vacationers in Mexico, an archeological dig site, aztecs who know what’s up and support the evil vine, a metaphor for the corruption that is all around us and how we inevitably doom one another by not pulling together in the face of evil. All in all? Thrilling and riveting plot with brutal scenes of often unwarranted violence, and in the end, an evil that is neither explained nor vanquished.

Worth your time? No. Even Stephen King always has some not-so-silver lining to his horrific tales. This one doesn’t.

I love the imagery in the Old Testament book of the prophet Jeremiah. This entire week, the first readings of each daily mass are taken from Jeremiah and reveal some unforgettable images and messages.

“Dirty Towel and Orange Peels” photo by kukkurovaca on Flickr.

On Monday from Jer 13:1-11, we read how God commands Jeremiah to buy a loincloth, wear it without washing it, bury it in the muddy ground and then return to it some time later to dig it up. Afterwards, God compares the wickedness of Judah to this rotten undergarment, how pride and idolatry have rendered these people worthless– these who once were as close to God as the loincloth. Repent or be condemned as old, hole-riddled undies whose garters look like curly bacon strips– loincloths not even fit to be used as cleaning rags. How can you forget something like that?

When we were growing up, I remember we would recycle the old clothes that were too threadbare to give away to charity. Including old underwear. We’d use them as cleaning rags and dusting cloths — stuff to clean up spills or wipe off dust. Imagine being discarded like this, not even worthy to clean dust from table tops. Useless!

Then today’s reading Jer 15:10 and Jer 15:16-21, after Jeremiah complains about his problems with persecutors and pain and incurable wounds, the Lord explains that if the prophet repents then God will restore him, and save him, and make him a solid brass wall against this people, a force against which these evildoers will not prevail. A solid brass wall that repels all efforts to pierce, to destroy, to thwart. A wall held up by the grace of God, made from a metal that reflects the attacker’s image back onto himself, so he can see his own reflection.

Beautiful metaphors and unforgettable imagery. Poetry that teaches. Truth that reveals God. How beautiful is God’s Word.

“Cell Phone” photo by KB35 on Flickr.

I have no idea if this is a cultural difference, but it’s happened to me twice now and I find it disconcerting and intrusive: strangers asking to borrow my cell phone to make a call.

Am I just paranoid? Is this kind of thing commonplace here in the United States? Is it acceptable? I have no idea about the social conventions regarding this. I feel that my cell phone is personal, and the only other people who can use it are my family. Unless of course it looks like an emergency, but even then, I’ll do the 911 dialing!

Please enlighten me, American residents and citizens.

Play the podcast via this mp3 file.

Bored? Looking for some new reading on the blogosphere? You’ve come to the right place.

On July 27, 2008, pro blogger Liz Strauss cobbled together, through voluntary submissions from the blogosphere, her second successful official 2008 Blog-to Show, showcasing 260 blogs. She unleashed a blog post a minute apart, for 260 consecutive minutes and encourages all participants to go about visiting one another in an act of solidarity.  Here is the mega list, which includes this humble Acid42 blog at #90.  Discover new stuff after the jump, and enjoy!

“The child who discovered the world (opus I).” Photo by Ali K. on Flickr.

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