The Stuff of Legends

After being gone all weekend for retreat formation, I took a few days to visit Mr. Jefferson's school up the road. I have a cousin who did his undergrad there and is now in his third year of law school, so I had a couch with my name. My mother also got her bachelor's from this school, three of my siblings applied there, and, in general, it's a big deal in my part of the world. And yet, somehow, I had never before set foot on its campus. Or the Grounds, as they call it.

I received a quick drive-through of the town, a briskly paced walking tour of campus (my cousin averages the same walking speed that I do), and an introduction to the group of Catholic law students on campus.

Sometimes I go to places and I don't understand. I don't understand what the big deal is, what the people who love it find so compelling. At Mr. Jefferson's school, I got it. I understand why people love that school and why it forms students into the people who come out of that school.

I decided that if I ever become a professor, I want to teach there and live along the Lawn. In Mr. Jefferson's first idea, the students and professors all lived along the Lawn. Students have little rooms and professors have larger "Pavilions." Classes took place in the professors' homes. While I am certain that I chose the right school for me, I love that original plan and I like the idea of living in community with students, so that the university is centered around a strong academic community.

As an end/side note:

I also decided that I really do like law students. Every time I meet them, I tend to think they are awesome people and want to be their friends, and I met so many this weekend, that I decided as a general rule, law students are cool. I don't want to be one however, so I will content myself with being their friend, roommate, and family.

The Face of the Planet

In case my loyal readers are wondering if I have fallen off the face of the planet, the short answer is, yes. I have. This past weekend, I fell off the face of the planet into the mountains. I had retreat formation to prepare student teams for diocesan-wide retreats next semester. I went on my first retreat when I was a freshman and teamed each subsequent year until I graduated, so these retreats are very near and dear to my hearts.

I could use this post to describe my love of the mountains, but I'm afraid that my effusions, while bringing me joy, would not make an arresting read. I could use this post to describe the strangeness of going back as an "adult" to a place that had been mine as a "student" and still felt as though it should belong to me. But I think that sentence sums it up fairly well.

So instead, I will share with you my experience of karma. Or perhaps God's humor.

For the past few weeks, whenever I have spoken with my youngest sister, she has described to me, in detail and with high emotion, the stink bugs on her campus. First, they were in her window. Then they were in her room. They looked gross and she couldn't ignore them. Now, I am the girl whom others call to rescue them from bugs. I am the girl who carries spiders outside rather than killing them. So I made a less-than-perfect audience for these woes.

Walking into my room in the campus minister's building, however, I discovered that I had more roommates than my human-sized one from another campus. They were small and brown and flew! I flushed a few before I decided that killing them was a losing battle. I'd ignore them, I thought, and sleep.

Wrong. I couldn't get to sleep and the bugs kept crawling or flying onto my roommate, making her jump or scream. It was a long night... and I thought of my sister the whole time, with a lot more sympathy.

Latin!

Last night, in his weekly Catholicism seminars, Father Dude spoke about the new translation of the Roman Missal. For all questions you have now or after reading this post, I refer you to USCCB's page on the new translation. I have found it very user-friendly.

Being a classics nerd, I find the new translation very exciting, and of course it will change the way the Mass sounds. Still, technically, the Mass is the same. In a nutshell: when Vatican II happened the Missal was re-written, i.e. we had a "new Mass." This new Mass was written in -- guess what? -- Latin! Different bodies of Church officials then translated this Latin Mass into their respective vernaculars. These translations received Vatican approval and became the commonly celebrated Mass.

Recently, however, English-speaking bishops have gone back to the original Latin that came out of Vatican II and re-translated it into English. They ended up with a translation that resembles the Latin more closely than what we use now.

After explaining to us about Missals and translations and the history of our current translation, Father Dude handed out excerpts from the new translation, including a few prayers with the original Latin, the current translation, and the new translation side-by-side.

I'm 93% certain the people sitting near me thought something was seriously wrong with me when I started reading the three-part handout. Seeing the Latin next to the English made me realize just how much of the beauty of the language of the Mass we are missing right now. We lost so much in translation and I am so excited to get it back.

Here, for example, are a few lines:

Latin: Populo tuo, quaesumus, Domine,

adesto propitius,

et,quem mysteriis caelestibus imbuisti,

fac ad novitatem vitae

de vetustate transire.

Per Christum.

Current: Merciful Father, may these mysteries give us new purpose

and bring us to a new life in you.

Grant this through Christ our Lord.

New text: Graciously be present to your people,

we pray, O Lord,

and lead those you have nourished

with heavenly mysteries

to pass to a new way of life from the old.

Through Christ our Lord.

Can you see and hear and feel the difference? I am very much a language-oriented person, and, seeing the Latin and the new translation, I have to admit that I feel rather cheated by having the current translation. I realize that the Mass is holy and valid as it is right now, and that the Eucharist is the Eucharist and all the prayers, no matter the language or translation, are the unworthy expression of the great Mystery that makes up our faith. But I process and filter most of my existence through language and words mean a lot to me. And to me, the difference in translation is the difference between a cheap reproduction and the real work of art. I see the same image in both, but one is so much more clear and beautiful.

Apparently there is much outcry about this new translation, because it changes a lot of the people's responses during Mass. Which affects not only what we say, but also what we sing, giving musicians a special task and challenge starting very soon. I sympathize with musicians, but I don't have the gut reaction against change that many others exhibit. Instead, I find myself eagerly awaiting November 27, 2011.

Day-Maker #6

I went to get my car inspected earlier this week. In spite of the fact that the mechanic who performed the inspection was much taller than I am and had to move the seat to get into the car, I found the driver's seat exactly where I left it.

The Least of These

Remember that time where I loved Stephen Colbert? Yeah, that time that started when my capstone Sociology research was all about him and Jon Stewart. I don't have celebrity crushes or idols, but he comes pretty close. I've written before about his humor and his defense of the Catholic faith, and, while I don't know his views on everything the Church teaches, I've come to think of him as fairly stalwart, despite his satire. Satire (this was the contention of my final sociology presentation) allows him to say things that he otherwise would not be allowed to say, express views through layers of subtext that could not be expressed without that protection. Because he spews the serious and the farcical in the same breath, he can get away with much more than the mainstream media. This theory applies to much more than religion; he calls out so many people and institutions for foibles and major flaws; I tend to view him as genuine in spite of his satire.

What happens when he has to be serious? When, for example, he is asked to testify before Congress? For those of you who don't know, Colbert agreed a few months ago to work as a farm laborer with migrant workers. Recently, he fulfilled this promise in two episodes (one and two). As a result of his fame and his one day on the farm, Congresswoman Zoe Lofgren (D. CA) asked him to speak to a House subcommittee about immigration reform.

First, Colbert is never (in public, that I have come across) completely serious and is always to a greater or lesser degree in character. However, he shed his character during his testimony before Congress to the greatest degree I've ever seen. And he left the character even further behind when answering the questions of the Congress people.

My favorite moment, as I watched on the Washington Post's website, came around 8min 55sec. One Congress woman asks him a question that he obviously does not expect and has to think about how he wants to answer. Watch the interview, at least the last few seconds of it, and listen to his response. And then you'll see why I am so much in love with this man.

Forgiveness and the Eucharist

I hold up the bread. "The Body of Christ," I say. I look into the communicant's eyes and smile. And repeat, seventy-five times.

The campus minister from a school down the road insists upon the use of those four words. Not, "This is the Body of Christ," not "Mary, the Body of Christ," not "Behold, the Body of Christ," or any such variations. When you say, "The Body of Christ," she explains, you are declaring that this bread is the Body of Christ, but also that this communicant is the Body of Christ, that you are the Body of Christ, that this gathered Church is the Body of Christ. So when I act as a Eucharistic Minister (or Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion, as I have learned is the "proper" title), I use those four words, and I acknowledge Christ in all the incarnations of the Eucharist.

I distribute the Eucharist pretty consistently every Sunday, and normally it's a straightforward process. The Eucharist amazes and awes me, but even the most sacred events can be calm with familiarity. But, every now and again, I have moments like this past Sunday.

I was upset with someone last week. Not in a huge, affecting-my-life kind of way, but definitely not at peace with this person. I found my position to distribute the Host, and suddenly I realized that said person was walking towards the altar -- towards me. I wasn't in a place where I could look at that person, smile, and say, "The Body of Christ," recognizing God in that person, in me, and in the gathered community of which we were both a part.

There was the possibility of handing this person the Host, with the proper words, but letting the smile slip away and not letting our eyes meet. It wouldn't disrupt the Mass, and, truth be told, this person might not even notice. But I couldn't do that. It might not disrupt the Mass, but it would disrupt my heart and, let's be honest (if slightly hokey-sounding), Jesus would notice.

So, in a swift twisting of the heart that can only be attributed to God at work in me, I forgave. I saw it as completely necessary, and so, through grace, it happened. I do not normally forgive that quickly or that spontaneously; this truly was the work of God in me.

However, it got me thinking. I could forgive this someone for an act that upset me a little bit. But there are some people in the world whom I have not forgiven for longer periods of time. People to whom I could not say, "The Body of Christ" and smile and acknowledge Christ in them and in me and recognize their divinity and our unity in Christ. These people are not likely to turn up in my communion line (or at the Sign of Peace, another time when it's hard to hold grudges), but what if they did? What would I do? And how can I work now on forgiving them? After all, this dilemma reflects a problem within my own heart, one that I need to start fixing.

In Which a Cat Is in a Tree

I think I gave away most of the story in the title. After coming home on Sunday, I got a call from a good friend and recent alum, who was visiting the 'burg this weekend, wanting to see me. When he and his girlfriend arrived, I opened the door to greet them... and Grace Kelly left the house.

She's done it a couple times before, and she rolls around on the concrete at the end of the sidewalk, and I walk out and glare at her and pick her up and bring her back in. Apparently, she's done this for Cara too, and now has gotten smart about it. Kind of. She ran behind our house to the common lawn. I followed slowly, since I was barefoot. And then she scrambled up a thin holly tree... leaving me on the ground staring up at her a good 7 feet in the air. My friends joined me, and we watched Grace Kelly try to figure out what to do from there. She wasn't too happy with the tiny branches that were the only things that supported her... but she wasn't quite ready to climb down.

I don't know who took more persuading: Grace Kelly, or the tall male in the group. But eventually, he managed to grab her and drag her out of the tree. I carried her into the house, where she promptly proceeded to try to sneak out every time the door opened.