Gone Limping

Some days are easier than others. Since yesterday, our day of 'rest' wasn't so easy, I've decided to go with a couple of 'No Brainers' here on the answering side of "Ask Sister Mary Martha":

Hello Sister,
Is there a Saint for protection of property (house/car) against vandalism and vindictive neighborhood brats (oops! I mean, "dear little children")? Could also do with one to ask for intercession in coping with the anger of the irritation of vandalized property. Thanks.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy! St. Dismas will fill in for both of your needs. First of all, he's the patron saint of thieves and criminals and since he is is a reformed criminal himself, he should be right on the case for being against vandalism, especially that perpetrated by young people. Certainly he doesn't want them to end up the way he did. His earthly life came to a sad end. His heavenly life started with a bang!

St. Dismas is that guy who Jesus forgave while they were being crucified together. You remember the story. There was a third guy, who said something to the effect of, "if you're God or whatever, why don't you stop this mess?" And St. Dismas, who wasn't St. Dismas yet, but "man #2" said, "Shut your soup hatch, you clueless wonder! That's the Messiah you're talking to!"

So Jesus told St. Dismas that He would take Dismas to heaven that day. And since Jesus told Dismas he was going to heaven, we know he is in heaven which makes him a saint.

His name probably wasn't Dismas. We have no idea what his name was. There is a story about how Dismas knew Jesus as a little boy or something, but that's just.....a legend.

In any case, part two of your question is also covered by St. Dismas, since somebody showed us the nature of forgiveness during that whole exchange.

Our next easy answer comes from a few days back when we were discussing our Weight Watchers charm bracelet:

It does seem such a simple concept, and we all KNOW the answer, 'to cut back' and 'use willpower', but as for something to 'DO' when someone suggests it's a matter to simply 'increase exercise' why not think of it as a matter of changing a current 'habit' to incur more physical exertion, such as instead of using the elevator to go up one floor, use the stairway (if appropriate), or instead of settling in to watch TV after dinner, going out for a walk around the block (again, if safe or appropriate), or when planning to attend the out-of-town seminar at the Westin, bring a swimsuit for the lunch break (help keep awake during the afternoon session)? Now, what to pro-actively 'DO' when the fidgets set in while combating an anxiety attack? Which Saint might possibly have an intercessory role in assisting those of us who want to quickly think of something useful or beneficial to do, when experiencing anxiety? Hmm, why not a quiet stroll and a talk with God about this one?

This is also a bit of a two part answer, so bear with me.

Just the other day I stumbled across some sort of "anxiety hot line" type of web pages with tips and information for the anxiety disabled (a disability I am all too familiar with here in the house). There was a hot tip on there! Whenever you feel anxious, go limp.


GO LIMP! What great advice. Relax all your muscles and go limp.

I have to say, I've tried it myself it and it works superbly! I may look a bit odd, slumped at the steering wheel, or hanging on the grocery cart, but I am not anxious!

So....the patron saint for anxiety can be a saint who suffered from anxiety, say, like St. Teresa of Avila, the patron saint for perfectionists who are not perfect.

OR

We can find a saint who knew the wonders of going limp.

I vote for St. Rosalia, who really didn't do anything remarkable (heroic virtue aside) except to go hide in a cave. Then she moved to a new cave. Then the cave caved in on her and no one even knew until years later when some people digging around in there found her bones and she cured their town of a plague. While lying down. While just hanging there.

Going limp helped get me through our crazy Sunday. More on that later.

Punctuality Freakazoid Meeting is Called to Order

"You can never be too rich or too thin." Isn't that the saying? Of course we all know that isn't true. If you're too rich you are not going to heaven, unless you actually can figure out a way to squeeze yourself through the eye of a needle. And the result of some people being too rich is that a lot of people are too thin.

But can you be too punctual? I think not.

I just had to post this response to our discussion the other day about showing up on time.

My nuns ARE punctuality freakazoids! Not long after entering (that's nunspeak for "joining the convent") we invited some of our sisters in neighboring communities to come for dinner. We told them dinner at 6 and so I jumped in the shower at 5:30 with, what imagined to be plenty of time to ready and was horrified at 5:35 to hear the doorbell ring. One lot at 5:35 and the other two were in the door by 5:45!
In my life up until now "dinner at 6" meant "you should arrive by 6:30ish" but this is a whole new world!
And when they say "we'll leave at 8am" what they mean is "we'll be out on the highway by 8 so you need to have your bum seated by 5 minutes to 8"
I entered about 2 and a half years ago and am coming up to taking first vows soon and there are still many, many days when i think "These are a truly weird mob!"

Well, thanks! But those girls are slackers! If we say we're leaving at 8 am, that means you have to be at least gathered for the leaving event at 7:30. Otherwise, the people that are driving you might get nervous that you're not going to make it by 8 and we can't have that. If you are not in the driveway by 7:45, your phone is going to be ringing to find out where you are.

And dinner at 6 means 6:30 or so? On what planet did that take place? Planet We Like Our Food Cold? Planet We Like Part of the Meal Burned and the Other Part All Mushy? Dinner at 6 means the dinner will be served at 6 and you have to arrive in time to great your host with your host gift and still have time to wash your hands.

Although there is a difference between saying "come at around 6" and "dinner is at 6". But not much of a difference.

At any rate, welcome aboard the train to nunworld! Planet Earth thanks you!

Can you be too punctual? Perhaps.


I tend to be the late person. Not so much because I think I am so much more important than others, but rather I have a hard time cutting people off. For example, if I'm talking to someone who is having a hard time, I cannot just say, "Sorry, gotta run." Do you have suggestions for getting out of these situations so you can be on time, without making the person asking for your help feel unimportant?

Punctuality is really just a part of good manners and good manners are all about people's feelings. The whole point of having good manners is simply to make other people feel at ease. If your good manners make other people feel ill at ease, they aren't good manners any more.

So there in lies your dilemma. "Sorry gotta run" is going to make one person feel bad, while your on time arrival is going to make another person feel good. Staying is going to make one person feel good while making another person anxious.

What to do? There is no cut and dry answer. It depends on what the person asking for help is asking of you? "Where do I file this?" can be dealt with in a "I'll show you that later, I'm expected somewhere just now" manner. "My mother is breathing her last" deserves some hand holding.

Happily for you, there is this great invention called the telephone. A quick "Let me just call this person who is expecting me and then I can stay here with you" will make everyone feel good. Don't just say "I have to make a phone call." And don't act put out or harried.

The only thing better than punctuality is common sense.

Mary, Mary, Mary

I'm trying to stock up on saints for the upcoming Christmas rush, such as it is over at the shop. I have always been surprised at which saints are the most popular. I would have guessed that St. Ann would be a hot potato. Not that she never sells, but considering that the shop is on a site chock full of sewers, meaning people who sew, not where the dirty water goes, you'd think I'd never be able to keep enough St. Ann's around.

We love St. Ann, don't we? The patron saint of grandmothers, mothers and seamstresses. The truth is she doesn't even make an appearance in the New Testament. Mary's mother is never mentioned at all. Neither is her father. What we think about St. Ann comes from Sacred Tradition. What we know about St. Ann is this: nothing. Not her name, her husband's name, how many other children she may or may not have had, how the family made money, what her hobbies were, if she was a good cook or not. And if she ever sewed a stitch.

We could assume a woman living in those times would have had to sew something a few times. There is a difference between sewing for necessity and being a 'seamstress'. 'Seamstress' implies special skills. I can sew. (If you stand over me with a club.) Sister St. Aloysius is a seamstress.

So I understand that there may be some confusion about St. Ann and what we know about her. But this takes the cakes.

Hey Sister... awesome blog... I don't really know how to contact you other than by comment, so I'll ask my question(s) here in the hopes that you'll notice and answer it (them): Just how many husbands did Saint Anne have? One? Two? Three? Seven? What? Also, how many Marys did she give birth to? I've heard that, in addition to Jesus' mom, she had Mary Cleophas, Mary Salome, Mary Jacobe, et al... so, what's the story here?

Well, I managed to find a source that actually yammers on about all of this. This is the problem with the internet. Just because it's printed here doesn't make it true or even plausible.

The beginning of this saga is a part of Sacred Tradition, that Ann was barren and then had Mary. The rest is.....I don't know what to call it. An over active imagination.


Mary Cleophas and Mary Salome are identified in the New Testament as women who were at the foot of the Cross. After that you're on your own trying to figure out their exact familial relationship to Jesus. Prepare to have your eyes glaze over. Here is what the Catholic Encyclopedia has to say on the subject.

So it appears that the first twisted tale, that makes St. Ann sound a little like some sort of black widow with a string of dead husbands, is a tortured attempt at explaining who these women were.

And after reading the Catholic Encyclopedia's clear as mud explanation, I prefer to chuck the whole thing into the Sacred Mysteries bin.

Sacred Mystery is Catholic for "just let it go."

Step Right UP!

Things have been slow over at the shop. I'm sure it's the economy, even though we have saints to help with that. Of course, you don't need our products to ask for their intercession!

I never spend any time here on the blog hawking our merchandise except for when a saint is up for discussion and I can just direct the reader over to the shop for a description of the life of said holy person. Saves time.

But today's question from a reader is one that tickles me no end, because I dreamed up an item just to address this problem some time ago, and with the holidays upon us (beginning with a giant bag of Halloween candy, or a giant bowl of leftover candy because the trick or treaters were few and far between) it comes in timely fashion:

Sister, what saint should I invoke to help me loose weight and keep up my exercise?

Ha!

I think I was trying to come up with a patron saint matching when I realized that:

1. There are quite a lot of saints for this problem.

and

2. It's a big problem that requires lots of help.

Especially around the holidays.

If you are a drug addict or an alcoholic, you can stop taking drugs and drinking alcohol forever, difficult as it may be.

But you have to eat.


So we dreamed up this item. A charm bracelet with five saints worth of heavenly will power (in silver or brass color). And since you don't actually need to purchase our product to have the help, I'll give you a brief rundown on why we chose these five saints.

St. Charles Borromeo is the patron saint of stomach problems. As you leave your bad eating habits behind, your bouts of heart burn and feeling stuffed will diminish. Meanwhile, St. Charles will keep an eye on your stomach and whatever it's doing.

St. Catherine of Sienna survived only on the Host. We don't recommend that. But how is that for some will power?


St. Martha is the patron saint of cooks. She famously busied herself in the kitchen and missed out sitting around with Jesus. Doh! Yet another reminder to spend less time thinking about food.

St. Lawrence was roasted to death on a spit. His famous last words were, "turn me over, I'm done on this side." That should be enough to put you off of another helping of pot roast and potatoes.


Last but in no way least, to say the least, St. Thomas Aquinas. Famously weight challenged himself, he feels your pain. Some people think it may have been a glandular issue, but we don't believe that anymore than we believe you when you say you have one.

We actually don't have any exercise saints on there. You're good to go with any or all of the Twelve Apostles, who walked all over the known world. You know if you walk just a half an hour a day, you won't gain any more weight.

Unless you eat another piece of cake because you walked off the first one. Doh!

No Time to Say Hello, Good-bye!

I've always enjoyed that rabbit in the Walt Disney version of "Alice in Wonderland" and his little song about being late, late, for a very important date.

I am an on time freakazoid.

I know this because one of the seventh grade boys told me so. Although, I wouldn't have come up with the term "freakazoid", I do have a 'thing' about being on time.

I'm kind of happy about this word "freadazoid", though, because it explains my uber awareness of punctuality. Nuns are punctual people. It just goes hand in hand with obedience and humility, that you show up on time so that other people don't have to waste their time idly waiting for you.

Now add to that, my mother who raised me was raised by nuns! Imagine how punctual I am!

When I was small, my mother didn't drive and we often had to rely on others to give us a lift, like Amish people.

That was a little joke. There are some sort of Amish people around the area where I grew up and they don't have phones or cars but they are happy to use your phone and have you give them a lift.

And we are happy to oblige.

At any rate, my mother would have us sitting there like little soldiers a full half hour before the ride was due and even then when the ride arrived we had to dash out the door so as not to keep them waiting for a millisecond or give them a moment's pause.

To this day, "on time" to me means at least 15 minutes early.

So you can imagine my reaction to today's question from a reader:

Okay, I have a saint-matching challenge for you! Every Monday night before choir practice we pray as a group (of course!) and we end with asking St. Joseph (our patron) and St. Cecilia to pray for us. Last night, in reaction to all the empty seats at start time, the director asked, "Who's the patron saint of tardy people?" Sister, who is the patron saint of the chronically late...or the perpetually prompt for that matter? Is there someone who could intercede on our behalf and get the alto section to rehearsal on time?

I think I have sucked all the air out of the room.

Are all the altos coming together in one car?

Sigh.

There is a patron saint for promptness but sadly, he didn't exist. Have you heard the story of St. Expeditus? Have I told it? Yes, I have.

So, I'm not so keen on him. St. Handlewithcare. St. Thissideup.

If I were you, I'd go with one of those strict disciplinarian types. You know the kind I mean. The guys who came in to 'clean up the town'. Some friar or priest who took one look at the shabby, lazy state of the local monastery and laid down the law.

St. Benedict. As in "The Rule of St. Benedict". He's your man. His rules are still directing religious life after 15 centuries. He was so strict the other monks tried to poison him.

That's pretty strict.

I might add, however, that it may be more than a simple inability to get out the door on time with these folks. We can't be sure. We can't accuse.

But..

They might just be trying to skip out on the prayer part of choir practice, figuring, "I'll pray on my own in the car on the way there and that way I still have time for dessert after dinner." Although, anyone in their right mind would be saying to themselves, "I'll tell the family I can't be a second late for choir practice and then I can skip out on doing the dishes." That would be the smart move.

Anyhow, you might think about a saint who had an issue with praying. St. Hyacinth is relatively obscure, but she was a pistol for a while there. Hyacinth had her heart set on a beau who chose her younger sister to marry. Poor Hyacinth was so chagrined that she joined the convent, not because she had any calling of any sort, but just to hide her embarrassment. There, she had a fancy room and a really expensive habit made of the finest fabrics. She had people call on her and give her money.

Still, through it all she was actually a woman of faith, and one day when her confessor actually got a load of the room she had set up for herself, he mentioned to her that perhaps she ought to dial it back a bit.

Hyacinth saw the light and dialed back to minus zero. She got rid of everything, wore an old habit and no shoes. She fasted and prayed and performed such mortifications of the flesh that her first miracle was that she was still alive.

She might be a good one for you.

Seward's Folly

When I first landed here in Los Angeles I was entrusted with a small group of 4th graders from a Catholic Charitable organization who had the bright idea of giving these children a little bit of money and allowing them to go on a little Christmas shopping trip. The idea here, I think, was to have them budget the money and experience picking out and paying for items at a check out counter, something that they would have not experienced otherwise. Not losing the money in the first place was an issue.

With all I had on my plate that day, from making sure no one lost their moolah, to helping them do the math in picking out small gift items, to what to buy for whom and what some person I had never met might like as a gift, to a couple of meltdowns about not having the money for what someone would really like to have (like a giant video game system), to not losing anybody or anything anybody had purchased and getting them all over to the free gift wrap table, the last thing I thought about suddenly became the biggest most frightening event of the day.


We were in a big indoor shopping mall. You know the kind, with four stories of shop after shop and a couple of department stores on either end. There are four parking lots at this place, one on each side. We arrived in a flurry of excitement and we left exhausted but happy in a hot dog stupor from the food court. There we stood, the six of us, five children (one for each seat belt) and little old me.

Where did we park the car? I had no clue. I wasn't even sure in which lot I had parked. East? West? What row? What level?

I had that sinking feeling I had had as a girl when I came to feed some horses we owned one day and the gate was open and the horses were gone. Gone. There was no way to tell which way they had gone in the endless countryside. The only way I could even think to find them would have been if I knew someone with a helicopter.

Even a helicopter would not have helped in the mall parking lot. It was all indoors.

Left to my own devices, I would have just started at the bottom and trudged to the top of each section until I found the car, but this was not going to fly with this crowd. I would have lost a kid, or some of the gifts or my sanity.

I'm good in a crisis, though, I'll give myself that. I've seen maintenance people driving around in golf carts in those lots. If I could just flag one of those down, I was sure he could just drive us all through the place until we found the car.

I stuck my head around the corner of the first level of parking to see if I could find such a person and...there was the car. Just like that.

Anti-climactic, I know, but....I have never ever not known where I parked ever again in my life. I take stock of everything about where that car is, including the first things I see as I enter from the parking lot, so in the end I can retrace my steps.

Sometimes, I can give St. Anthony a break.

But if you can't:

Which tried and true saint helps out with failing memory, specifically finding one's wagon in a parking lot? (Dear St. Anthony has been a steadying friend over many years for help with items that just require an occasion for more prayer.) Probably, it would be the Saint of gadgets like those car-key triggered alarms that start barking on activation, the 'Clap-on, Clap-off' Saint.

I would still go with St. Anthony on this one. Everyone is aware that we always ask for "Holy Tony" to "come around" when "something's lost that must be found". But no one ever really thinks about why.

St. Anthony was one of those people with a photographic memory, which is why he was such an amazing extemporaneous speaker. He could remember everything he ever read, so he could talk about anything at length.

I believe that before television endowed us all with a ten minute attention span, this was not an unusual gift. When the Union took Atlanta during the Civil War, the Northerners gathered outside the house of Secretary of State William Henry Seward and he stepped out and graced them with a three hour speech, a speech that the newspapers say was one of his all time best. The Lincoln-Douglas debates lasted for over three hours each as well, with tens of thousands of people in attendance who actually listened and hooted and booed and cheered through the entire thing. They didn't have the even questions screened and scrubbed or have Tom Brokaw to keep things moving.

At any rate, St. Anthony's gift of memory is the reason he can remember where your car is parked. Who ever said St. Anthony only finds small items?

I did not pray for the intercession of St. Anthony the day the horses got loose. I actually had the wherewith all to track them like Sacagawea and found them two pastures over. But I'm sure St. Anthony would have been a fine helicopter.

If that doesn't float your boat, may I suggest St. Boniface, the patron saint of parking spaces. If he finds you a space in the first place, he will surely remember where that space is.

Let the Games Begin!

Uh oh.

It's October.

You know what that means.

I keep telling Sister St. Aloysius that she should just float over to the Catholic Charities and ask the ladies for all their old white sheets and then just make up a bunch of ghost costumes in different sizes.

I think it would be charming if we had a whole neighborhood full of ghosts running around in all sizes. Why, the children could easily accessorize from their own closet and be 'cowboy ghost' or 'construction worker ghost' or 'football player ghost'. "Guitar hero ghost", the list is endless.

No one likes my idea.

I have already made my first trip to the fabric store. Since I haven't returned in a couple of years, the help there has all turned over and no one remembers me from my last debacle. I can also, by the way, go to the bank without fear of arrest because my bank opened another branch even closer to our house.

Funny, after all of this time, the exact same thing happened in the parking lot. I think that one day I might find myself driving endlessly in and out of the fabric store parking lot and eventually realize I have died and gone to Purgatory. I picked Thursday to go over there because the Santa Ana's had finally stopped blowing on Tuesday and I thought if I had to drive through the parking lot for the rest of my life I could at least have the windows down and have a cool breeze.


It was cool on Tuesday. It was cool on Wednesday. But on Thursday, the Santa Ana winds blew back in like a giant city-wide hot flash.


For those of you who have never experienced what is known as a "hot flash", as we older women have, it is as though the temperature of the entire earth has just inexplicably shot up to 107 degrees. It really doesn't feel like it's just you. It actually feels like something has gone horribly wrong with the world thermostat.

Throw in an actual hot day and you have a human inferno. Spontaneous combustion, anyone?

Another opportunity for suffering!

News flash: yes, old nuns have hot flashes. Oh, how we love the chance to help the Poor Souls in Purgatory and oh how we identify with their suffering! If only for a few minutes at a time.

Several times a day.

And all night.

On the first pass through the parking lot, there actually was an open space, but it was blocked by a Lexus parked all catty whompuss. You've seen that phenomena. The owner doesn't want the car to get scratched and so parks all crooked, taking up two spaces. Very selfish.

I guess I shouldn't judge. Perhaps the owner actually just can't park. At all.

On the second pass through the parking lot, I thought I was getting a nice spot because an giant SUV was pulling out, only to find the person driving that behemoth was actually trying to squeeze into a compact space.

In her defense, all the spaces in the fabric store lot are compact.

There were people who 'made up' a parking spot, adding themselves to a row, or parking behind the dumpster or along side the dumpster. It's Crazyland at the fabric store every day in October.


On the fifty first pass I got a spot next to a very shabby looking car. I am always amazed that the very worst looking cars are always the ones who have one of those steering wheel locks on the steering wheel. If I was going to steel a car out of that lot, I would definitely be going for the catty whompuss Lexus, because there are only three reasons to steal a car:

1. A joy ride. Who would want to take a joy ride in some beat up jalopy with no air conditioning and the person's belongings piled in the back seat on a blazing hot day? Definitely go for the Lexus.

2. As a get away car for impulse crime. Again, the heap could just stop dead in the street after you've driven two feet. You need a car that going to get you outta there. Lexus.

3. Because you are a car thief. You patron saint is St. Dismas and you'll go for the Lexus.

It turns out that the dumpy little vehicle was someone's home, as the inhabitant was at home at the time, fast asleep. Somebody needs to tell him to go park in the swimming suit store parking lot during the month of October instead of the fabric store parking lot right before Halloween. Poor thing.

It's not going to be me. I'm not waking up some poor man asleep in the blazing heat with all of his belongings in the car and a steering wheel lock on the steering wheel of his beat up old crate.

If I was St. Martin de Cabellros or St. Francis of Assisi I would have traded cars with him right there on the spot.

Have I fallen short of what the Lord asks of us?

I should have at least left him a card with our neighborhood address on it. I know how the neighbors so love having people living in cars parked on the our street. Is it fair to give others an opportunity to suffer?

Davey and Goliath

Lately it seems I've been very fortunate in that the questions people are asking here on the blog are so long that they take up all the space I would normally use to blather on and on myself.

Cuts my work load in half!

Hello!

I recently purchased a necklace from you, and I love it! I actually wrote about it here.

I hope it sends you a little traffic. :)

Anyway. I have read your blog and wanted to ask you for some advice.

I am an actor, and am in graduate school for acting. I've been cast in a play where the character I'm playing says g**d*** as an adjective. I am not comfortable saying this, and have been replacing it with d***. My director (who is also my professor) has said that he thinks that as an actor, I need to "get over" my aversion to this, as it will limit me in casting. Additionally, he says that in refusing to say it, what I'm really doing is judging the character (which, as an actor, you're not supposed to do) and stepping outside of it, which will prevent me from truly connecting with and embodying the character.

Acting is my vocation, and I feel strongly about being as good of an actor as I can be. I know that this is what God wants me to do, and it's going to be my way of changing the world. But then I think of Saint Genesius, and think that maybe avoiding blasphemy is more important than being a free actor. But I also don't want to limit myself within my art (and my profession). I have no problem playing a sinner (like a murderer or a liar), but usually, playing those roles doesn't make me feel as though I have to sin in order to do it (i.e. an actor playing a murderous character does not actually murder, but an actor playing a character who takes the Lord's name in vain actually has to do it).

Anyway. I guess I'm just confused on the matter, and I wanted advice from someone outside of the theatre (because I'm the only Catholic in my program, and the others think I'm overreacting). Would God want me to stay strong on this point? Or will God forgive me because it's the character who is taking his name in vain, and not me?

Any direction you can give me would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you kindly,

Angela

Your director/professor is not just whistling Dixie. He is correct on all points he makes about how your aversion may limit you. He is correct in saying that in order to play the character you have to fully understand the character . The character seems to have no trouble whatsoever taking the Lords' name in vain. It's not really a bad idea that you would try to understand this person. Let's not kid ourselves by pretending that this character is a very unusual person because of this proclivity.

I imagine at this point that my readers fully expect me to stop here and say, "but by playing this person who so easily blurts the name of God you are giving a tacit agreement to this type of venial sin and our agreement to small sins is what leads us to big sins."


So there. I just said that. On top of that, the vicious cycle of 'this is how people talk' makes people talking that way all the more common. Which means you'll have a lot more roles to turn down in the future. Too bad for you that "Davey and Goliath" isn't on TV anymore, since that and Sesame Street will soon be about all that is left for you.

But I'm not going to leave it at that, because I don't know the context of the play, or what the play ultimately says about the character who speaks this way. Perhaps, in the end, the play shows us why we shouldn't speak this way. I doubt it.

What would God think? Sin is about intent. Most plays, in some way or another, are about morality.

I'm sure in the future, if you are a very good actress and people are pursuing you, you are going to have to turn down a lot of roles. What if you get a highly paid juicy lead in a slasher movie and you have to run through the woods in your underpants chased by a chainsaw? What if you get a TV commercial for Viagra?

What if someone asks you to do Shakespeare?

I'm not sure I've been much help. One day you can start your own production company and be free to practice your art and play all the starring roles. Until then, perhaps our readers will weigh in with some sage advice.

Here in Los Angeles, people light sage on fire to 'cleanse' the air.

The Tar Tar

Every year at this time, the weather cools off for a little while and then at the end of September gets very hot again. Then we have our little 'fall'. Fall for you might mean 50 degree weather gradually dipping into 40 degree weather. Fall for us means it's not 102 any more and the daytime weather is in the 70's.

The reason it gets hot is because of St. Ann.

It's not really. The winds that are blowing hot air in from the east are called the "Santa Ana's". I never thought for one second about St. Ann. I took French in high school and the poor beleaguered French nun wasn't very good at her job of teaching. She was very good at French. She just didn't seem to know how to teach it to someone else. Poor thing.

I digress.

So much is in Spanish here that you forget the words have meaning in another language. For example, yesterday we took a field trip to the famous La Brea Tar Pits. There is a museum there with the bones of literally millions of animals who have gotten themselves stuck in the tar for the last 25,ooo years or so. Mastodons and saber toothed cats and extinct wolves lived alongside human beings. Only one human being was ever found in the tar. A little cave woman who had her head bashed in.

And it isn't really tar, by the way. Tar is a man made product. It is thick gooey petroleum. It looks and smells just like tar.

I digress.

And what does "La Brea" mean in Spanish? It means "the tar". So when you say "The La Brea Tar Pits" you are really saying "The The Tar Tar Pits".

No wonder I didn't actually think about St. Ann when this year's winds blew in again. Today, someone asked me who St. Ann was and why does she have these hot winds.

St. Ann is the patron saint of seamstresses and Grandmas. Are grandmas full of hot air?

I think the winds are called Santa Anas because that's the direction in which they blow, east from Santa Ana.

Alright...time for today's question, which I am not happy to answer:

Sister, I love the blog! I have a quick question for you. I work in religious education and youth ministry and I'm planning to incorporate the (excellent) Theology of the Body for Teens curriculum into my programs for my high school students, and I've been reviewing the topics. The end of the program, after building up a good foundation of authentic sexuality, contains a segment on vocations and how our sexuality honors God in different ways through marriage/religious life/priesthood. The marriage section is the easiest to explain, since that's the most common vocation kids see. I can easily explain priesthood as a "marriage" between a priest and the Church because he acts in persona christi, and can explain religious women's vows because they are brides of Christ. However, I'm a little stuck about how to explain religious brothers. True, we're all destined to be brides of Christ in heaven, but that's easier for girls to relate to than guys. Since brothers aren't acting as priests do and aren't "married" to the Church, how do I explain their vows and their importance to the Church? Thanks so much! Maggie

Here's how I would explain it, but I don't think it's going to be helpful in any way.

Sex isn't everything.

There are much more important things in the world and types of relationships in the world than sexual relationships.

Religious brothers focus all their attention on God. It's really not rocket science. Everything doesn't have to be explained through the narrow prism of marriage, which is only one type of deep relationship.

Some of the deepest relationships you will ever have do not involve sex. The relationship of parent to child, the relationships between sisters and brothers, the relationship you have with your closest friend. I would venture a guess that many people will share certain secrets with their best friends that they do not share with their spouses. And that is perfectly healthy. I believe it is often helps a wife not swat her husband in the head with the skillet on any given morning and vice versa, because someone has been able to vent a little to a sympathetic ear.

They are called 'brothers' because the brotherly bond they share is helping each other to be closer to God. Sisters have that going on as well. They are a type of family.

Why are they important to the church? Didn't they invent beer?

No, they didn't. I think the Egyptians did that, although I did hear a story that some brothers invented beer (maybe they didn't know the Egyptians had beaten them to it) and realized that it could make you a bit tipsy. So they asked the Holy Father if it was okay to to drink it and they sent him some. The Holy Father thought it tasted awful (there are people in the world who do not like beer...raises hand) and figured that no one would ever want very much of the terrible stuff and gave it the green light.

All people who work to maintain a perfect harmony with God are important to the Church. That includes you, oh tireless teacher of teens. We just assume that since these particular people spend every waking hour on that project, they are better at it than the rest of us, just like if you spent every waking hour playing the piano, you'd be better at it than me.

At least one would hope that would be the case.

Dear Sister Abby

I wouldn't be here if the Catholic Church was not so confusing. I say that with all the love in my heart. I wouldn't change anything, mind you. But there are just things that we find ourselves explaining over and over again, like the fact that we do not pray to saints and that the Immaculate Conception is not the same thing as the Virgin Birth. Nor is it the same thing as an Immaculate Reception, which as far as I can tell from the lame jokes I have been told, is some sort of football miracle.

It certainly muddies the waters.

On top of that, people are continually struggling with what they are supposed to do, or not do. I don't want to take up any more space rambling on about all the confusion, as you will see for yourself how confusing it can get as I attempt to answer two questions, one of which is perhaps better left to Dear Abby. Nonetheless, I'm going to go for it.

Deep breath:

Sister, thank you for this post (on offering up suffering). There is something I just cannot get through my thick head though, and it drives me crazy. I got out of a physically abusive marriage in November, and since then there has been no end to the drama, my husband is in jail, etc. Part of me knows it was right to escape esp. for the safety of the children, but the other part of me feels like I should have been stronger, turned the other cheek one more time, offered it up, leaned more heavily on the Lord, something. I also feel guilty for not visiting him in jail since it is one of the works of mercy. Basically I feel guilty for giving up and I don't know if I did the right thing. Help!!

There should be no part of you that believes that you should have subjected your children to one more minute of any type of abuse, even if they were only witnesses to that abuse. Every second of a child subjected to that horror, made all the worse when it is happening in the home, which should be a place of love and safety, damages the child. Each second. This goes for parents who bicker in front of their children as well.

You may indeed lean more heavily on the Lord, NOW. Someone else can take up the corporal work of mercy of visiting him in jail. The Lord doesn't ask you not to be safe. The Lord wants you whole, in body and spirit.

Let me tell you something, and please listen carefully:

You did the right thing.

You are still doing the right thing.

Your husband is mentally ill and you can't fix him.

Jesus loves you.

You and your children should be seeking counseling. Even if you think you don't need it, I can assure you that they do.

For the rest of you readers, please don't ever confuse torture with 'offering up' your suffering. And never inflict any type of suffering on children.

And now, before I forward this next question on to Dear Abby:
Sister Mary Martha, I have a saint request for you. Recently, I have started to fall in love with one of my best friends. The other night, he told me that he also feels the same way about me. Which sounds great, at first, until you realize that he's engaged. Now I never intended to cause any strain on his engagement--I never planned to say anything to him--but he brought up how he felt about me first and eventually I couldn't avoid the subject any longer. I am struggling very much with this. I feel as though I am culpable for what has happened. I struggle very much with my faith and only recently have been granted the grace to begin a slow return to the church after years of absence. So I am attempting to get my life back on track with the will of God. In a situation like this, while I know it is not my fault for feeling for him as I do, I worry that perhaps I have committed some indiscretion (I believe the term is called an "emotional affair"--point being an affair, which makes me ill,) along with the fear that I might not have the strength to confront what needs to be confronted and do the moral thing in the future. (Whatever might happen between the two of us, since it is still undecided and he is still engaged.)

So, to get to the saint part of this very verbose request, I would love for you to suggest a saint who might understand my situation. Either a saint who struggled with loving a person they were not allowed to have (even involved with an affair,) or one who struggled to do the morally right thing despite their desires. Or, I suppose, any other saint you might suggest. Thank you for your patience!

If you checked back in the comments section when you left your question, dear reader, you may have noticed that someone suggested St. Margaret of Corona as a patron saint for you. St. Margaret was a person who spent most of her life trying to get over a lost love.

I have a different suggestion: St. Maria Goretti, the patron saint of teens and chastity.

Here's why: to begin with you are going to have to "man up" as they say, to get through this situation. I believe that phrase really means "act maturely". What you have to do is actually very easy to explain. It won't be that easy to accomplish.

Your friend is in a committed relationship. The operative word here is "committed". He has made a promise to someone. It is entirely up to him as to whether or not he is going to keep that promise. He has not yet made a vow.

It isn't fair to him or to you or to her (I'm sure she is a lovely person) for you to hang around this whole situation hoping he'll choose you.

You need to bow out. Step back. Get away from the whole thing.

I know...very difficult. Offer it up.

He will then be free to choose and you'll have your answer. If the answer is not in your favor, please do not slash her tires.

And remember little Maria Goretti, who was stabbed 14 times while saying no. The thought of that should help you man up.

Abby? What say you?

The More Things Change the More They Change

There is a smell. Not a bad smell.

But not a good one. It is oddly familiar. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. A kind of sickly sweet smell. At the same moment that I figured out from whence it was emanating, I also nailed down the sad familiarity. We bought some new garbage bags. They are scented.

And that smell...old lady perfume. Granny hankies dipped in what used to be called 'toilet water'. Seriously, why would anyone put that on? The name ought to be a big hint that the scent is not going to go over very well.

I'll be offering this one up for the Poor Souls in Purgatory for months to come. We are so good at recycling that we only use one garbage bag per week. The box holds sixty bags.

Meanwhile, I was happy to get this question after we discussed Father Juniper Serra the other day.

Was it always two miracles or was it three at one point?! I could be wrong- two miracles is quite something, considering, as you said, who is going to pray to someone for their intercession anyway if they are not already a saint! Very informative post- thanks!

You are one hundred per cent correct! And then...not really.

The third miracle rule was more like the 'and heir and a spare' mentality of a monarchy.


The Church was always happy with two miracles, but went for the third miracle to seal the deal. There is actually a movie called "The Third Miracle". It stars, Ed Harris, who reminds me so much of my brother, they could be brothers.

As movies go, it actually is a useful lesson in how the Church works at determining sainthood. Ed Harris, my pretend brother, is from the Congregation for the Causes of Saints. He comes to town to interview people who knew the saint candidate and to investigate the alleged third miracle.

I don't remember all the details. There were Nazi's in it. The third miracle was that the saint had caused bombs that were falling on a village not to drop. She wasn't dead and in heaven at the time. She was a little girl...I think. Ed Harris couldn't find anyone living who had witnessed the event. And the almost-a-saint needed that third miracle. There had since been two miraculous cures. Or maybe it was one miraculous cure and a bleeding statue. I don't quite remember.

But...and here is where the plot really thickened...there was one person living that had witnessed the event, but no one knew he had been there. It turned out that the priest assigned to be the Devil's Advocate on the case had been a young Nazi at the time and didn't want anyone to know his ugly past and so was blocking the whole sainthood thing to hide his own shame.

It's a movie, folks.

That was something else in that film that has been dumped by the wayside. Not only did the Church drop the third miracle requirement (it is only two now), the Church also dropped the "Devil's Advocate".

This was a move by Pope John Paul II, who canonized more saints than any Pope in history.

Of course he did! He dropped the Devil's Advocate and the third miracle!

The Devil's Advocate was a person assigned to argue against the cause for sainthood of the person in question. As the Devil's Advocate, it would be your job to refute any and all 'evidence', from deeds of heroic virtue to supposed miracles.

I have to say, I am still sorry to see the Devil's Advocate go. There should be vigorous debate. I assume there still is, but it just seems more efficient to me to have someone whose whole job is to defend the anti sainthood cause. After all, we have a whole "Congregation for Causes of Saints", we ought to have at least one "person against the Causes of Saints".

I'm sure the job was not a pleasant one. It's never any fun to be the wet blanket on everyone's saint party. Still, we must do what we must do.

Anyhow, as remarkable as the" stopping bombs from falling" miracle was, I don't think it would actually count as the third miracle. I believe any miracles for the cause of sainthood had to occur after the person is dead. That's the whole point of having the miracles, to prove that the person is in heaven.

The devil is very tricky, but he doesn't go around doing good deeds. Miracles come from heaven. I have to be dead and in heaven to be a saint and the only way to prove that I'm in heaven (because proving I am dead will be a snap) is to have a miracle based on my intercession.

So I don't think that bomb falling would count, even though it actually was a miracle.

If you really want to get the inside scoop on saint makers, check out that book I've had sitting over there in my sidebar for months on end. "My Cousin the Saint" is a very good book anyhow, and a tutorial on the whole process.

The More Things Change...

Did I mention we are back to normal?

We are back to normal. Sister St. Aloysius has returned and Sister Nicholas has shuffled off to Buffalo.

We can't find anything. I should have followed her around while she was cleaning.

Suddenly, fall is upon us. School has started. The air smells of crayons and pencil cases and sweating children. Sister St. Aloysius is already mulling over Halloween.

What did Alice say, "The more things change, the more they stay the same." Probably Alice did not say this. More likely, someone said it to Alice.

Here's a question for you! Surprise! Our priest retired at the age of 80 last month, and was replaced a middle-aged priest who has made some changes. I don't know the Magesterium all that well, so I'm betting that things needed to be tightened up a bit at our little country church, but folks are grumbling. Some are saying they may leave the church over matters that seem trivial to me--who announces hymns during the Mass, moving furniture, that kind of thing. Having returned home to the Catholic church fairly recently, I just don't want anyone to leave--especially for something stupid! What should I say to them? Some have a protestant background, and protestants follow personalities instead of dogma. We're Catholics; we shouldn't be doing this. I don't want things to get ugly over this kind of stuff. Shower some wisdom on me sister--please? --Mary Ellen

It isn't just retiring priests that cause things to get shuffled around. Must be that time of year, or that time of the decade. My mother's beloved pastor, who has been there forever and knows every single person in his parish and every single thing about them, just left last week having been transferred. I know another priest who was just moved.

Any of us could get our marching orders any day. That's our job.

It's a shame that people can't get their brains around why these changes take place in the first place. Oh sure, it's true that in this case the priest has retired. But priests are moved around all the time for a lot of reasons. Your new priest has caused a domino effect. Wherever he came from, he has to be replaced.

But more importantly we must remember our vows of obedience. Our job is to become completely attached with Christian love to our parish, our flock, our school. Our job is also to leave and give that same unequivocal love and attention to the strangers that will become our parish, our flock, our school.

We love everyone. We are attached to no one. Our relationship to you comes only through God, as we are all his children.

You are absolutely right that these matters of the hymn announcers and the furniture arrangement are very trivial. Leave the parish?

So....why are we in a parish? You know how when you go on an airplane the stewardess (are they still called that?) tells you that if that little oxygen mask drops you should make sure you have yours on before you assist anyone else?

We are in a parish to get to Heaven. My job is to get myself to heaven and to assist you in getting to Heaven, in that order. If I'm not working to get myself to Heaven, I won't be able to help you. I'll just pass out and die.

So we sit in these pews together. We pray together. We eat pancake breakfasts and attend funerals. And someday, we hope to be in Heaven together.

If you can't even be in the same church building with Joe Schlemmer because Joe got to read the hymn list instead of Mary Bernbrock, how are you going to stand being in Heaven with Joe?

I'm not sure if this helps you. What can you say to them?

"Get a grip, people! If we can't go to church together, we can't go to Heaven together."

Your patron saint: St. Catherine of Sienna, who kept the Church together while we had two Popes and then three Popes and finally, one Pope again.

Sister, I live with a chronic pain condition. Which Saint can I turn to for intercession when I don't think I can take anymore?

St. Bernadette of Lourdes.

Dig it.

The fires are still raging, but they no longer seem to be bothering anyone. We do hope all the rabbits and squirrels have gotten ahead of the flames.

We're having a nice holiday and the beastly hot spell has finally broken. A good time to talk about Hell.

Why is it that God is happy to forgive our sins before we die, but we don't get a chance to repent after we die? Or, why aren't people who are currently in hell given a chance to repent their sins? What I'm trying to say is that it seems odd to me that an infinitely compassionate God refuse to forgive people after they die. Mind shedding a little light on this for me?

I understand you. It does seem harsh. I do believe I can shed some light, but I'm not sure my answer will satisfy.

To begin with, God does not put you in hell, you go there. God never turns away from you because you sin. Sin is when you turn away from God.

The easy answer would be to say, "You have had your whole life to repent your sins. If you haven't done it by now, what makes you think you're going to do it after you die?"

But, and here is where you and I are on the same page, eternity is a very long time. For example, let's just say for the sake of argument, that Hitler is in Hell. (The Catholic Church never says anyone is in Hell, not even Hitler, because at the last second he could have said to himself, "What was I thinking?!" and gotten himself a very, very long sentence in Purgatory. In another side note, my grade school nuns always told us that Pontius Pilate was in Purgatory until the end of time. Since we actually have no idea who is in or out of Purgatory, we can safely say that those nuns were just making that up.) And now that we have Hitler in Hell, let's give him a sentence of one million years for each individual he so much as made uncomfortable. We're making this up, so let's given him a billion years for every person that died because of him, which would also include all the war dead on both sides and causalities of the war and people who died of a broken heart thereafter.

That's millions and billions of years. Eternity is longer than that.

I will admit that it is hard for me to imagine that there is anything you could do on the earth, even if you were Hitler, that would merit that as punishment. On top of which, you are only human. You only have what brains you were given and what ever kind of paltry education or terrible parents or rotten neighborhood you have had to work with in your quest for God or lack thereof.

And the Church teaches that if you die with one mortal sin on your soul, you're right there with the same Hell sentence as Hitler.

At this point we have to chalk this one up to "It's a Sacred Mystery" (which is Catholic for "just let it go").

But here is where I think I can help, just a little. This, too is a made up story, but I think it at least sheds some light on how people do end up in Hell forever.

Late one night when I was up with Sister Mary Fiacre (she sometimes needs tending at all hours), I was listening to a very silly radio show. Silly enough to be fascinating. Anyone ever listen to Art Bell? He has a program where people come on and talk about ghosts and UFO's and the like. One night he was doing a program about how a giant spaceship was lurking behind a giant meteor and would arrive here soon, for example. (This isn't' the made up part. I really did hear this radio show.)

This particular evening his guest was one of those people who had been brought back from death. You've heard some of these stories, I'm sure. The person is dead and they are going into the light and Jesus or their grandmother beckons them but tells them they are not going to stay right now and then the person is back in the ER wishing they were dead because it's so nice up there.

This woman had died quite a number of times. She had some illness or chronic condition or whatever and she had died seven times or more and on more than one of these occasions she did not go visit Jesus or her grandmother but had gone to Hell.

She said that she was on a 'cat walk' above a vast desert where people below, lots and lots of people, were endlessly digging in the sand, the hole they dug just refilling. She said that she was aware of two things: that she was merely being shown this and not be staying, and that these people could leave anytime they wanted to, but they just didn't.

And this is Hell.

Although I realize that this is not a true story, it struck me as a marvelous vision of why Hell would be eternal. Because even if you could leave, you wouldn't.

Think of the person you dislike the most, someone you despise, even. It doesn't have to be someone you shake hands with at Church (or refuse their hand). It could be the President or Hitler. Now imagine that, much to your surprise, if you make it to heaven, that person will be there. Still can't shake their hand?

You are digging sand.

Sitting through Mass wincing at the hymn selection and the woman next to you who insists on saying the rosary through the whole thing?

You are digging sand.

I must stress that this little story of sand digging is not Catholic teaching. It does beautifully illustrate the nature of sin, though. You go through life bitter and angry, because.....you go through life bitter and angry. You could change. You could leave it behind. But you don't.

What makes you think things will suddenly be different when you're dead?

Beauty Must Suffer

We're not on fire. An enormous area here is California is on fire, but we are far away. We don't really even have to breath the awful smoke, nor are we having ash rains as we have had with some of the other fires. Other places have summer, fall, winter and spring. We have rainy season and fire season. The reason we have fire season is precisely that rainy season lasts for about three weeks in February, where it rains a little bit. Then by June, after no rain, and July and August, after it's 102 at 8 am for a few weeks, the place goes up in smoke.

A very large number of people are suffering. I hope they offer it up. I also hope it rains or something, or the wind changes and blows the fire backwards over the acres it already burned.

A question from a reader:
While you are looking into Saint Elizabeth Seton, perhaps you could also break down for me the concept of just HOW our suffering aids the Lord in the conversion of souls and such. While I understand the "offering it up", the old "Methodist" part of me still snarls that by having died on the cross for our sins, Jesus paid it ALL and that he does not, NOT need our sufferings on top of his to aid in salvation of the masses. (My cradle Catholic husband also joins the choir of discontent and unbelief of this as well) I can ALMOST grasp it, the concept sparkles just beyond my reach. I know that the honest to the point way you have of putting things will lay this gem in my hand. Thanks!

Was I looking into Elizabeth Seton? Uh-oh. I hope whoever was waiting on that information has offered up their suffering.

Apparently you really don't understand the 'offering it up' thing at all.

Jesus does not need anyone's anything. He could just go on His merry Way. He never has to hear from you again. He could be perfectly happy living with His Father and the Holy Spirit and all the angels and saints (who, by the way, offered up their suffering...just sayin') and forget all about the rest of us pathetic sinners.

But He doesn't.

He is a hard person to understand.

The suffering isn't about Him. It's about you. If you can suffer and be glad, if you can suffer and not complain, if you can suffer and make it a prayer, you will understand Him a lot better, because that's the way He lived His life.

Let's pretend for a moment that when Jesus died on the cross it had absolutely nothing to do with the forgiveness of sins. Let' say, for the sake of argument, that what really happened here is that this fellow shot His mouth off a little too often and a little too loudly for the comfort level of some minorly powerful people, so they had Him done away with.

Then what does it all mean?

Is it possible to understand that beyond the forgiveness of sins, that Jesus never stopped showing us how to live, even up to the moment of His death? That He did not raise a hand in defense or anger, that He accepted His suffering, that He did not allow His followers to raise a hand, even in defense. That when He said, "You have learned that they were told, “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.” But what I tell you is this: Do not set yourself against the man who wrongs you. If someone slaps you on the right cheek, turn and offer him your left. " (Matthew 5:38-42), He wasn't just whistlin' Dixie?

If Jesus had just showed up as God and run all around saying all of this stuff, we could have all just said, "Easy for you to say, God."

But He didn't. He suffered the way we suffered. He suffered all the ways we suffer. He just handled it a lot better than we tend to handle it.

Offering up your suffering is a prayer of communion and understanding with Jesus and with all those who suffer.

If I can sit here in my smokey house while the ashes rain down, I can better understand the suffering of those who are right on the fire line, whose homes are in harms way, whose eyes burn hotter than mine, whose sinuses are clogged and whose throats are choked.


When I have a day when it is difficult to breath, I can better understand the suffering of those with chronic lung problems.

I can be thankful for what I don't have to suffer and I can be more compassionate for those who continue to suffer.

Please don't forget that Jesus also said this, "Whatsoever you do to the least of My brothers, this you also do unto Me." He wasn't just talking about dropping a quarter in a bum's hat.

I hope this helps relax your snarl a bit.