8/365 Peace be to this house

I learned of the custom when I was teaching at the school. Our former pastor, Fr. Bill, came by with a box of chalk. I was already in the west-facing classroom so it was my second year. I don't know why he didn't come by the first year. Perhaps he'd only recently become acquainted with the practice, which I cannot find any exact ethnic reference to online (and I haven't gone to try to research it elsewhere, honestly). Is it Orthodox? German? Irish? I don't know. I had never seen it done, but after that first day, I would see it on occasion driving down St. Louis streets.

Bill knocked on the doorframe and stepped into my classroom. It was the middle of the day and my homeroom class--a group of 10 boys and 2 girls--were there for math. He pardoned his interruption and handed me the box of chalk, which I thought was amusing considering how much chalk I went through in a given month as the middle school math teacher in the building. Then, without apology or explanation, he wrote this on the lintel of the door:

20 + C + M + B + 01

Which, of course, looked like an equation to me and I wasn't exactly sure what he was going for. He explained that the past Sunday had been Epiphany and this was the traditional house blessing over doors done on that day (or on the traditional day set for Epiphany, January 6). The 20 and the 01 represented the year (2001); the plus signs were crosses; the CMB were Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. The traditional names given to the 3 wise men, who of course are not named in the bible and aren't even numbered. But it could also stand for the Latin phrase, Christus Mansionem Benedicat, although I personally think that might be a stretch. Either way, the mark was made above my classroom door.

He did go around the hallway with his box of chalk and repeat the blessing on other doors. And I went home myself with my own chalk from the board tray, got out a ladder, and put it above my own door. I was 3 months pregnant at the time, I realize looking back now.

Rain and snow washed the chalk away after a time, although it created a new tradition for my family and I try to remember as I'm putting away Christmas, that it's time to bless the house. My classroom door, though, was indoors. The weather wasn't going to rinse off the chalk. And knowing the janitorial team, nothing else was, either. It was there the last day I worked in the building.

The school closed two years later. I don't know why I was there, but sometime a few years back before we started the process of trying to sell the building, I was up on that floor again. Some of the doors still had the blessing written above them.

Sometimes I wish our parish had a more traditional Epiphany, although our migration mass is appropriate to the theme. But it might be nice to have the announcement of the date of Easter, for instance, and a blessing of chalk for us all to take home and use to write cryptic messages above our front doors. I haven't done my door yet this year--Epiphany came with the snow and I knew it would all be washed and blown away faster than I could put it up. But I'll get it done during the next few days. A sort of ephemeral mezuzah.

22/365 St. Joseph vs. Infant of Prague

It's an older story...from a worship commission meeting.

We were sitting at the table and the fact that our school building hasn't sold came up again. Someone--I don't remember who it was--mentioned St. Joseph and maybe burying a statue of him in the garden to help sell it.

See, it's a superstition, or devotion if you will, to pray to St. Joseph to sell your house. The usual method is to bury a statue of St. Joseph in your yard and then when it sells, dig him up and put him in a prominent place in your home. Don't leave him behind! Now, the details change with the storyteller. Some say to bury him right side up. Some say upside-down. Facing towards the house. Facing away. My parents always buried him upside-down facing away--and they sold 6 houses between 1985 and 2000. They still have the cheapy little St. Joseph statue on the mantel in their living room.

Hazel was sitting there at the table and wrinkled up her nose. "That's just superstition. We shouldn't do that." She sort of pooh-poohed it with her hand and shifted in her chair. Of course it is, right? But any little bit has to help, right? I don't know. I don't think it probably matters since I'm not the owner looking to sell (although I must admit I considered burying one in my neighbor's front yard when his house went up for sale).

Later in the meeting Fr. Miguel mentioned the Infant of Prague. Now, we have one of these statues in the back of church. Many churches do. They dress up the statue in fancy little dresses (Miguel mentioned that someone at a former parish said with a sigh, "Isn't she beautiful?" when, of course, the Infant of Prague is the Infant Jesus...). A question came up about perhaps why we would have such a devotion in our parish, why that statue, why not Gertrude or Bridget or various Our Lady's? A couple of folks mentioned that the Infant of Prague had many superstitions surrounding him--most involving money.

My own grandmother told me once that if Mike and I were having money trouble, we should place an Infant of Prague statue in our front hall, facing out the door, with a dollar bill under it. "You'll never have money trouble then." I mentioned this, and Hazel perked up.

"Oh yes," she said. And she went on to describe the devotion, as she called it, in great detail. And I remember sitting there thinking about the earlier conversation about Joseph. I didn't think she was wrong or a hypocrite or anything like that. I just wondered about how things like this get started and why they continue in some houses but not others. Why do some people bless their front doors for Epiphany? Why do others say St. Theresa the Little Flower novenas? Some people I know are obsessed with the rosary. Others with the Divine Mercy whatever that is. What's with all those icons of Our Lady of Perpetual Help? St. Christopher statues? The Sacred Heart of Jesus? Praying to St. Jude and having to give something back? For that matter, I'm always singing the little St. Anthony rhyme: Tony Tony look around, something's lost that must be found! I love St. Anthony. He's good to me.

Along with the layers and layers of intricate details involving the church year, the mass, the little rules that have more to do with us than God, I love these things. I love that we develop these devotions, or superstitions. I love that my mother used to burn palms on stormy nights when my father was working. That we said a Hail Mary before we left the driveway, every time we got in the car.

I don't have an Infant of Prague. And I don't plan on moving so I don't have a St. Joseph. But when my sister started looking for a house? I lit a St. Joseph votive in my front hall. Just to keep me thinking about it.

23/365 Trivia Night

All I got to say is that St. Cecilia's is on Alaska. We got the question right but the church is on Alaska. I know. The address is for the rectory. It still got me going. That's where Mike and I got married.

There was a whole category of that--the questions were all addresses of St. Louis city Catholic churches, and we had to name the church. We got 10/10, of course. We had two nuns at the table and I've got genealogy on my side. It was my favorite category this evening. That and the state capitals one. My least favorite? Talk show hosts. We had, umm, two nuns and me and Mike at our table. We were undermined by that category. Thank goodness for mulligans.

We came in third, which should not have happened. We were doing so poorly. I say this as someone who pretty much always places in the top three at trivia nights. At least in the last 8 years or so. I love trivia nights. They're my favorite fund raiser.

I hope this one made us some money. It was crowded enough and seemed to be a good time had by all sort of evening.

Miguel mentioned to me in an email earlier this month that a couple of questions he thought to himself, oh, Bridgett will know this one. I hope I got them right....and I wonder if he threw in the hardscrabble question because I use that as one of my internet handles.

Astrid's daughter Nissa babysat for us. We came home and lo and behold, all three kids were asleep. I'm going to stop this wrap up. I think there's some 30 Rock to catch up on. Or, perhaps the second-highest rated show in 2009. That would be Dancing with the Damned Stars.

72/365 St. Patrick's (Sort Of)

Today is the parade downtown. We have a float in the parade with our Irish dance school, and afterward the girls dance at a bar and grill downtown that is a work program for a Catholic homeless shelter--teaching folks how to work in a restaurant to give them skills to go out and find good work doing just that.

A lot about our school is like any other. We go to shows and we go to feiseanna (that would be competitions). We spend a lot of time doing hair in side rooms at nursing homes before the girls head out to dance on the cafeteria floors. There is competition between some girls, there are teams that get along, there are parents whose animus is only thinly veiled. And there is a lot of what I thought was lip service paid to Catholic tradition. Lots of references to Our Lady and asking what parish we go to and all that. Here in St. Louis it's expected that if you're not Catholic, you at least understand Catholic culture. And most of this I cynically accepted as a load of blarney.

But then sitting there eating my Irish stew and drinking my Irish coffee and watching my girls dance, I realized that McMurphy's Grill isn't usually open on Saturdays. They're a lunch place for downtown workers. But they're open for the St. Patrick's Day parade (the Saturday before St. Pat's). So that we can come and dance. Huh. And then in the bathroom a woman with a name tag said to me that "when they hired me they said I'd make more money today than any other day of the year and they're right, it's crazy kind of busy."

And suddenly I was glad. Glad that we dance there on St. Patrick's Day instead of some smoky bar, or even just back at the studio for parents (most of the patrons were connected to the school). It seemed like we meant it.

93/365 My morning, my triduum

Friday night, Good Friday, I got to bed at 2:30. But they were done. Hidden in those stitches are scenes from the DVD I was playing while I worked, which always happens to me (my Christmas banner is Law & Order Season 5, for instance). I look at quilts or knitting later and remember the music or movie or TV that was on in the background. I should probably plan better and watch/listen to meditative things. But I don't--I keep part of my brain amused and offline while I work with other parts. This banner was done with Sports Night on in the background--an Aaron Sorkin show about people who make a nightly sports show on a cable network. It doesn't sound like something I would like, but two out of three episodes find me in tears even though I've seen them a half dozen times already.

So I crawled into bed at 2:30 and slept like a rock until my alarm went off at 8. I help prepare meals for the homebound three times a year--Thanksgiving morning, Christmas Eve, and Holy Saturday. The events officially begin at 8, and run until the folks who are delivering the meals show up about 11. Then there's clean up afterward. On Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, I get out of there at noon. But Holy Saturday is the day to decorate for Easter so I split my time between meals and the church.

I took Sophia with me because she wanted to help. We counted containers and cupcakes. I chatted with friends and people I know only through this ministry. I like doing this because I'm not in charge. I ladle sweet potatoes into foil containers and enjoy the banter. I commiserate with Sr. Vanda when she rolls her eyes at a participant who will not stop talking. "All the time, she always has something to say. And look at me, it's Holy Saturday and I'm saying that." But nothing is mean-spirited.

Sal the janitor pops in and out to have his conversations with us. He talks to Astrid about being a server. He talks to me about church decorating. Sal is developmentally disabled and lives across from church with his family--I think he's probably about 60, and our church is his life. My relationship with him has changed over time--my part of it has, I mean. He comes to every church decorating moment and fusses around ("hedgehogging" is a term I might use, looking busy without really being busy). This day, Sr. Hildegard has him doing dirty work with candles and candlestands. Soot and wax and who knows how many years of neglect. "I bet he regrets ever saying he'd come up to help," she says to me. But after the vigil mass, downstairs, all he can talk about is how dirty the candles are and how nice everything looks now. "We done good!"

Fiona arrives midway through the morning to deliver flowers for church--she works for the florist we order from. She has me come with her with a rectory key to drop off flowers for Fr. Miguel. "He got you flowers, too," she tells me, and I think she means the several dozen flowering plants for church. Then she hands me a vase with my name on it. Sometimes. I show the card to Astrid, who sighs and says, "I guess we can keep him!"

I have some time--the cooks are standing around drinking wine at 10 in the morning and I tell Sr. Vanda I'm heading up to iron some. I'll be back. I iron the banners, worried that the red isn't balanced enough ("But that's nature," Hildegard points out). I take them upstairs to unfurl (I like that word). Hildegard helps me straighten them out--for whatever infuriating reason, I cannot maintain a straight line over 12 feet of fabric. I pin here and there at the top, and get them to the point that they seem about right.

I go downstairs to look at them for the first time. Rina Yoon would be proud. They're so dang big. I sat up in the sanctuary surrounded by all the disparate parts that will become Easter at our church, staring up at the choir loft.

And everybody loved them. That is important to me, of course, but more than that, I think I finally got a handle on Easter. The fire, the water, the circle, the earth, change, transformation, surprise. Jack said he thought it was the best thing I'd done. I think I agree. Miguel said he knew what he saw in it...but didn't elaborate. After the vigil mass, Paul told me he was glad he had 50 days of Easter to ruminate on them. Bev couldn't stop telling me how astonishing they were. It was a good moment.

The vigil was long and dark and just right. The church was set, as Hildegard had told me, and we got out of the way so Christ could step in. It was Easter, after Triduum. In many ways.

263/365 A few barbecue shots

279/365 Mission

Jan asked me what a mission meant for our parish. I was not on the mission planning team, so I am probably not the person to ask, but this is how I saw it:

4 nights of good preaching, each with a theme, brought to us by the Redemptorist mission team (the Redemptorists are an order of priests--I was baptized by them, actually, and my parents were married in Liguori, where they are based here in Missouri (I don't know how big that province might be)).

The themes for the nights are: bible, cross, candle, altar. The last night is a mass, the second-last night is reconciliation.

The overall idea is to reawaken us and replenish us spiritually, and to move us to action.

The priest who came to talk to us and spend the week is Fr. Jonah, and he is completely engaging as a preacher. Reminds me in some ways of Fr. Lucien back at the Benedictine abbey where I went to middle school. I like him. I couldn't go tonight, and I can't go tomorrow, but I'll be there Wednesday for the mass.

It's not like a tent revival do I hear amen kind of thing. It is definitely Catholic thus far.

290/365 Erasers

I remember sitting in the front row of the 6th grade classroom--the other 6th grade classroom, since my homeroom was across the hall, on what would be politely referred to as the "garden level" of the school building. We were half in the basement.

Br. Stephen was up sitting on his desk and we were talking about belief. Beth asked what the difference between belief and opinion was. "Aren't faith and belief simply a matter of opinion?" she asked. Yes, in 6th grade. When I taught 6th grade later in life, I would have fallen on the ground if a 6th grader had asked me this. I got things like "what do we need to know for the test?" and "Why do we have to know this?" but Br. Stephen got questions like this all the time.

And Stephen handled it by going up to the chalkboard and writing the word "opinion." He had the most marvelous handwriting. And he picked up the eraser and turned to look at us. "This chalkboard is faith, true faith. This word is opinion." He erased the word. "It would take a lot more doing to eliminate the slate."

Simple, yes, but it's an image that has stuck in my mind ever since--and that was 24 years ago. I worry about church politics and about how long I'm going to be able to call myself Catholic and what if my local parish changes in tone to the point that I can't call myself a member and where does that leave me and what will I do and how will I find a place where I fit. I disagree with so many things. Why am I here? Why do I stay? What is it about being part of this Church that makes me walk through life as a Catholic instead of a Quaker or part of the UCC or any other of a half a dozen choices that have appeared in front of me in the past?

And I think about that chalkboard in that basement classroom--not my faith versus my opinions, but in regards to where the winds are blowing now as opposed to 2000 years of layered traditions built up and up and up. I think about atomic structures, how the glass marble in front of me appears static but is composed of countless atoms that are constantly interacting and changing and reacting and buzzing about. What's happening now, or anytime, is chalk dust. My faith and the overall picture of what it means to be Christian is slate. In the other analogy, changes in politics or ritual language or who gets communion or who the hated minority is or lamentations about Jesus' words versus a hierarchical church full of Pharisees is all buzz. It's all tiny bits of movement and change and reaction and the glass marble doesn't change.

292/365 Children and Death

We spent the weekend on the Gasconade River, at a wonderful place called Rock Eddy Bluff, where we've been going year after year for 10 years now. Layers built on layers of experiences there. It's important in our family story. This past April, we scattered our dog Dara's ashes down at the creek near the cabin. Dara loved going to Rock Eddy. She was a city dog who loved the leash-free fence-free lifestyle.

It was really important to the two girls that we "visit Dara" while we were there. So we did, skipping rocks in the water, finding stones shaped like hearts or with holes all the way through. Unseasonably warm (it was my birthday, trust me, it was too warm), the girls waded and I took pictures.

Maeve, afterward, told me she was glad we got to visit Dara, but also that she hoped Dara wasn't lonely there, and that she wished we'd saved some of the ashes for our house so we could visit Dara all the time. She's the only one who consistently mentions our old rottweiler. She named her long-sought-after "pillow pet" after her.

And me, I stand there on the banks of Clifty Creek half in the adult world feeling like I'm humoring her (but in a good way), but half in her world hoping that Dara knows we're there, thinking of her. I mean, what does it hurt? Might as well feel connected.

355/365 Epiphany Chalked Up

and on entering the house
they saw the child with Mary his mother.
They prostrated themselves and did him homage.
Then they opened their treasures
and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod,
they departed for their country by another way.