MH Raleigh

HOLY WEEK IN THE CITY

by Kathy McVady

Last year during Holy Week I saw the face of the new evangelization. I saw Christ moving again among his people.

Christ in a white alb, in the person of one of his priests, strode into the housing project area. Christ’s voice, in limited Spanish phrases, told people that he would be blessing palms for them.

The people, distracted from their buying and selling and from their TVs and truck repairs looked on quizzically. A small group gathered.

The children were curious. They came and smelled the incense. Two or three lit candles. One man boldly grasped the processional cross.

The priest donned the red chasuble. He blessed the palms and people distributed them. He proclaimed the Gospel.

The procession began winding its way through parking lots and along sidewalks. Those processing sang hymns whose melodies had been embedded in the memories of the people for years untold.

Bystanders stopped to watch. Doors and windows flew open. The sights, the sounds, the smells were awakening the drowsy memories of a life that had once been theirs.

They left their tools and TVs. Some grasped palms and joined the procession, lending their voices to the songs of praise.

Mothers came outside carrying their babies. Others dashed quickly inside to grab their sacred images.

Did the crowd now number a hundred? Or was it more?

The procession returned to its starting point. A small wooden table in front of the communal laundromat.

But now the crowd was pressing against the priest. "Bless my child, Father." "Will you bless my statue of the Virgin?" "May I have a rosary?" Some of the children shyly fingered the alb or chasuble.

It seems that the spirits of the people had been slumbering for a long time in this new and strange land. The priest, the palms, the procession, the songs were awakening them, and they were thirsting for more.

More was given.

On Good Friday there was another procession. A six-foot image of their crucified Lord led them again around their dwellings. Mournful hymns replaced those of triumph. More people than on Palm Sunday followed him on his Way of the Cross.

At each station they fell to their kneesAon grass, on pavement, on gravel. It didn’t seem to matter. The Crucified One was reclaiming their hearts.

Then rain fell. Umbrellas were opened, hoods came up over heads, babies were bundled more closely. The rain mattered little.

One by one, people came up to venerate the cross—young and old, young men in black leather jackets and shaded glasses, parents showing children what to do.

When the service was over, people made arrangements for baptism, for anointing the sick who were at home, for catechism classes, for the blessing of apartments and cars.

The evangelization had begun anew. The seeds that had lain dormant had burst open. The green sprouts were reaching for the sun. The fruit would come forth.

A PRAYER OF JOY

by Fr. Eddie Doherty

The ducks have returned to the Madawaska River. They are pretending to be jet bombers, torpedoes, or snorkel submarines. I wish I could enjoy the icy water as they do.

The pussy willows have grown so big I could mistake them at a distance for choke cherry buds. The maple tree near the river has acquired a million little buttons. Pike and bass are spawning in the slough; and someone has set a trap for muskrats.

A late snow falls. Great white flakes. And someone nearby has made a bonfire of last year’s fallen twigs and branches. I love the smell of wood smoke. Lord, let it come up to you as incense for your new April. And let me offer with it a prayer of perfect joy.

There are people offering their pain to you as prayer. There are people offering prayers in atonement for misdeeds or grievous sins. There are people offering prayers of supplication, and prayers of petition, and prayers of faith and love and hope. But prayers of joy, I think, are very few. Yet we have most need of you when we are most happy.

What do we need to make us happy? A new car with red leather seats? A final payment on the first mortgage? A boy friend? A well-paying job, or a promotion with twice as much money? A new suit or hat? A broiled lobster and half a keg of beer? A trip to Europe or some other expensive continent?

Once I worked for most of these things—and only for them. Now my happiness is made up of little things. The sun rising in the blazing east. A marigold in full bloom. A sparrow staring at me from a post. A mushroom ready to pick. A hamburger or hot dog with French mustard or perhaps a dash of horseradish, or even a plate of spinach with melted cheese. A bunch of wild flowers brought into my room. Sunset and evening star. The faces of happy friends.

From Getting to Know God, pp. 65-66, available from MH Publications.

Kathleen O’Herin

A PLACE SHE NEVER WENT BEFORE

by Fr. Bob Pelton

This article was excerpted from the homily at Kathleen’s funeral Mass.

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Let me begin by saying that the Church doesn’t want the homilies at funeral Masses to be eulogies. Our lives were not initiated by ourselves—neither at the beginning nor all the way through.

The real hero of our lives is Jesus Christ. In telling about the person who died, the Church wants us to proclaim the Lord Jesus and to show how the departed one has allowed Christ to shape his or her life.

Kathleen oozed creativity. Every one who knew her knew that. There wasn’t a day of her life when she wasn’t creating something. She could have filled the gift shop.

But did we know that she came to Madonna House with a broken heart because of the failure of her marriage? Did we know that from the time she was about fifty, her favorite author was the philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard? Kierkegaard, the master of ultimate questions, spoke to her heart.

Romans 8:31-39 proclaims for all time that nothing can overcome the love of Christ—absolutely nothing! In the face of whatever our cross is, our sins, our stupidities, our mistakes, the wounds inflicted upon us, the times we live in, whatever the Adversary may try to do, nothing can overcome the love of Christ.

And this Gospel (Jn 21:1-23), almost the final word of the Gospel of St John, tells us how this love works. I just found this out these past few months, at least some deep part of it, and it is so profound, so divinely beautiful, that I have to apply it to Kathleen.

After all the terror and ecstasy of the Lord’s death and resurrection, the apostles, at least most of them, just had to go home, and when they got there, they just had to go fishing. It was all just too much.

I like to call this scene "Breakfast on the Beach of Eternity." Standing on that beach, the Lord says, bring some of the fish you have just caught to shore. Simon leaps in and brings the whole load, so we get some sense of the energy that is churning through Peter. After the meal, the Lord says, Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these do?

I have known for a long time that two different Greek words were used for "love" in this passage. One of them, agapo or agapas means "agape," total self-sacrificing love, the love of the Lord. God is agape. God is total self-giving.

The other one, filio or filias means: "I love you. You are my friend. We are in communion. We share so much. We appreciate each other so much. I enjoy you. I’m delighted with you." Filio is love, but not total self-sacrificing love.

So the Lord says, Do you love me, agapas me, more than these? Peter answers, "Yes, filio se. I love you as a friend." But notice he doesn’t say, "more than the others." He’s not boasting anymore.

The second time, the Lord says Simon, son of John, filias me?" The Lord doesn’t say, "agapas" this time. The Lord steps down to where Peter is. "Filias me?" Yes, Lord. You know I love you. Filio se. Then a third time once again the Lord uses "filio," and Peter responds with the same verb. Each time the Lord confirms his shepherd’s charism.

Then he says—and I always thought this was just part of the story until a few months ago—I tell you most solemnly when you were young, you put on your own belt and walked where you liked…." As Peter had just demonstrated. He’s strong, full of energy, full of life, full of determination. Often it’s misdirected, but it’s always there, ready to be redirected either in enthusiasm or repentance.

But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and somebody else will put a belt around you and take you where you would rather not go.

Where would he rather not go? To death of course and suffering, terrible suffering. But also to a place where Peter can’t presently go even after three years with Jesus, even after being so intimate, even after being the one who is chosen as leader. The place he couldn’t go to was agape. He couldn’t go, even at this moment of infinite mercy.

You and I might well say, "If I lived through that, if I had come to this encounter with the Lord after having denied him three times, and now he is giving me this opportunity to repent, I would certainly get it. How could I not get it? And I would certainly be ready to say, "Yes! Agapo se!" But would I? Would you? Are we saying it truthfully to the Lord today?

"Yes, Lord, I give myself to you and for you as totally as you give yourself to me and for me."

Maybe you are, but to the rest of us the Lord is saying, "You will get there. You will come to kenosis. You will come to totality, abandonment, divine abandonment. You will come to the love that I have and that I will put in you. You will come to it. Follow me. Follow me!"

You know how this passage ends. Peter shows that he is with the Lord, but not quite. But what about him (John)? "Never mind him," says the Lord. "Follow me and you will come to where I want you to be and where you want to be."

When Kathleen was in her mid 70s, she was assigned to St Joseph’s House. After many assignments (she loved especially being in the West Indies), she wasn’t happy about being at St Joseph’s.

The next oldest person was about 35 years younger than she was. Kathleen was depressed, and part of that was because Fr Eddie had died recently.

I had a bright idea. I said to Kathleen one day, "You need the Holy Spirit right now. Why don’t we do the Life in the Spirit Seminar together? And then pray for full release of the Holy Spirit."

So we did. I met with her every week and at the end of six weeks, we had a magnificent prayer. The Lord revealed to both me and Kathleen how much she was His Bride.

Did she "sail off into the sunset" in total joy from then on? Guess what happened. I think mostly because I didn’t follow this grace up properly, Kathleen’s blessing seemed to go away within a month. I was so remorseful. We journeyed on.

Then a few years later I was talking to her and I said, "Kathleen, you’re really praying a lot now that you’re back at MH?" She said, "Oh, I started that when I was at St Joseph’s." I said, "How long are you praying in the morning?" She said, "Oh, probably two hours."

This was a sign to me of what the Holy Spirit had given Kathleen. She was still very much the same mostly delightful, sometimes very ornery person, and she was still oozing creativity, delighting people and loving to go places.

But now she was going somewhere inside that she had never gone before, somewhere deep with Jesus. And whatever the details of the journey, the long journey over those last 27 years, certainly all of us know that increasingly the Lord was putting a belt around her and taking her where she wouldn’t have been able to go.

Certainly we all saw—not just thought or imagine—a woman being plunged into the reality of agape, total self-giving, in the depths of her being.

We thank you, Lord, for giving us the privilege of making this journey with Kathleen. We thank you, Lord, for doing it yourself. And we ask that you lead each of us in this journey into the abyss of your love.

Kathleen O’Herin

TASTE AND SEE

by Kathleen O’Herin

Kathleen wrote this when she was almost 80.

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A holy man once said, "If we spent more time in adoration, we wouldn’t need to spend so much time on our knees in supplication."

One way to adore God is through our senses. Each day I take one and meditate on it in wonder.

Monday - sight. Glory to God for my eyes! They are the windows of my soul, and some day I will behold the beauty of God through sight.

On earth I see his wonders: radiant sunrise and sunset, rain, rainbows supporting the heavens with their celestial arches, early morning dew on grass and flowers, spider webs, delicate snowflakes, snow covering fields, fences, and even trash heaps in rolling contours of white.

Like artists we can develop our sense of sight. In time hopefully our inner sight too develops. This is a gift from God.

Tuesday - smell. Glory to God for smell! How wonderful are incense and the perfumes of flowers and herbs! And the homey smells: bread baking, pickles in brine, a steak broiling. Rain on dry earth, fresh air, and a field of clover. All of these give glory to God.

Wednesday - taste. "Taste and see how good is the Lord," says one of our hymns. The earth produces such a variety of foods to please our sense of taste. Study an apple, for example. Notice its smooth skin that protects the juices and substance. If you examine different fruits and vegetables neach one a delighteyou’ll end up glorifying God for creating them.

In fasting, we give up food or drink for God’s glory, as a means of strengthening our resolve to do good and of doing penance for overindulgence. Thursday - speech. (Kathleen’s addition to the five senses!) May God’s Word fill my heart with joy! I concentrate on speaking courteously, thoughtfully, generously, not letting bitterness, cynicism, or anger color my words. I try to think before I speak and to say words that bring peace, joy, and love to my brothers and sisters.

Poetry, prose, and songs bring delight. And I glory in God’s holy words in the Bible.

Friday - hearing. To listen and hear God’s voice in my heart! Nature, too, speaks through birds, winds in trees, waterfalls, ocean waves on the shore, the hum of bees, the voices of loved ones. God speaks too through a homily at Mass. And there’s also the wonder of silence.

Saturday - touch. If I can but touch the hem of his garment, I shall be healed (Mt 9:22). I love to stroke a kitten’s fur and a baby’s skin, and to feel smooth wood, the petals of a flower and the fibers of wool, silk and cotton. I love to feel warm water through my fingers or the heat of a fire on a cold day. Through all of these God’s glory is manifested.

Sunday. All senses are glorified on this day when we celebrate the risen Lord. May every tongue acclaim him as God to the glory of God the Father.

Excerpted from Restoration, September 1985.

KATHLEEN O’HERIN

Born: September 12, 1905 in Barre, Vermont

Education: Traphagen School of Fashion and Princeton Nursing School

Pre-MH Employment: designer, assistant designer, bookkeeper, stenographer, sewing instructor, and nurse in admitting, emergency, and minor surgery.

Marriage: September 1936 – separated before coming to MH.

First Promises in MH: July 1953.

Principle MH Assignments: Yukon, Carriacou (West Indies), St. Joseph’s House, and sewing and handicraft departments in MH Combermere.

Combermere Diary

CALLED TO SERVE

by Paulette Curran

One major event this month occurred two days ago, on Saturday, February 21st—the ordination of staff worker Denis Lemieux to the diaconate.

It is Denis who wrote the article, "The Spirituality of a Carrot" in the February Restoration. And there, as many of you will remember, he told us that it was through peeling vegetables as a guest, that he learned that he could love and serve and even become a saint, through the ordinariness of human life.

This spirit of love through service is still deep in his heart. The day before his ordination, he said, "Before the Church gives the sacred powers of the priesthood to a man, it configures him to service. Service is what the diaconate is about, and the essence of priesthood is also service."

The format of the ordination day turned out to be different from most of our celebrations which begin with morning Mass, for the bishop of our diocese, Bishop Richard Smith, who was to ordain Denis, was unable to come before the afternoon. A priest of the diocese died unexpectedly, and his funeral was that morning. So the Mass was rescheduled for 3 p.m., which changed the rest of the day as well. Such is the flexibility that our life not infrequently demands.

The Mass and the ordination were very beautiful, as were the bishop’s words, and Denis’ joy and ours, too, were palpable. At the end of Mass when the bishop said, ‘Congratulations, Deacon," the applause was long and loud. Laughing the bishop said to Denis, "They’re not proud of you at all!"

And would you believe that at supper, over the table specially set for Denis, the bishop, and our directors, someone hung three bright orange paper carrots?!

Denis is directly connected with Restoration by much more than his recent article. Besides having written numerous articles over the years, he was circulation manager from 1993 until 1998 and editor from 1996 until 2000. (Yes, you read it right. He was the person in charge of both departments for two years!)

Now he’s due to be ordained a priest in September.

Another thing that is going on these days is what we call "Staff Study Days."

Every winter, beginning in January or February and going until Holy Week, the staff take time every Friday afternoon to study something in small groups. As longtime readers might remember, the subjects over the years have been tremendously varied. For as Catherine Doherty used to tell us, "Nothing is foreign to the apostolate except sin."

In the past the directors generally gave us topics to select from, but in recent years, we have mainly chosen our own. And before we did so this year, Susanne Stubbs, the director of women at the main house of training center, asked us to look into our hearts, and ask ourselves, "What will broaden me as a person? What will make me a better apostle?"

Not surprisingly, the topics chosen varied tremendously. They include the Theology of the Body, sewing, intercultural-understanding (very practical for our multi-cultural living), agriculture and the environment, Catherine’s letters to the staff, how to sight-read music, communication skills and conflict resolution (very practical for our intense community living!), Canadian history, and Catholic authors.

We have, moreover, many events and situations together that give us opportunities to be broadened and deepened. For example, we celebrated in a variety of ways the American "Black History Month." We tied it in, as it is very much tied in in reality, with our own MH celebration of the foundation of Friendship House in Harlem on February 14, 1938.

The librarians put up displays of books and pictures, and did a reading at mealtime about Catherine’s experiences in Harlem. We also saw the movie The Tuskegee Airmen about the first group of African-American pilots in World War II and listened to a CD of a reading with musical accompaniment of "Go Down Death," by James Weldon Johnson.

And here’s some other news in brief: All the laymen—staff, applicants, and guests—had a supper and evening together. A get-together of the director generals and our international applicants included Korean food and Columbian dancing.

Ronnie MacDonnell attended an international conference on organic and sustainable agriculture. At the farm, hollowing out a big pile of snow, Mary Ellen Kocunik, Chris Hanlon, and others, made a hobbit house complete with curtains!

Marysia Kowalchyk has made two more icons for St. Mary’s chapel—St. Francis and St.Clare. And speaking of St. Mary’s, they have just celebrated their tenth anniversary.

Looking ahead to Easter and spring, gardeners Mary Davis and Ruth Siebenaler have germinated some flower seeds, and applicant Emmanuella Kim has made our paschal candles.

This has been a time of serious sickness and some deaths as well in the families of staff, and of some serious sickness among our associate priests and friends. We ask your prayers for all these people and for their families.

We wish each of you a blessed Holy Week and Easter.

Kathleen O’Herin

THE GIFT OF TIME

By Kathleen O’Herin

The process of aging means not just decay but the gathering in of the harvest, the beautiful autumn of life. A poet said, "Do not say to the stone, ‘you decay,’ when it is maturing into a crystal."

It is easy to emphasize the materialistic trend of the times, but to face facts: why did God make us? According to the Baltimore Catechism, "He made us to know, love and serve him in this life and be happy with him forever in the next." If we face this, believe it, and accept it, life, even with its sufferings, even those of age, will take on new meaning. We will see age through God’s eyes.

Age does lose many wonderful things, but it also has many gains. One of them is time. Time to make reparation for our sins. Time to do penance. Time to know God more fully. Time to prepare for a happy eternity.

Some complain that they have too much time on their hands. But God has given this time as an opportunity to store up treasures in heaven.

From Restoration, July 1967, written when Kathleen was 61.

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God loves me. I love him passionately. I am a great sinner, but God is infinitely merciful. Therefore I can love him back by serving him in everyone. I can accept loneliness because it pushes me towards him; it is a call to love him back.

Catherine became a saint by accepting loneliness and rejection—seeking fulfillment only in God. The difference between her and me is that God gave her a passionate love of him as a free gift, but I have to pray for it. It is by praying without ceasing that she was able to see the truth in her rejection and loneliness that they were a call from God. We have to ask for this gift.

From an undated diary.

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One evening when I was sitting with B (our name for Catherine Doherty) she said to me, "The trouble with you is that you’re afraid of death."

"Sure I am," I replied. "Who isn’t?"

"I’m not," she said.

"No wonder," I said. "It’s because you’re so holy." She didn’t answer that.

Then I began to think and to pray that I might be able to understand the wisdom of death. Early one morning I meditated on the parable of the prodigal son, and death became dear to me. This is my meditation.

I am the prodigal son. I asked God my Father for life, and he gave it to me in all its fullness to do with it as I desired.

Some days I put it to good use, but so many I squandered through selfishness, pride and sloth. I let opportunities to do good to my neighbor slip by, and I wasted the time my Father had allotted to me.

A fear took hold of me as I realized that I must account to my Father for the great wealth he had entrusted to me. I knew of nothing to do except to go to him and say, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I ask your forgiveness. May I cross the line of death and come home to you?"

Then, to my surprise, there was my Father waiting for my return. He had a beautiful robe to put on my drooping shoulders, water to wash my hands and feet, sandals for my bruised feet and perfume to anoint my head.

There were angels to guide me, bells were ringing, and the air was heavy with the fragrance of incense and flowers. There was joy everywhere as my Father took my hand and led me to his Son, my Brother, and to my Mother.

Where was the fear of death that had haunted me? It was a mirage that I had left behind.

From Restoration, April 1990, written when Kathleen was 84.

Kathleen O’Herin

I’M THE ELDER

Kathleen loved to travel anywhere, anytime, even well into her nineties. On one trip, she became quite ill. "I can’t die!" she protested. "They’ll never let me out of the yard again!"

A staff worker

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Kathleen taught me how to sew, and she taught me to do it with love so that when people receive their clothes back mended, they will feel loved.

Mary Pennefather

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A friend once took Kathleen to a fancy restaurant, a rare treat for a Madonna House staff worker. Thoroughly enjoying it, Kathleen looked around the room and said, "I was born for this."

A staff worker

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This happened just a few months before Kathleen died, when she was really failing. Fr. Brière was dying and about a dozen of us were in his room. I was in the farthest corner. Someone wheeled Kathleen in in a wheelchair.

Almost immediately she saw me and caught my eye. Her eyes twinkling, she beckoned me to come to her. When I did, she pulled me down so she could whisper in my ear, "I have an idea for Restoration."

Paulette Curran

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Kathleen was always beautifully groomed and dressed. One day when I remarked on this to her, she said, "On the days I look the best, I’m probably a bit depressed. That’s how I build my morale."

Susanne Stubbs

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On one of her birthdays Kathleen was given permission to use her pension check to take a few people out to a restaurant. After making reservations, she phoned the restaurant a second time. "Now listen," she said. "There is going to be an old lady with us tonight, and it’s her birthday. I want you people to make a real fuss over her!"

Trudy Moessner

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Kathleen’s sewing room was a place of continual miracles. She made sheets and dish towels from flour bags, and she mended and patched, and patched and mended. She was even known to patch holes in an Irishman’s shorts with green fabric shamrocks!

Mary Beth Mitchell

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Kathleen spent two winters at our house in Roanoke. One of those years, we’d resolved to have a very ascetic Lent. We decided that on Wednesdays and Fridays we would just have a bowl of soup for supper before going to evening Mass.

On the way home from Mass on about the second evening of this, Kathleen said, "Now Linda, I know you’re the director of the house, but I’m the elder. Let’s have a little ice cream." We felt our Lent was spoiled, but we did enjoy the ice cream.

Viva LeBlanc

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Towards the end, Kathleen sometimes woke up during the night and thought it was morning. One night when I was the overnight care-giver at Visitation, the place where our elderly members live, Kathleen buzzed me at around 3 a.m.. When I got to her room, there she was combing her hair and putting on lipstick. As frail as she was, she was still making herself presentable.

Jo-Ann Treige

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When I was a guest, Kathleen was asked to give a talk to the women guests about femininity and clothing. She also told us about her vocation and her life and her work as a fashion designer. The main thing I remember is her saying, "Every woman is beautiful."

Sue Perreca

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Kathleen continually enriched our lives with beauty. Out of scraps she clothed dolls with the national dress of people of other lands for our education and joy. Then when the nuns got rid of their habits in the ‘70s, Kathleen gathered scraps once again and dressed dolls in the habits of the various religious orders in order to preserve visually some of their history.

Mary Beth Mitchell

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When two stubborn Irish streaks meet, the results are unpredictable. Kathleen made her own greeting cards and sent them to everyone for every occasion. I regularly send out newsletters to our associate priests, and any greeting cards are supposed to go into the envelopes with the newsletter. But Kathleen’s cards were too big, and so I always had to mail them separately, which cost a lot more postage.

Finally I told her that if she didn’t change the size to fit the envelope, she would have to mail them herself and pay the postage out of her retirement fund.

She listened very nicely and just continued to make the cards the size she wanted.

After many more attempts to get her to make them smaller, I went to her and told her everything was all right. "I just cut the cards in half now," I told her, "and they fit very well." I thought she would get the message and change.

Once again she listened very nicely, and then the next card I got was so big it wouldn’t fit into any envelope, no matter how many times I cut it up. (The lady won again!)

Fr. Pat McNulty

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Kathleen came here at age 46, and it’s hard to change at that age. She had a problem with obedience; she did everything you weren’t supposed to with pizazz.

Seeing her over the years was seeing a soul come into union with God. When she got older she was in almost constant physical pain. At some point she crossed a kind of Rubicon and moved into a place with God that we couldn’t see or know, though we got glimpses.

When we step into this vocation, God just keeps working on us.

Jean Fox

Word Made Flesh

HOW COULD YOU, GOD?

by Fr. Pat McNulty

The following is a reflection for Mercy Sunday, which falls this year on April 18th. The Mass readings are: Acts 5: 12-16, Ps 118, Rev. 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19, and John 20:19-31.

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I am the kind of person who can fall asleep standing up. Really. And I have. Once I even fell asleep at the altar saying Mass!

In those "good old days" the new assistant pastor had all the "less desirable" jobs, and for me that included saying the 5 a.m. weekday Mass. (Yes, that is five o’clock in the morning before the sun and I am sure even some angels were up!)

At that time, besides fulltime parish ministry, which included teaching in the grade school, I was teaching in the high school.

That meant that many weekday nights, what with parish meetings and ministry, preparing for class and correcting papers, I wouldn’t get to bed until around 1 a.m. And then I would be back up as soon before five as my wavering constitution would allow me.

Many, many times I was late for that Mass. One morning I was so tired that while I was bent over at the center of the altar after the washing of hands I literally fell asleep standing up!

The next thing I knew, the server was pulling on my sleeve asking, "Father! Father, are you all right?" (No son, actually I am not! But I can’t tell you that right now, can I?) Asleep on my feet! And that wasn’t the last time either.

Yet being able to fall asleep just about anywhere is a gift. And with it comes the capacity to fall into a deep sleep very quickly. I don’t know if such deep sleep explains the phenomenon which is sometimes referred to as "waking dreams."

That’s when you dream that you are awake, and after you really are awake, you cannot determine whether you were, in fact, asleep or not. In any case, I have had some very strange "waking dreams."

The strangest one I ever had was when I was in the Sinai Desert back in 1976. The dream was about the Last Judgment. It wasn’t spooky, and it wasn’t filled with all sorts of horrors. It was the traditional image some people have of "standing in line waiting for St. Peter to call their name for judgment."

In my dream as I stood there in line, I could see Jesus way up at the beginning of the line with whoever was being judged at the time. That person was screaming and falling down and twirling in the dirt and ripping his clothes off. This went on and on and on.

All the while a little voice inside of me was saying, I know that person. I’ve seen him before.

I was trying to figure out if I was awake or asleep when suddenly I heard, loud and clear, "McNulty!" Oh my God! It’s my turn. I’m up next!

Trying to postpone the moment, I walked as slowly as I could toward Jesus. The person who had just been judged had already gotten up. Jesus was brushing him off and turning him towards what would appear to be the traditional "Pearly Gates."

Just as I got to Jesus, that person stopped. He turned around and looked at Jesus as if to say, "Are you sure?"

Jesus nodded and gently motioned him to go on in. It was then that I recognized who it was. It was Adolph Hither!

I was beside myself. Adolph Hitler! How could you!? I’ve spent my whole life trying to live the Gospel and will probably have to spend a million years in purgatory for having failed to do so. He didn’t even try! Are you telling me that he is going to heaven?!

All I remember is Jesus saying, "My mercy is mine, Patrick, and what I do with it you will never be able to understand. But, it is yours too if you want it."

The next thing I knew I was standing there in front of my cave in the Sinai Desert. I was fully awake now but as if I was still in line, I kept repeating the words, "Mercy for Adolph Hitler! How could you? How could you?!"

If you had asked me at that time whether I thought it could ever happen that there would be a feast of Mercy in the universal Church calendar during the holy octave of Easter, I would have given you a categorical "No!"

I would have said that even though by that time, through the Jesus Prayer, I already was (and had been for many years) being embraced by a wonderful sense of God’s mercyIthough I didn’t know it yet.

Now as I look back on that "waking-dream" in the desert I realize why I needed to have such a strange dream, an almost-nightmare, about mercy and Adolph Hitler.

The point of all of this hyperbole, this holy exaggeration, is that God’s mercy is so far beyond our imagination and comprehension that there is no other way that we can imagine or understand it, except by seeing it in the extreme.

There is no way to understand it until it presents itself in a situation that is completely unreasonable, almost unholy—as unreasonable as the thought of an Adolph Hitler in heaven, or as unholy as saying Satan and Mercy in the same breath.

Because God’s mercy—a facet of his love—is unable to be contained or put into words or applied to any human category at all, it must, in some very intense and frightening fashion, be applied to everyone or it applies to no one!

I had started saying the Jesus Prayer some time in the late ‘60s, and by 1976 it had fermented into the simple and holy repetition of the name of Jesus.

By then, for me, the name of Mercy was "Jesus." And I believed that whoever could say that name in faith and humility was actually being embraced by that Mercy whether that person was a great "saint" or an equally great "sinner."

How is such mercy possible? How is it possible to speak of mercy freed from our weary sense of justice? How to put it outside our narrow human categories and let it ferment until it becomes a new wine of Love for the Last Day—wine for even the greatest sinners?

I don’t know. All I know is that’s what I dreamed after years of praying the Jesus Prayer and eventually just breathing the simple, holy name of Jesus over and over and over.

I like to think it was this holy wine fermenting in my heart which led me so many years ago to write down another dream I had about Mercy when I was awake or asleep.

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Once Upon A Time… An old man died and went to Hell or Thereabouts. He was deeply grieved and sorry though it seemed a just dessert for he had never really loved God as fully as he was able or his neighbor as he ought. Now Death had thieved him too and he finally came to naught.

He had not yet stopped praying as he arrived There, but the howling creatures who inhabited That Place mocked and scorned him saying, "Your religious mumbo jumbo will cease soon enough when it becomes as useless in Eternity as it was in Time."

Eternity did indeed wear on but so too his timeless prayer, "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus." It so upset everyone There that they pushed him down and down, ever deeper down, until he reached a depth where few had ever been—so deep it seemed outside That Place. And then one night—there are no days There, this cry ceased and he was never seen or heard again.

Some say that the same Angel who accompanied Jesus through those depths in Hell is always There waiting to carry away any humble souls, like the old man, who simply cannot stop praying that Holy Name—even in That Place. Or, so they say!

My Dear Family

THE ONE THING NECESSARY

by Catherine Doherty

In the Eastern Rite the Third Sunday of Easter is called "Sunday of the Ointment-Bearing Women." For the group of holy women who followed Jesus around ministering to him out of their own resources also accompanied him to the foot of the cross.

And on the morning of the third day after his death, they came to the tomb bearing ointments they had prepared to embalm his body. Hence they’re called the "ointment-bearing women."

One thing Russians always remember is the mercy of God. For among these holy women was Mary the prostitute, who brought ointments and who perhaps was the woman who had anointed the feet of Christ before he died. In any case the first "canonized" persons are a prostitute and a thief. Thanks be to God.

Now many of us are afraid and lack courage. Sometimes when we go on a retreat, or pray quietly, or some event happens in our life, a tremendous clarity comes, and we begin to understand what Christ has done for us.

It is as if we had seen what those ointment-bearing women saw in the cave: the shroud that didn’t shroud anyone anymore but was lying there in folds on a stone slab. Suddenly a tremendous surge of faith comes to us.

Then we look the situation over and think, Yes, but in order to really grasp this opportunity or revelation, this charism or grace that is coming to me, I have to suffer.

And we say nothing to anyone, not even to ourselves. We allow a sort of block to be erected—the kind people sometimes put up against unpleasant situations—to block this experience of grace, and we go about our usual complacent way.

We think we’re going to be "relevant" to the world by doing social work or going to the ghetto or living in a commune—or if we are members of a religious order living in an apartment or changing our clothing. (Catherine wrote this in the ‘60s.) We have forgotten that only one thing is necessary: to love one another.

The ointment-bearing women bring us one of the fruits of love: compassion. Love never judges anyone. Love accepts a person as he is. Love bends over the person, whoever he is, with a tremendous compassion. Love is tender. You know about love from St. Paul’s tremendous hymn of love (1 Cor 13:4-7).

But are we incarnating this love? Or are we going all around with our ointment-bearing and getting nowhere fast? Have we faced the reality that love is cruciform? Or do we think we can love without suffering?

We might have the ointments, but are we anointing ourselves or somebody else? Are we anointing the nice and the clean, but not the dirty, the lepers, the unwelcome? There are millions of people unwelcome by others: those with a certain style of hair or clothing, for instance.

It is commonplace that when we meet persons we don’t know, we ask them where they are from, what their job is, whether they went to college, and so on. Then we mentally categorize them in some way that puts them in relationship to our own background and status. By asking these kinds of personal questions, we seek to establish our sense of security in the relationship.

But the Christian must not seek such security. Not any whatsoever! He must be totally open to the other. He doesn’t need to know where you come from, for as we say here, "a stranger is but a friend I haven’t met yet." And the moment I meet him, he is my brother or sister.

Russian hermits traditionally greet anyone they meet with the words, "my joy!" For each person is Christ, and isn’t Christ a joy to meet? How close are we to these ideas?

Friends, on this depends the state of the world—not ten years from now—but tomorrow. Are we or are we not ointment-bearing and compassionate people? Are we or are we not followers of Christ? If we are, it simply means that we are crucified most of the time! But crucified in joy, for a Christian accepts pain and so experiences the miracle of a constant resurrection.

From Season of Mercy, pp. 125-157, available from MH Publications.

Israel

THE STORY CONTINUES

by Soad Haddad

What story? Last month’s story about Memory for Peace, the project which included a pilgrimage to Auschwitz by Israelis (Jews and Arabs) and French and Belgians (Christians, Muslims and Jews).

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The work of Memory for Peace continues, and as a result of his work in peace education both at St. Joseph’s School and in organizing Memory for Peace, Fr. Èmile Shoufani has been receiving much recognition and numerous prizes. One the most prestigious was the 2003 UNESCO Prize for Peace Education.

On January 25th of this year, about 120 people, Jews and Arabs, accompanied Fr. Shoufani and Mrs. Ruthy Bar Shalev (the main Jewish organizer of Memory for Peace), to the presidential house in Jerusalem where they were awarded the Prize of Tolerance by the president of the state of Israel, Mr. Moshe Katzav.

The front rows had been reserved: the left side for Fr. Shoufani’s guests, and the right for Mrs. Bar Shalev. But in the unassigned rows behind these, Arabs and Jews mixed together and felt one.

Fr. Shoufani and Mrs. Bar Shalev together wrote one acceptance speech and alternated the reading of it. As part of the speech Fr. Émile read excerpts from the Koran and the Old Testament, and Mrs. Bar Shalev read from the New Testament, an excerpt from Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians, chapter 13 about love. Their words filled the hall with a reflective silence.

Then, on behalf of the Jewish participants, Mrs. Bar Shalev extended an invitation to the Arab participantsTto do for them what they had done for the Arabs. She asked them to enable them (the Jewish people) through their teaching and sharing, to learn about Arab history and culture. Thus was launched the second stage of Memory for Peace.

Already this second stage had been prepared. Three study seminars were scheduled to take place simultaneously in Nazareth, Eastern Jerusalem and the Negev. This program is not restricted to those who went to Auschwitz but is open to anyone who wishes to come.

The original group of participants wanted to continue and to remain a transformational movement without institutionalization. We wanted to remain in a space where the person can meet the other "in his own light" and accept and be accepted unconditionally and then go on to pass this approach on to others.

In fact, since September, the participants have been seriously reflecting on the question of how to continue the program.

Meanwhile things are also happening at St. Joseph’s School. Since September members of the Ministry of Education, the presidents of different universities in Israel, and groups of inspectors have been coming to see for themselves. For St. Joseph’s is an innovative school, not only in peace education, but in other areas as well.

Fr. Shoufani continues to be given awards and prizes. On February 2nd he was given an honorary doctorate at Louvain La Neuve in Belgium for his "witness of Christian reconciliation in the world."

According to a Louvain tradition in such circumstances, Fr. Shoufani was given a "godfather,"AProfessor Bishara Khader, the brother of Naim Khader (a Palestinian intellectual and leader who lost his life in the conflict).

Prof. Khader and a mixed group of his students had participated in the Auschwitz trip. At present he is continuing to develop a responsible concept of forgiving without forgetting which he is teaching to his students.

Also on February 7th the Jewish community in southern France awarded Fr. Emile a prize, and in June the Hebrew University in Jerusalem will be giving him an honorary doctorate for educational innovation at St. Joseph’s School.

The above glorious information might be giving the impression that we’re already in the Parousia of peace! From a Christian perspective I see it simply as the fruit of Fr.Émile’s embracing of pain.

The Pope’s Corner

THE MIRACLE OF MERCY

by Pope John Paul II

The following is excerpted from the pope’s homily for Mercy Sunday, April 22, 2001.

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Let us make our own the psalmist’s exclamation: The Lord’s mercy endures forever. (Ps 117:1)

In order to understand thoroughly the truth of these words, let us be led by the liturgy of Mercy Sunday to the heart of the event of salvation which unites Christ’s death and resurrection with our lives and with the world’s history.

The miracle of mercy has radically changed humanity’s destiny. It is a miracle in which is unfolded the fullness of the love of the Father who, for our redemption, does not even draw back before the sacrifice of his Only-Begotten Son.

Let us thank the Lord for his love, which is stronger than death and sin. It is revealed and put into practice as mercy in our daily lives, and prompts every person in turn to have "mercy" towards the Crucified One. Is not loving God and loving one’s neighbor and even one’s "enemies," after Jesus’ example, the program of life of every baptized person and of the whole Church?

With these sentiments we are celebrating the Second Sunday of Easter, which since the year 2000, the year of the Great Jubilee, is also called "Divine Mercy Sunday."

The canonization of Faustina Kowalska was not only a gift for Poland but for all humanity. Indeed the message she brought is the appropriate and incisive answer that God wanted to offer to the questions and expectations of human beings in our time which is marked by terrible tragedies.

One day Jesus said to Sister Faustina, "Humanity will never find peace until it turns with trust to Divine Mercy." (Diary, p. 132).

Divine Mercy! This is the Easter gift that the Church receives from the risen Christ and offers to humanity at the dawn of the third millennium.

The heart of Christ! His Sacred Heart has given men everything: redemption, salvation, sanctification. St. Faustina saw coming from this Heart that was overflowing with generous love, two rays of light which illuminated the world.

"The two rays," according to what Jesus himself told her, "represent the blood and the water" (Diary, p. 132). The blood recalls the sacrifice of Golgotha and the mystery of the Eucharist; the water, according to the rich symbolism of the Evangelist John, makes us think of baptism and the gift of the Holy Spirit (cf. Jn 3:5; 4:14).

Through the mystery of this wounded Heart, the restorative tide of God’s merciful love continues to spread over the men and women of our time. Here alone can those who long for true and lasting happiness find its secret.

"Jesus, I trust in you." This prayer, dear to so many of the devout, clearly expresses the attitude with which we too would like to abandon ourselves trustfully into your hands, O Lord, our only Savior.

You are burning with the desire to be loved and those in tune with the sentiments of your Heart learn how to build the new civilization of love. A simple act of abandonment is enough to overcome the barriers of darkness and sorrow, of doubt and desperation. The rays of your divine mercy restore hope in a special way to those who feel overwhelmed by the burden of sin.

Mary, Mother of Mercy, help us always to have this trust in your son, our Redeemer. Help us, too, St. Faustina, whom we remember today with special affection. Fixing our weak gaze on the divine Savior’s face, we would like to repeat with you: "Jesus, I trust in you." Now and forever. Amen.