If you’ve read some of the recent US press discussion on this topic, which has a “how dare you!” tone to it, I urge you to read this article, which presents background on the issue, and a defense of the current language of the prayer. It is not easy reading, but well worthwhile.

Once again, Rabbi Neusner does a better job of defending Catholic practice than many Catholics. I read his book about Jesus when I was considering conversion to Judaism many years ago. Ironically, his book helped me understand the uniqueness of the claims of Jesus, and helped me return to a deeper and more committed Christian faith (ultimately a Catholic faith.)

But you know, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”

It actually began a little before Lent. At first I blamed it on the new mattress; I was just sleeping wrong. That’s what was causing the pain in my neck, the tingles in my hands. But the tingles became pain, and tingles started in new places. After a couple of weeks, I screwed up my courage and spoke to my rehab doctor. He ordered a diagnostic test called an EMG. The test was scheduled for Friday, Feb. 29, the third Friday in Lent. That turned out to be very appropriate.

One of the dubious blessings of being a librarian is that I know how to go to Medline Plus to research any medical condition, test, or test result my doctors tell me about. So I found out that an EMG involved electrodes and needles. Oh, boy.

I went in on Friday morning with a metal-free bra and my deodorant in my purse. I took off my crucifix while waiting, but didn’t think about taking off my wedding band (or I would have left it at home). I don’t usually remove it, so taking it off and putting it on the exam room counter gave me a little extra feeling that things were wrong.

The doctor who administered the test was very nice and explained each step. She applied conducting gel to my arm and “zapped” areas on my arms and hands with a little device, and made pen marks on me in various places, measuring here and there. The article I had read didn’t mention a topical shock, so I cheerfully jumped to the conclusion that the needles had been replaced by this little device.

Not so.

Nest came the needles. Electrified needles. She would poke me in an ink mark, and then turn on a current and ask me to move my hand, arm, or wrist in a given direction. Which hurt. The doctor told me that I could stop the test at any time if the pain was too much, and because I could, I didn’t have to.

“If you can sue this pain for good, God, please take it,” I thought, when it wasn’t too bad. When it got worse and my thoughts were less articulate, I just blew out a long breath and prayed in my head, “For the Holy Souls,” and, “Help.”

You know it’s bad when the doctor apologizes. All in all, the shocking, poking, marking and zapping took between an hour and an ninety minutes.

Tomorrow it’s off to the doctor to get an interpretation of the results, and to begin a plan of action. Having read the excellent book The Gift of Pain by Dt. Paul Brand and Philip Yancey, I know that it’s good that I have this pain, that I’m being warned that my body is damaged, and I need to change things.  I know, too, that a little fasting from computer fun (less Chuzzle, more reading) is good as a Lenten discipline. Still… this is a challenge. Trusting that this is being permitted by a God who loves me more than I can imagine is a tougher sell.

So a special short-term BIble study, not an add-on, but as the main event, seems a little odd. But I’ve gotten used to it. Mostly.

Still, there are parts of the Bible that are harder to get through than others. Like many people whose hope springs up annually in spite of prior experience, I’ve embarked on reading the Bible through this year, using My daily Catholic Bible. I’ve only tried this particular enterprise a few times since becoming Catholic. I especially like the way this version rearranges the New Testamanet readings so that the Gospels are not read successively.

There’s one pitfall they didn’t av0id, though. And that’s the Leviticus hurdle. When the days are short, when your enthusiasm for new projects is starting to wane in the grey light of February, one runs smack into the tabernacle plans in Exodus, Leviticus and the opening chapters of Numbers.

It’s not my place to question the wisdom of God in ensuring these detailed “technical specs” in the Scriptures. But I do question reading plans that lead us right into the quagmire at the dark of the year.

Let’s recap how receiving the Eucharist works for me at my home parish. On the Sundays when I arrive in time, I sit in front of the front row, on the tabernacle side, and the minister of communion brings the elements to me. Generally, it is the celebrant who brings the Host, and an extraordinary minister who brings the Cup. This works perfectly well for the Host. Something terrible sometimes happens with the Cup.

Not everyone who sits in the first two rows and has communion brought receives under both forms, which is all well and good. And the extraordinary ministers change from week to week, and that’s fine. Here’s the trouble. Those of you who walk up to receive can just pass by the extraordinary minister, and you’ve adequately <ahem> communicated that you don’t choose to receive. But when the Chalice comes to us, we have to let that person know whether we choose to receive. This is where it all goes wrong. All too often, they will say, “The Blood of Christ?” with a rising inflection, making an offer, asking a question. Because they are asking, “(Would you like to receive) the Blood of Christ?”

Which is understandable, but WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. That should be a declaration, not a question. And when it is in the form of a question, and I don’t choose to recieve in that form, I feel there is no right answer.

“No thank you,” or a shake of the head, feels like a denial of the Presence of Christ… that doesn’t sit right AT ALL. But if I say “Amen,” then the minister thinks I want to receive. And if I’m coughing or sneezing, or my reflux is bad, I don’t receive in that form.

I’ve sort of solved this on my side by using the (unapproved, but generally understood) gesture of crossed arms. But the rising inflection, I can’t change. So here’s my little vent.

Thanks.

My concerns have now been answered by our bishop, Victor Galeone. A small notice in today’s bulletin tells me less than I would like to know, but everything I need to know.

Bishop Galeone has decided that the Magdelene Play … should be canceled. In his opinion, certain lines of the monologue call into question the Church’s position on two sacraments. Accordingly, such a performance in a Catholic setting would be a counter-wintess to importat Church teaching.

I am very glad that the Bishop is expressing a leadership position in this area. We have campus and commuity theaters that can sponsor all manner of performances, so there is no need to have bad teaching presented in a Catholic church.

UPDATE: Jeff Miller was kind enough to link here, and the comments on his blog are intriguing.

Check out the full story at SQPN. And if you haven’t tried SQPN’s excellent audio and video podcasts, please do! There truly is something for everyone, of all ages.

Congratulations, Catholic Rockers, Praystation Portable, and Daily Breakfast! You deserve it… and we are keeping our fingers crossed for Catholic Insider too, though it makes it hard to type.

Oh, and if you’re a fan of that dysfunctional yellow family with a hit movie, do check out Catholic Insider’s Secrets of the Simpsons miniseries. Fr. Roderick and some of the other SQPN members get a behind-the-scenes look at the Simpsons animation process with animator Luis Escobar as their tour guide. In fact, even if you don’t follow the Simpsons, as I don’t, it’s a fascinating look at the process of animation in the 21st century. Well worth your time.

On Sunday, August 9, 1942, Edith Stein died in the gas chambers of Auschwitz, and entered into eternal life with God.

Rather than my own prayers today, I give you the English translation of the mourner’s Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead:

Magnified and sanctified be God’s great name in the world which He has created according to His will. May He establish His kingdom soon, in our lifetime. Let us say: Amen.

May His great name be praised to all eternity.

Hallowed and honored, extolled and exalted, adored and acclaimed be the name of the Holy One, though He is above all the praises, hymns, and songs of adoration which men can utter. Let us say: Amen.

May God grant abundant peace and life to us and to all Israel. Let us say: Amen.

May He who ordains harmony in the universe grant peace to us and to all Israel. Let us say: Amen.

St. Ambrose to remove bishop’s name from library

Why? Bet you can guess…

“. . .the removal was warranted because of the bishop’s failure to take the necessary precautions to protect children from clergy sexual abuse that occurred during his tenure as bishop of the Davenport Diocese.

They’re looking for a new name, of course. I suggest just putting up a big banner with “Matthew 18:6″ emblazoned on it.

Today, we remember her arrival at Auschwitz, the place of her death.

The prayer below is my own:

St. Edith, you arrived at Auschwitz and were counted among the worthless, but you maintained your dignity. Join your prayers to ours, that we might  remember that we, and all people we encounter, are created in the image of God.

In today’s meditation, we read this interesting passage:

At Scifferstadt, however, a door might have been opened for a few moments, during which time, our Edith managed to recognize an ex-pupil standing on the platform and to convey to her greetings for her Sisters. “Tell them” she said “I am on my way to the East.” Perhaps she was unaware that she was on her way to Auschwitz.

Maybe I’m off-base, but could she have meant this in a spiritual sense? That she was on her way to the East, to resurrection? Perhaps it is reaching, but I prefer to think this.

The prayer below is my own:

St. Edith, you saw the Resurrection to come, even as you drew near your own share of Christ’s cross. Add your prayers to ours that we may trust that same hope in our times of trouble.