Perishing Pigeons

I knelt in church. The Blessed Sacrament stood on the altar, enclosed in the golden monstrance. All around me people knelt, their heads bowed in prayer. One hour of silent adoration of Our Lord. Everything was peaceful. Outside it was noisy, busy, and hot. But in here it was cool, silent and restful.

Maybe that’s what brought the pigeon inside the church, the coolness. Or maybe it wanted to come and see Our Lord too. At any rate, there it was, swooping through the church, heading towards the front. It shot upwards suddenly, and landed on one of the exposed crossbeams of the roof. Hardly anyone noticed the bird anyway.

Everything stayed nice and peaceful, just right for pray and adoration. I forgot about the pigeon in the room. Until it fell out of the air and landed on its back on the floor, near the altar, stone dead.

What made the pigeon die like that? Why did fly into a church, sit there, and then just perish? I still haven’t managed to work that bit out yet. Maybe it was overcome by the presence of God as it sat there in the roof. Or maybe it was something else. But, whatever the reason for its death, it couldn’t have chosen a better time, or a better place to die, in a church, before Our Lord exposed.

Easter without the Easter Bunny

The other day, our hairdresser asked us if we celebrated Easter with the Easter Bunny. On hearing that we didn’t, she then asked, “Is your Easter boring then?”

I had to stop and think about that. Is it boring? Would it be more exciting if we believed that the Easter Bunny brought the eggs that we hunt each year? Are we missing out on something that would have made life so much better?

I was reminded of this while I was standing in mass on Good Friday, singing about the death of Jesus, feeling the sorrow of the day, and watching as some of the congregation wept silently. I remembered it at the Easter Vigil when we were singing with joy at his resurrection. I don’t know anything much about the Easter Bunny, but can he beat this?

My dad tells a story about a woman he used to know. She wasn’t a Catholic, but she always went to a Catholic mass for every Christmas and Easter. She liked to say that no one celebrated like the Catholics do.

The Easter Bunny. I don’t think we’re missing out on much really. Our Easter might not contain a bunny, but we do have the death and resurrection of Jesus. I think that our Easter is complete without it.

Cold Knees, Warm Hearts

It was the feast of the Assumption. We scrambled out of the car in our thick winter coats.The sun shone down, warming us up so that the coats didn't seem necessary. But we knew better. As we stepped into the church, the temperature dropped several degrees, despite the gas heaters trying valiantly to heat the enormous space.

We knelt down on the hard, wooden kneelers. Shifting and wriggling I tried to find the most comfortable way of kneeling on those kneelers. But there didn't seem to be a way to position my knees so that they didn't become sore.

A bell rang three times. The organ started to play the first hymn. We sprang to our feet, hymn books in hands. The three priests and the altar servers processed out. The gold and blue vestments caught the light. A general feeling of specialness came over me.

Mass seemed to be over far too quickly, despite being an hour long. As the last of the shining vestments disappeared through the door, it seemed that this special celebration was over. But then the priest reappeared and prepared for benediction.

At once we were back on our knees. I didn't feel the hardness of the kneelers as we prayed the rosary. I didn't feel the cold as we sang the Latin benediction parts from memory. I was lost in the beauty of the occasion.

The organ rang out again, heralding the very last hymn. A smile lit up my face. This hymn made me feel five again, back in a catechism class piping away, "Ave, ave, ave Maria."

Then it really was over. We shuffled outside into the warm midday air. I smiled, thankful for the opportunity to come to this beautiful mass. Despite the cold, the hardness of the kneelers, and all, it had proved to be the most beautiful mass for Mary I had ever been to.

The Holy Spirit Descends

It was the day of Sophie's confirmation. The cake with its twelve fruits sat in the fridge. Sophie's preparation book was completely filled out. Her white dress was back from the dry cleaners.

Sophie put on the clean white dress and stood patiently while Mum braided her hair back neatly. then it was off to the living room for photos. Snap, snap. The camera captured Sophie's huge, excited smile. She couldn't wait to be off to the church.

But first there was an hour and a half drive to the actual church. Then a wait while the small choir rehearsed the hymns for the mass. Then it was finally time to enter the church for the ceremony.

I sat next to Sophie, feeling a bit nervous. What if I forgot what we were supposed to do? We were the first in line so we couldn't even copy anyone. I ran through all the steps in my head, over and over again. I mustn't forget them.

Looking around the church just before mass, I contrasted this confirmation with my own. Apart from Sophie, there were only eight other children being confirmed, all of whom we knew well. At my confirmation I was one of about thirty children, all strangers.

The time came for Sophie to be confirmed. Together we left the pew and knelt before the bishop. He smiled at us as he checked the pronunciation of Sophie's confirmation name. Even before I had realised what was happening, we were walking back to the pew, and someone else was kneeling in our place. It had been so easy.

Sophie looked up at me, her big eyes shining, her big smile stretched all over her happy face. She squeezed my hand. I smiled back, dimly remembering how excited I had been when I was newly confirmed also.

Mass ended, we headed outside to have our photos taken with the bishop. Cameras flashed from everywhere, or so it seemed. Then we were done and walking inside for a slice of the huge confirmation cake.

Back at home again, we sliced our own, special, fruit covered cake.

"I want a bit of pineapple," Sophie said.

"Well, I want the mango," I countered.

Everyone chipped in, adding which fruit they would like to eat. The only fruit not mentioned was the poor tomato.

"Did you have a good day?" Mum asked Sophie. "Do you feel special now?"

"Yes!" she answered

Saints, Confirmation, and Responsors

Sophie came home from Mass with a huge grin on her face. Fr S had said that she could be confirmed
"I'll have to choose a saint," she said thoughtfully. So the rest of the day was spent reading saint books, trying to decide which one she wanted. I watched her as she read, thinking, "It'll take her a while to find one."

Sophie

But by the time evening came, Sophie's big grin announced that fact that she had something to tell us. At the dinner table she said, "Guess what? I've chosen my saint."
"Who is it?" we all asked.
"St John Vianney," she replied. "He's the patron saint of priests you know."

The next thing of course was to choose a sponsor. I thought this would definitely take her some time to think about. After all, I hadn't decided on my sponsor or my saint until halfway through my preparation. Imagine my surprise when, on coming back from a maths session with my tutor, Sophie rushed up to me, bursting to ask me something.

Duncan and Felicity on their confirmation day

"Will you be my confirmation responsor," she asked me, looking a little anxious in case I should say 'no'.
"Sponsor," I corrected her gently. "Not responsor."
"Oh I always get it wrong," she said airily. "Will you?"

Well, I was surprised and touched. It's been a secret dream of mine for years to be chosen as a sponsor or a god-parent. But I've always been afraid that I wouldn't be good enough. However, I was delighted to be asked and told Sophie so. She smiled from ear to ear before running off to tell Mum I'd accepted.

Me on my confirmation day

Thinking about Sophie's upcoming confirmation reminded me of my own confirmation, six years ago. I remember it quite well, from the jammy dodgers we had while preparing for it, to the time when I asked Felicity, my older sister, to be my sponsor. I especially remember the red velvety dress Mum made me. It was so soft, but very thick. Mum had sewn lots of tiny red beads on the bottom, which looked very pretty, but scratched my legs if I wasn't careful.

I remember Charlotte's confirmation too. We had so much trouble finding a pretty dress that would fit. She was so tiny that few suitable dresses would fit.

Charlotte on her confirmation day

I can just imagine Sophie at her confirmation. She'll look right up into the Bishop's eyes, not afraid of him as I was. Then, after he's confirmed her, she'll give him her biggest, widest, happiest grin of all.

I couldn't find a picture of Callum on his confirmation day

The Perfect Family Easter

The Holy week masses are the best masses of the year in my eyes. But, out of the three masses, my absolute favourite mass is the Easter Vigil. After all the sorrow of Jesus' death and burial, after the shock of Judas' betrayal, it is so wonderful to have the joyful knowledge that Jesus has risen.

We stood outside with the rest of the church choir, waiting for Father to start mass. The brazier burned brightly, filling the gloomy outside area with dancing light. Then Father came out with the Easter candle. As he lit it, I knew that the light of the world was rekindled.

All around us, little spots of light appeared, twinkling in the semi-dark. Christ's light was being shared with the world. In this case all the little candles were being lit.

Once we were back inside the church, Father set the candle on it's stand where we could all see it's light. Then he sang my favourite song of Easter, the Exultet. Through it he proclaimed Jesus' Resurrection.
"Rejoice!" we sang back. "Gone forever is the night!"

As mass progressed, I could feel myself filling with joy and excitement. And, as we sang the final, triumphant hymn, I knew that the long waiting period of Lent was really over. It was Easter!

We all woke with a sense of excitement in the morning. Now that it was Easter we could really enjoy ourselves. As soon as we were ready for the day, we gathered in the living room to sing our traditional Easter hymn, "By Your Kingly Power." It's Mum's favourite hymn.

Then we gave Mum and Dad our presents of Easter eggs and chocolates that we had either made or bought. In return, Mum gave us our Easter eggs and bunnies. Then it was time for the main event, the Easter egg hunt.

Zip. We closed the blinds. Bang. The front door closed. We sat together in the living room, listening for the sounds that would tell us Mum had hidden all the eggs. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she stuck her head back through the door.
"I'm done!" she called.

At once we were racing for the door, cups and shoes in our hands. The grass outside was liberally sprinkled with brightly wrapped eggs. Everyone, from Duncan, who's a uni student, to Gemma-Rose, who's 7, was outside, waiting to hunt. Who says you can get too old to hunt for eggs?

Then we were off! Brushing aside the damp grass, peering under cars, diving into flowerbeds and shrieking with excitement when we found another egg. Soon our cups were filled to overflowing. The garden was stripped bare. Well, almost. Three eggs still remained hidden. We have never found all the eggs, not once in all the years of hunting. There's still one missing right now!

Then it was back inside to eat Dad's delicious Easter dinner. After that, stomachs full, we disappeared to our various corners of the house to rest for a while. Some people even fell asleep!

Even though we had consumed the most enormous dinner, we were all ready by afternoon tea time for another Easter tradition: The Nest Cake. It's a chocolate cake made into a chocolate nest, with foil wrapped Easter eggs littering the top.

And finally, exhausted from the Holy week masses, Easter egg hunting, and eating, we collapsed in armchairs to watch a movie, all together. A perfect Easter Sunday.

Purple Potatoes and the Creed

What do purple potatoes have to do with the creed? 'Not much,' you think. 'Purple potatoes and the creed? Forget it!'

In our school work we recently discovered a new book about the creed. It was written in the Second World War by a priest called Fr Ronald Arbuthnott Knox. (I love that name!) Fr Knox was chaplain to a girls boarding school at the time. While he was with the school he decided to give a series of lectures on the topic of the creed. These lectures were later published as a book called 'The Creed in Slow Motion.'

We love trying new books, and with a name like Arbuthnott, well, we had to try this one. We fell at love with it at once. Fr Knox's lectures were very humorous, written as he would have spoken them to the girls in the school. He takes the creed line by line, sometimes only a few words at a time. In fact, in the whole of the first talk he didn't manage to get past the words 'I Believe.'

Using the creed Fr Knox goes deeply into our faith and what we are actually professing to believe every time we recite the Credo. The words that we rattle off so blithely every time we recite the creed mean a lot more than we actually realise.

In our latest chaper, Fr Knox was talking about the words 'Our Father Almighty.' In this chapter he talked about the powers of God, and how he really is our father in heaven. Fr Knox first tells us that God can do anything, but he can't make a contradiction. God could make an immoverable post, and could make an irresistable ram, (as in a battering ram, not a male sheep) but he could not have them exist together. They contradict each other entirely.

We often ask God, "Why did you let this happen? Why did you let So-and-So die? You could have saved them."
Well, God could have, but God gave us free will. When God gave us free will, he also gave us the consequences of free will. We can choose what we do, and many of the bad things that happen in the world around us happen because of our gift of free will. If God intervened every time we knelt down and asked him to do something, then the gift of free will would be a bit of a joke. It would be like God giving us a gift with restrictions. "I'll give you free will, but nothing will happen because of that." That is a contradiction. For the gift of free will to be real, we have to have the consequences of free will as well as free will.

But there are other bad things happening in the world. The earthquake in Christchurch and the Tsunami in Japan for instance. Man didn't make those. No choice of free will produced those disasters. So God must have let them happen. But why? Doesn't God love us? Does he want to punish us?

No, God is our father and he loves us. But, like any good father, he must teach us to be obedient, to love him blindly and without question. He sends us sufferings to mould us and make us better people. If a person is spoil and indulged and allowed to do whatever he or she likes, then they become warped. Their characters grow into shapes they were never meant to become. As Fr Knox himself says:

"If your parents spoil you, you become something like those purple potatoes with holes in them, instead of those nice white or pink ones which you put in your basket."

No one in our family wants to become a purple potato with holes in it. We want to grow up to be good white and pink ones. So, whenever someone is behaving in a spoil manner, we tell them, "Don't do that or you'll grow up to be a purple potato with holes in it!"

As you can see, Fr Knox has cleverly tied purple potatoes into a talk about the creed. It is surprising how much there is to learn about the creed. And also, how many interesting things, such as purple potatoes, Fr Ronald Arbuthnott (I still love that name) Knox can bring into it.

Fr Knox's book, "The Creed in Slow Motion is available as a Kindle book from Amazon.

Mary's Yes

Yesterday we celebrated the solemnity of the Annunciation, when Mary said yes to being the mother of Jesus. This is such an important feast day in the church that is overrides even Lent. Which means that you can eat meat on the feast of the Annunciation even when it's on a Friday, as it was this year.

Because this is such an important day for us as Catholics, we had to celebrate it properly. So, Charlotte, Sophie, Gemma-Rose and I all made mobiles that reflected Mary's great obedience to God. They were made out of white hearts, each with a YES written in the middle and decorated round the edges.

Charlotte and I did the writing while the younger two decorated them with coloured pens and glitter. They had a lovely time designing each and every heart to be absolutely beautiful. They made mobiles with one big heart with a big YES in the centre. Underneath this big heart were hung two smaller hearts, also saying YES. And right at the end we strung some beads.

Charlotte and I made our own mobiles out of strings of smaller hearts, where every little heart was decorated in a different way. The writing of the words was different and each one had different pictures round the edges. I did the writing on our small hearts and Charlotte, who is the more artistic of us two, decorated them.

Sophie and Gemma-Rose also made a cake for us to share at dinner. It was a vanilla cake, the closest we could get to a white cake, and they iced it with white icing.

How did you celebrate your Annunciation?