Recently in Lent Category

Ash Wednesday was two weeks ago--how's your Lenten resolutions coming?

Other than my aforementioned sausage incident, I'm doing pretty well. ASIDE: how many other websites will you visit today that use the phrase "sausage incident"? (ANSWER: up to 804)

First, a recap of my resolutions:
(1) Giving up meat for all of lent.
(2) Adding 1 hour of adoration or Mass per week.
(3) No snacks from the vendor at work.
(4) Make some charitable donations to worthy causes.

This year's meatless Lent is going smoother than last year's carne-vale. Starting at New Year's Day of 2008, I gave up eating Meat on every Friday of the year and gave it up altogether during Lent. Same thing for this year. The Fish Fridays thing isn't so bad, really. It actually adds an interesting dynamic to our weekly meal plans. My lovely wife and I plan out all our meals for the week and (usually) do the grocery shopping together.

I can't tell you how much this simple thing has changed our eating habits, spending habits and time management. Seriously. I used to think that I didn't have time to plan a menu for the week. But it's actually the exact opposite. Having a weekly dinner plan solves so many problems. Mrs. WRC and I split up the week for days we're expected to cook and we write our own meal plan for those days. Then we make a real-life grocery list that we're going to need for that week--and buy only what we need. Seriously. (You may think we're dorks. I don't care.) I used to keep a pretty well-stocked pantry of all kinds of whatnots to make dinner. These days, we don't keep much on hand aside from some pasta noodles and some canned goods. There's no need to keep a cram-packed pantry; we only buy what we need. It's resulted in fresher foods at dinner, a leaner grocery budget--and my favorite--fewer "improvised" meals. I used to think I was good at taking a can of creamed corn, a package of frozen cocktail weenies, some honey sauce and a half-package of farfalle pasta and turn it into a decent dinner. You know what? Real food actually tastes better. This would be unfathomable to the 23-year-old version of me. But I digress.

Last lent was not an easy period on our grocery budget. Fish and fresh produce is WAY expensive; there's also a limit to how many consecutive days you can eat cheese-covered-carbohydrates before you feel robbed of all your energy. (I first starting realizing how diet affected energy after reading this post on Conversion Diary. The author calls this her "Saint Diet". I don't have the same severe processed-carbs reaction that she has, but it's very good analysis of how what we eat affects how we live.) So when the WRC household switched from a meat-centric plan to a nonmeat-centric plan, the grocery bill skyrocketed! We were adding fish or shrimp to every meal... at prevailing prices. I'm telling you, man. We almost went broke. But a year later, it's much more manageable. Cooking meatless every Friday is a good tutor. We've learned how to make (awesome) mashed potato tacos and bean enchiladas, how to make (marvelous) rice-and-oatmeal balls instead of meatballs for spaghetti, how wheat germ is better than bread crumbs for breading your own fish fillets and how hot mushroom risotto and cold beer is good for whatever ails you. We're having vegetable stir-fry tonight--I'm looking forward to it.

The meat thing isn't some crazy task. If you've never done it, it's hard to believe. But with a little planning and a willingness to learn some new recipes, it's totally doable.

Still. Why do I do it? I'll point you back to a post from April 11, 2008 where I wrote:

Since the beginning of the year, I've given up meat on Fridays and altogether during Lent. It's an old practice of the Church that we basically gave up on in the 1960's, and in a lot of ways, it may be somewhat peculiar. After all, there's nothing un-Catholic about cattle. But it's been pretty amazing to me how the little outward things have made a big impact on my inward self. Let me explain: on a random Tuesday, I'll eat whatever I'm feeling like. If we're out to dinner and a cheeseburger sounds good, I'll order a cheeseburger. If we're making dinner at home and we're in the mood for taco night, we'll have taco night, ole! But on Fridays, things are different. Our Good Lord died on a Friday, and Catholics are called to make His sacrifice part of our sacrifice.

Don't get me wrong. Crab legs =/= Crucifixion.

But it does become a spiritual act to eat dinner. There's a conscience decision to do what I do for a reason other than wanton cheeseburgery. I hope I'm explaining myself correctly here.

A few years ago, I was working a part-time night job slinging pizzas at a restaurant in Overland Park, Kansas. As part of my training, I worked with this guy who went over all the items on the menu, then we ate some of the items that we just went over--it was one of his perks of training that he got dinner out of the deal. He said that we were going to talk about one of their pizzas, but we weren't going to order it, because it was made with 2 different kinds of pork sausage and that, as a Jewish guy, he didn't eat pork. I commented that there weren't a lot of people that kept Kosher laws anymore, and that most of the Jewish people I knew in college were bacon-cheeseburger eaters. Then he explained: now we think that a lot of the Kosher laws came from pretty practical roots: before modern sanitation or refrigeration, a lot of now-common foods were kind of rare. And handling them could get kind of dangerous, because of the way that animals were slaughtered and their meat preserved made people pretty susceptible to foodborne diseases that could kill; even today, pork and shellfish can get contaminated or compromised pretty easily. But if Kosher laws started as a way to prevent trichinosis, today, they do a way different task. He explained it as part of defining his Jewish identity, that he was asked to forgo ham as a way of setting himself apart from the rest of the world. It wasn't about pork; it wasn't about shellfish; it was about making each thing he ate a small act he did for God.

Woah.

If it's not too trite for your sensibility, I'll put it like this: going meatless means that I'm eating for Jesus.

It's a little decision that I make for no other reason than as an act of devotion to the Almighty Lord.

The other three items of my Lenten resolution are actually harder to do than abstinence. Adding an hour of adoration or Holy Mass per week takes some pretty serious planning; time is one of the most precious things I have. We're only given 24 hours in a day, 8 of them are used in sleeping, 8 of them are used at work, the final 8 are broken up by getting ready for work, eating, studying for school and watching college basketball. Who's got time for God?!! He'll have to wait until Sunday.

Eek.

Let's not even talk about the snack bar at work. Let's not talk about Gardettos, Twix Bars, powdered sugar donettes, Big Texas cinnamon rolls, Fritos or peanut-butter-and-cheese-crackers. And since we're not talking about stuff, let's not talk about refined carbohydrates. Thank you for your cooperation.

The charity thing will happen before the end of Lent, I promise. Catholic Charities and Priests for Life will get their cut by Easter. I am resolved.

But the meat thing? No problem. Piece of steak cake. Easy as pork pie. Oh, do I have meat on my mind? Silly me. I'll beef be more careful. Thanks for chicken checking.

I'm such a turkey ham sometimes.

Yesterday, I had the Feast of St. Joseph (March 19)--and specifically his Table-- on my mind. Today I've been thinking St. Patrick. St. Patrick's Day is on March 17 (Why didn't I address St. Patrick first, you say? Why don't you get your OWN blog, I say!) and is famously celebrated in America by parades and beer.

In a way, I guess it's bad that we've reduced the impact of one of the finest Christian missionaries to a cartoonish beer drinking event. In still another way, I think that the hundreds and hundreds of years of St. Patrick's patronage yielding itself as it has for Ireland indicates that St. Patrick might be in on the joke and ok with it all. But that's just a hunch on my part.

Curiously though, Patrick himself wasn't Irish. But no one tell this to the slobbering guy in a leprechaun suit in Westport: he was actually Scottish.

No foolin'.

Patrick was born in Scotland sometime around the year 390. His father was Roman and a Deacon in the Church; his mother was part German (what we now call German anyway). His father's territory was the area we now call Great Britain. Christianity had been the official religion of the Roman Empire for less than a century when Patrick was born, but the Faith had apparently been strong in young Patrick.

Ireland was a different case altogether. The island was full of pagans in druid suits worshipping trees and acting like general thugs for the rest of Europe. In one case of thuggery, Irish captors stole a teenage Patrick and drug him back to a life of imprisoned slavery. He was placed in charge of tending sheep.

I think it's interesting how much of Christian history is intertwined with sheep. From my Midwestern American point of view, sheep are curious animals. We're in cattle country and spend more time with cows than sheep; most of Western Europe seems to be the opposite. I don't know if you've ever been around sheep, but they're a strange animal. They're dumb and skittish, they spook easily and kind of hard to be around, they're also very untrusting of new people and run from people whom they do not recognize. They smell bad. So do the people that hang out with sheep. Being a shepherd isn't a very glamorous gig. You have to build up trust with the herd or else they'll run from you whenever you come near. You have to be gentle and calm with them or else you'll make the whole herd panic and run in every different direction. Sheep aren't like cattle, you can't just let them wander in the countryside. Cows just stand there; sheep will wander off cliffs. It takes a special kind of person to be a sheep rancher--it's not something I could do! You have to be gentle and firm, trustworthy and mindful. These kinds of details are lost on 21st Century Americans. Most of us have never seen a single sheep in our lives, much less a herd of sheep and even much less an actual shepherd. Sometimes I think that we've lost a lot of connection to history's context when we don't know what it means for St. Patrick to be thrown into tending sheep or when Christ Himself was called the Good Shepherd. Those were meek and humble jobs for people in the lowest levels of society.

Because of the nature of sheep herding, Patrick was no doubt often alone and lonely--a captive in a strange land with no one else to talk to but God and sheep. It was in this period that Patrick spend a lot of time in prayer. And who wouldn't? I think that if I was looking forward to a lifetime of slavery, I'd pray that God find a way to get me out of there! But Patrick is a nobler man than I. He prayed for his love of the Lord to increase more and more. What a guy!

After six years of prayer in captivity, an angel told Patrick in a dream to head to a part of the Irish coastline where he'd be rescued; he made his escape 200 miles west (an impressive feat; the widest part of Ireland is barely 200 across) when he was around 20 years old. He successfully made it back to England and reunited with his family. Patrick began studying for the priesthood and was ordained shortly thereafter. Patrick's dreams kept going back to Ireland; he'd hear the calls of children imploring him "O holy youth, come back to Erin, and walk once more amongst us!"

Patrick and Pope Celestine I agreed that he be sent back to Ireland to evangelize the pagans; Patrick was named the Bishop of Ireland.

It's funny to think about like this, but St. Patrick was one of the first missionaries of the Roman era and one of the first evangelists since the apostles themselves. The early days of the Church after Christ were a time of vast and fast expansion. The apostles traveled to each corner of the known world to preach the Good News of Jesus. St. Paul would pick up that mantle and be the most successful Christian missionary in history--his words still bring people to Christ. But when Patrick bravely sailed back to the shores of his captivity, no one had been evangelizing to strange lands since the end of the apostolic era.

Patrick was the exact man for the job.

Not only was he one of the few priests on the planet who knew how to speak Gaelic--a quality he picked up as a slave--he was also strong and gentle, affable and gracious. He quickly befriended the kings and noblemen of Eire, he preached to the pagans and the druids and won them over with his gentle spirit and bold courage. The legends say that he baptized thousands; he ordained countless men to the priesthood; he persuaded the wealthy daughters of kings to abandon their wealth and begin convents; he took the barbarous Celts and convinced them of the Triune God with the simple shamrock.

When he landed on the Emerald Isle in 433 A.D., he set out to find his old slave master Milchu and paid his captor the ransom for his freedom. Think of it! This man stole the boy Patrick from his home, pushed him into captured slavery--and as a grown man, Patrick returns to him and pays for his own release. Along the way, Patrick was ambushed by the chieftain Dichu; Dichu raised his sword to slay the Bishop--Patrick commanded that the man's arm be still; Dichu's arm froze like stone and couldn't move until he pledged to be loyal to Patrick. When Dichu consented, he arm became heavy and loose. He dropped his sword, became a follower of Patrick and built him a great hall in Sabhall (pronounced Saul) so that people could come to hear the Gospel. It was the first church dedicated by St. Patrick In later years, that site would become a monastery and church which still exists today.

Patrick would eventually find Milchu; the word was out about this great Christian who was working great miracles. Milchu was terrified of being beaten by his former slave--Milchu gathered all his wealth and belongings and brought it into his house, set the house on fire and threw himself into the flames. An ancient record adds: "His pride could not endure the thought of being vanquished by his former slave".

The stories of Patrick's miracles sound like crazy Hollywood fantasy movies, but they were well attested to in his day and the miracles were pretty widely witnessed. Like when he challenged the Druids to extinguish his Pascal fire (they couldn't), when the druid incantations cast an inky darkness over the land, Patrick's prayer drew the sun from the clouds and blinded the pagans, when the Arch-Druid Lochru cast a spell on himself to fly and attack Patrick from the heavens, Patrick knelt and prayed while Lochru was miraculously smashed to pieces against a huge rock.

Patrick gathered all the chieftains of Eire together in one place. Those men were the most powerful kings in all the country--and in defiance of their own orders, the consented to follow Patrick in following the Lord. The history of Ireland would never be the same.

In just a few short decades, Saint Patrick singlehandedly converted the entire country to the Catholic Church. His disciple students, Beningnus, Auxilius, Iserninus, and Fiaac were themselves all canonized. The monasteries, churches and seminaries that they would found together would, in a few hundred years, export priests, monks, nuns and lay Catholics to every corner of the world.

By the mid-1800s, 59 percent of the priests in the diocese of New York were Irish-born and at the beginning of the twentieth century, 62 percent of the bishops were Irish-American, more than half of them being Irish-born. By 1900 two-thirds of the diocesan priests in the diocese of St. Paul, Minnesota, were foreign-born with more than one-quarter of them being Irish. One-third of the pastors in the Archdiocese of San Francisco in 1963 were born and educated in Ireland, while during the 1940s and 1950s, 80 percent of the priests in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles were Irish-born.

Certainly a young 16-year-old boy slave wouldn't have known the plans in store for him. But this gentle shepherd would become one of the most important Shepherds in the history of the Church.

The story of Saint Patrick is one of the great stories of triumph over evil. Patrick could have hated the country that enslaved him. As a Roman citizen of some prestige, Patrick might have been able to rally armies to overthrow and conquer the primitive island by war. But he chose instead to conquer the island for Christ--and as a result, help conquer the Earth for Him. He is known as the first great missionary of his age, the patron of the land of his capture, the namesake of innumerable Catholic churches, schools, colleges and, yes, parades.

Those Irish Catholics who fled their country for America needed a strong patron and a wise shepherd when they'd land on this foreign soil. Those Irish immigrants would find a hostile land--with xenophobia and anti-Catholic bigotry to welcome them from those oceans white with foam. These first-generation Irish would remember their patron, the man whose similar journey would turn a nation to Christ. They'd name their sons Patrick and their daughters Patricia, they'd cling to their patron like sheep follow their shepherd. And on his feast day, they'd raise a pint and cheer for the land that he saved for Christ.

Those parades that you see popping up (starting next weekend) are big parties where everyone pretends to be Irish for a day. But at the root of those parties is a different kind of hope--it celebrates that dream of Patrick to bring the world to Christ. Does that mean that everyone wants to be Catholic on St. Patrick's Day? Hehehehe. I'll spare you from my fancy ideas. But Irishmen are all born Irish. It is only by His mercy that they baptized Catholic.

St. Patrick died on March 17, 493 A.D. in Ireland. He is buried at Sabhall on the site of his first church where he converted the chieftain Dichu to Jesus. He is the patron of engineers, people who fear snakes, excluded people--and, of course, Ireland.

St. Patrick, pray for us!.

March 19 is just a handful of days away. This day is the feast day of St. Joseph--the spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the foster-father to the child Jesus. He was a builder by trade. Tradition holds that he was a carpenter, but he might also have been a stonemason or something of the like. That part isn't important.

Joseph is the patron saint of an impressive list of patronages, but the people of Sicily consider him to practically be their property. I've read elsewhere that Joseph was not always a popular saint; it wasn't the early dark ages that he became popular. Today though, he's quite an important guy--and the namesake of countless cities, universities and churches.

It's a Catholic tradition to throw a feast in the middle of the otherwise penitential season of Lent, this feast is called St. Joseph's Table. It dates back to the middle ages when Sicily was in the middle of a great drought. People prayed for rain, asking for San Giuseppe's (St. Joseph, in Italian) intercession to save their crops. Rains came* and the town threw a huge party in celebration for the fruits of their harvest, dedicated to St Joseph--these events, called tables, were a pretty common way to share thanksgiving to anyone, not just saints. A mayor could be thrown a table if he did something good for a city, for instance.

We don't really know when the first St. Joseph's Table was held, but it's celebrated yearly in March because March is the month dedicated to St. Joseph. The church dedicates certain months of the year to certain people or causes, not unlike how the USA dedicates February as Black History Month, October as Breast Cancer Awareness Month, January as Radon Detection Month, etc. And since March is usually smack in the middle of Lent, the St. Joseph's Table is a meatless festival (which also notes the fruits of harvest as the root of the celebration).

The Tables would develop into an event for the poor in the community. There is no price for the dinner, the tradition was that everyone would be accepted to the feast. But they take donations at the door, which are solely dedicated to helping the poor. Additionally, the tables take big donations of cookies, breads, pies, wines, etc. which are displayed on the table, then are sold for the poor. Many tables could also be rightly called altars, with multi-tiered displays reaching all the way to the ceiling. In Sicily and Italy (and later, Italian neighborhoods in the USA), people would go door-to-door begging alms or donations for the table--it was common to go into a shop and ask for a loaf of bread or tray of cannoli for the table, so the table was made from the gifts of the community.

A lot of Catholic churches in heavily Italian neighborhoods throw a table every year and have HUGE crowds. One of the most notable tables in beautiful Kansas City is at Holy Rosary church in Columbus Park (the area that used to be known as "Little Italy" east of the River Market, these days it's actually more like "Litte Southeast Asia"), where they a notable turnout for their event. At my home parish of St. Joseph in Shawnee doesn't have a remarkably large Italian population, but they have some. St. Joseph's Church started a tradition of the table a few years ago in honor of the namesake of the parish, and it's turned into a decently large event. Their table was Sunday, probably a concession to scheduling in a busy parish. They also served spaghetti with meat sauce. Pfft. Light weight noveltists.

So get ready! Especially if you're Italian, named Joseph, a carpenter or like it when it rains on Sicily, get ready for March 19. It's the lesser-known date that is overshadowed by the green-beered festivities of St. Patrick's Day. Take the time to make a meatless spaghetti dinner and eat enough carbs to give Dr. Adkins a heart attack. Bonus points if you head down to the Wonder Bread outlet and ask if you can have some free Twinkies for the event. Invite your friends over and tell them to get out their checkbooks and start writing: those food pantries aren't going to fill themselves.

*This part of the story reminds me of a anecdote that a friend of mine used to tell about how his mother used to nag his dad all the time. He said nagging was like Indian rain dances: they always worked because the Indians would just dance until it rained.

Do you think that I've given up WhollyRoaminCatholic.com for lent? Rest assured, gentle reader. I have not. I'm not out of the woods yet with life, but I'm starting to see the clearing. Have patience, I'll be with you soon. I've got a lot to talk about as soon as I get time.

But I have a second right now, so here's a quick ramble of what's on my mind.

It's been a week since Ash Wednesday. How's those Lenten Resolutions coming along? I made a few this year:
(1) Giving up meat for all of lent.
(2) Adding 1 hour of adoration or Mass per week.
(3) No snacks from the vendor at work.
(4) Make some charitable donations to worthy causes.

I'm doing OK so far. I have to fess up to accidentally grubbing some little sausages from the sample guy at the grocery store the other day. I grabbed a toothpick as I walked by and took one bite... and daaaaaang. It was an accident. Nonetheless, I've already broken my resolution. Mea Culpa!

But I'll do better from here on out. I promise.

The hardest thing is giving up my afternoon snack while I'm slaving away in the salt mine. I had no idea my compusion to Gardettos or Peanut Butter M&Ms. But woah! It's hard. I've made up for this by eating Post-Its and sniffing White Out. Then I'm not so eager for some chocolate donettes. You do what you gotta do.

I'm also somewhat concerned about #4. There are so many worthy charities that need a couple bucks here in these hard times. But I've also kind of back-spent some money from my Husband Payment (it's like borrowing from my familial allowance). I think I should have saved a little by Easter to make a small donation. I'm making two donations this year: to Catholic Charitites and to Priests for Life. Those contributions will have to wait a few weeks. It's in poor form to write hot checks for charitable donations.

Other than that, I hoped to add a little earnest prayer and contemplation. This is extraordinarily difficult for me. I am not a very good pray-er. God Bless those contemplatives to give their lives in quiet meditation and prayer. I don't know how they do it. What with all the bongos and the electric guitars in church, it's a wonder that anyone finds quiet mystery in prayer. Still, I resolve to pray; I am resolved to listen to the Lord.

In this respect, I am reminded of the story of Elijah at the cave: Elijah was a Jewish man in the 9th century before Christ who was called to speak Truth to Power. In his time, the land of Israel had split into the North and South Kingdoms-- presenting a number of political and religious complications for everyone involved. It was Elijah's job to march up to the Northern Kingdom and preach to the Northern King to knock off some tomfoolery-- including tearing down a temple built for the pagan god Baal.

Elijah was led out into the wilderness to receive his call from God. The story is retold in the Bible in the First Book of Kings:
(a note of translation: Elijah is often identified using his Hebrew name, Elijah. Some Bible translations use the Latinized name, Elias. It's the same person either way.)

And he said to him: Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord: and behold the Lord passeth, and a great and strong wind before the Lord over throwing the mountains, and breaking the rocks in pieces: the Lord is not in the wind, and after the wind an earthquake: the Lord is not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire: the Lord is not in the fire, and after the fire a whistling of a gentle air. And when Elias heard it, he covered his face with his mantle, and coming forth, stood in the entering in of the cave.

I very much like this story and it has a lot of personal significance to me that I won't share here. If we ever meet in real life, ask me and I'll tell you the story. But I like it very much because it tells how mankind can hear God in the quiet whispering of the breeze, the gentle whisper of the air. You have to be still and quiet to find the Lord, you have to dedicate your ears to hearing Him, you have to stand silent to hear the majesty of the Almighty.

I am not very good at being still, quiet or silent. If you know me, you know that I'm actually an excitable loudmouth who does too much talking for his own good. Such is the way that the Good Lord made me. So this lent, I've decided to give another hour a week to quiet contemplation and prayer. To step away from the daily earthquakes and fires that consume all of our lives; to give up the self-serving qualities of life and spend a little time serving Him instead. To listen for Him in the whistle of the air. To hear His voice in the glory of His creation. Quiet. Contemplative. Prayer. Still.

I hope you're having a blessed and fruitful Lent.

I haven't forgotten about you, gentle reader. I promise I have not! I will return soon to regale you with witticisms and relevant subject matter. Or half-witticisms and total irrelevancy. Soon. Very soon.

Today is Fat Tuesday, or international WhollyRoaminCatholic awareness day. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, starting the penetential season of Lent. Tomorrow, we go carne-vale, or "goodbye, meat!", but today is time for bacon! Yay!

In the olden days, Catholics would go totally vegan during Lent. This practice is still observed in Orthodoxy. Mercifully, we Latin-rite Catholics (the proper term for Roman Catholics) are not required to give up eggs and milk. We are still instructed to fast and abstain on prescribed days... traditionalist cranks like myself give up meat during the whole of Lent, so that's what I'll be doing. But in those olden days, Fat Tuesday was the time to use up all the eggs and milk in your house... thus the celebration with rich rich rich pancakes on Mardi Gras day. In today's world, pancakes seem like silly distraction from the otherwise decadent sausage-and-baconfest by which Fat Tuesday should be observed (in my gastronomical opinion).

In any manner, enjoy your today. Tomorrow begins penance.

Note: Ash Wednesday is not a Holy Day of Obligation in the USA. But it should be. Go! Most parishes have a nooner Mass, many have before and after work Masses as well. I'm going to catch the 12:00 Lunchtime Express at Prince of Peace in Olathe, Kansas. But that's tomorrow. Today: beef stuffed pork in a chicken-crusted bacon roll. Let the good times roll!

*burp*