Cherry Blossoms

Happy Palm Sunday and start of Holy Week!
This is by far the most sacred time of the liturgical year, and it certainly deserves the attention of a blog post. What's more is that Passover and National Libraries' Week all fall at this same time, combining three of my favorite things: Paschal Mystery, ancient Jewish traditions, and places that house books!

However, I won't be devoting much in this entry to any of those things, but not for a lack of passion for the aforementioned (no pun intended, but go ahead and laugh anyway). If you are interested in meditations on Holy Week, check out this post by Mudblood Catholic. He's quite good. What I will say is that, after listening to the Passion narrative from Matthew's Gospel this morning, it occurred to me how important it is to hear the actual words of the Gospel. This, of course, is a no-brainer, but in our world today, so influenced by the depictions and representations in movies, songs and art, we can forget just how the story actually follows in one or another Gospel. And it's crucial to remember that the authors had a point they were trying to get across, and, especially in these passion narratives which can so often be treated like a re-watching of the movie "Titanic" - we know how it ends - everything they wrote was imbued with the message they wanted to make known about Jesus, God the Father & Holy Spirit, and humanity. So stepping off this soap-box, I'll just say that there's so, so much to be gleaned from today's long reading, even more than might be offered in a cinema-worthy dramatization highlighting physical suffering. A mystery is unfolding - stay awake.

As evidenced by the title of this post, however, I want to say a few words about cherry blossoms. In the DC area, the blossoms have peaked this weekend, and I was blessed enough to check out the myriad of flowers surrounding the tidal basin downtown on Friday. Breath-taking! And to see families, friends, lovers and solitary admirers out and about enjoying the blossoms was incredible. I recall seeing a young woman having a friend take cutesy photos of her with the blossoms. And while I would normally would think that there might be something narcissistic about it, I could see that the star of the pictures was not going to be the young woman, but the delicate, beautiful little blooms.( In any case, I took a selfie with the  blossoms myself, so I really can't talk about disdain for narcissism.) What amazed me so much was all the excitement, all the delight and pleasure that was being taken in something so natural, so God-given, so unimposing: simple little flowers. No loud fanfare (at least not on that day), no big light-show or grand speeches or celebrities. Just cherry blossoms.

Now even though it's Holy Week, and maybe a more reflective post about it's significance could be written, it was so necessary to write about these blooms here and now, because that is what they teach us: Here and Now. The caption in the April 14th issue of Time notes on page 10, "In Japan, the brevity of the one-to-two week blossom season has sometimes served as a symbolic reminder that human life is brief as well." As I walked along downtown DC, I couldn't help thinking about this "lesson of the cherry blossom"... or humming the theme from Memoirs of a Geisha*, a movie I insisted on watching last night because the motif of the blossom plays out in the film's theme: life is short, and we must savor it.

This, indeed, is why it is so imperative that I write this now and not later, even though I'm procrastinating on my term paper for Hebrew. Already, I see the green leaves peeking out from the popcorn-like puffs of pink blooms. Their time is coming to an end soon, and I have to honor them in some way before they go. Speaking of procrastination though, I was incidentally watching Ellen DeGeneres' stand-up comedy routine entitled "Here and Now" with a friend today. Her closing remarks to "Procrastinate now. Don't put it off" are profound beyond measure. That is what these cherry blossoms are all about. That is why I dodged a bit of Greek homework to get on the metro and see them two days ago. And that is why I had to share all this before the window of relevance closed.

Furthermore, I received a card today from a dear friend urging me, like he always does, to "be myself" and to share my gifts with others. Well, I don't know if blogging about blossoms is much of a gift, but these precious flowering trees were so much on my mind and in my heart that I thought it would be an insult to him if I didn't write about them. Thanks Nick.

Like the cherry blossoms,

Life is so brief,

So enjoy life,

And savor every moment.

 

* I highly recommend the book and movie, Memoirs of a Geisha, and the film's soundtrack. And let me just say that I think John Williams was robbed of a much deserved Oscar for his work on that score. 

Becoming One Body

In my last post I said I would write about Pope Francis since he keeps coming up as of late - well, actually as of the last year and then some. Given his popularity, however, I think it will be alright to go without devoting a post about the Pontiff. Sorry to disappoint anyone chomping at the bit to read that. And while I doubt that any of my five readers were so eager, if you're that interested in Pope Francis, I highly recommend his Apostolic Exhortation: "The Joy of the Gospel: Evangelii Gaudium." Or just peruse the newspaper, a magazine stand, or most any Catholic parish narthex. Chances are, you'll find something about him there.

Moving on. I have been wanting to write about something that is at once beautiful and vomitous... No, not beautiful. It actually is just disgusting. Yet I find it thought-provoking, nonetheless.

As sacristan of a small chapel, I was sweeping the floor one Saturday. It always amazes me how much dirt and whatnot a chapel floor can accumulate. It's not like I'm cleaning a bathroom or vacuuming beneath couch cushions. One expects to find filth in such places, but alas, not even a chapel remains immaculate like our Blessed Mother. What struck me though as I was collecting the little pile of dirt into the dust pan was that it mostly consisted of dead skin and hair. Dead skin and hair! A salt-and-peppering of dandruffy flakes and little, twisty curls of head hair, arm hair, leg hair, and God-only-knows-where-else hair.

Oddly enough, my reaction was not an immediate gag-reflex. Undoubtedly, this is what anyone would find if they swept a well-used floor. As I pondered, I couldn't help thinking to myself, "Hmm, how appropriate that we really do become one body here in this chapel!" And that gleaming realization was followed by a flood of other considerations about Catholicism's nonchalance for hygiene that would test any germaphobe's faith... or at least their level of tolerance.

Let's begin with the holy water. I myself cringe as I reach to dip my finger into that cesspool of sanctity. I can remember as a child peering into the small fonts along the entrance wall of the nave and noticing a distinct cloud of some sort at the bottom of the bowl. That cloud, I'm sure, was not something spoken of in Ezekiel or Daniel, and I don't think I have to say what it actually was. The evening news, on the other hand, was not shy to point out that a certain percentage of fecal matter indeed ends up in holy water fonts... and apparently neither was I. A couple of things to remember though if this is too disturbing for you: 1.) if such crap (literally) is found in holy water, it's probably in a lot more places than you think anyway - like doorknobs. Wash you hands, and get some hand sanitizer (I'm currently loving Bath & Bodyworks' Fresh Sparkling Snow scented anti-bacterial gel, though I have no idea what fresh sparkling snow is supposed to smell like). 2.) There is no theological or liturgical purpose, as far as I know, for you to bless yourself with holy water when you are leaving the church. You just received Jesus in the Holy Eucharist! I think you're pretty blessed enough. So don't worry about that second dip on your way out.

The case with the holy water is just one example of how we share more of ourselves than we think at Mass. I mean there's hand-shaking, hand-holding (if your parish is into that), a priest up there at the altar praying the Eucharist Prayer between hacking up a lung and wiping his nose. Yeah, I've seen that more than once unfortunately. And let us not forget the most obvious of almost-too-close-for-comfort intimacies at Mass: communion. I once heard a story about a Protestant speaking to a Catholic about Catholic practices, saying something to the effect of, "I can appreciate your belief in the bread and wine becoming the actual body and blood of Jesus. But you all drink from the same cup, and that's nasty!"
He's got a point. I don't even like sharing my food at the dinner table, but I drink from a chalice that has been sipped from over and over again. And yeah, there's nothing hygienic about it, no matter how much I'd like to believe that it being the Blood of Christ washes away the germs - either that or it's alcohol content.

To wrap up this fleshy meditation, I think it's important to note that at Mass, where we are fed and nourished and strengthened to spiritually become one body in Christ with all our brothers and sisters, we actually do become one body in a very mystically physical way. We dip our hands in the same water. We embrace or shake hands. Our tongues might grace the finger of the priest or Eucharistic minister at communion (though I hope no one strives to do that because that's gross). And we drink from the same blessed cup!

Jesus, in his ministry, was not afraid to blur those boundaries of human contact either. He touched the infirmed. He put his fingers in their ears and mouths (I reiterate, that's gross). He even went as far as making mud out of his spittle and rubbing it in someone's eyes! And he sat down and ate with people. Now sharing a meal may seem pretty innocuous as it relates to this topic, but I've eaten family-style at a Mediterranean restaurant. Everyone's touching all the food, and reusing their spoons to get more hummus and tabouli, taking olive pits out of their mouths and then double dipping their pita bread in the tzatziki.* It's dangerously intimate, and I'd imagine that's kind of what it was like to eat a meal in Palestine at the time of Christ. Jesus and everyone else around him were sharing more than just food, I'm sure. So it really puts into perspective the shock it must have caused for him to eat with so-called "sinners!" In a culture with no dichotomy between body and soul, one can only presume the scandal of eating what was touched by moral outcasts of society.

Bottom line (if I haven't strayed too far from it): There is a nearly imperceptible, mystical, earthy, and very real exchange of bodiliness inherent in our worship, and it does not always merit our total revulsion. The Son of God came as a bodily person like the rest of us and interacted with other people as such, even to the extent of risking infection.
 And at the end of the day our flesh all gets collected and co-mingles in a neat little pile - the dust to which we shall return, one body in Christ.


*Yeah, that meal gave me one of the worst cases of the runs in my life.