Below is an expression of why Audrey Assad, a new music artist who I am growing to love, loves attending Mass, why she finds Catholicism beautiful. This has been encouraging to me, her knowledge that worship is not so much experience, but moreover, it is simply and wholly... worship.

I did and do take solace in the Church, as a sparrow makes a nest in an old, solid oak; the Church’s very age and wisdom speak quietly for themselves, silently drawing in wanderers like me. Jesus loves wanderers and prodigals; and the Church must welcome them with open arms–in my case, she did, and warmly at that. I find it beautiful about Catholicism that worship, in her way, is not so much an experience as it is an act of the will; yes, the senses are engaged by the sweet, thick smell of incense at the altar, the soft flickering of candles, the otherworldly melodies of chant; but ultimately, as a Catholic, I go to Mass to worship–to give Jesus the honor and glory He is worthy of; I go to Mass because I love Him. [taken from http://saltandlighttv.org/blog/?p=14845]

May we be reminded, when the temptation to choose brighter skies and greener fields ("polished" worship music and ultra-moving sermons), that we shall worship because we love Him.

the Magic Hour at the river

He once spoke of the Magic Hour, that dusky burst of color, all magic and such. You can see it on hillsides, on trains, on rooftops, but have you ever seen it from the perch of a rock, resting on the shores of the Mississippi?

She's a mighty river, it's true, but none is more perfect for watching and waiting and breathing in the wet air of the Deep South. None is more perfect, on this night anyway, for the Magic Hour. Though sweet serenity might sing through the hillsides, a swiftly pacing barge drifts right past you, the backdrop on this particular night. It's of no matter - who can spoil the Magic Hour? Even clouds and rainstorms only spread a veil over this happening, yet still it is there.

You've not known a good evening until you known an evening on the banks of the Mississippi, breezes and voices from the north, all gathered together for this Hour... and once it's passed, the lingering begins. For who can turn away so quickly? "Ah, it is gone so soon!"

But tomorrow it will return. The Magic Hour at the river.

Here at the magic hour

time and eternity

mingle a moment in chorus

Here at the magic hour

bright is the mystery

plain is the beauty before us

Could this beauty be for us?

["The Magic Hour" from

Counting Stars, Andrew Peterson]

He first loved us.

Everyone wants to change her, but does anyone love her?

She passes by their front porch day after day, towards the convenience store, or headed home with no utilities and a stench that keeps unwanted guests away. She sleeps on a mattress, on the floor, that, thankfully, hasn't been used as a bathroom by the dog yet. She lives here with her boyfriend.

And they want her to live somewhere else; she needs a change.

After all, the baby is coming. Don't they have to think about the baby? The innocence. Yes, they've got to get her in another house.

And so they do.

But before long, she's back to her old house, says it just wasn't what she wanted. But the baby, there's still the baby. She's growing out of her clothes; yes, she needs new clothing, or better yet, they'll clean out their closets for the gently used items that have hardly been worn before.

Yes, let's get her cleaned up; she needs a change.

But she doesn't wear the clothes; they're not her taste. She's happpier with what she's already got, with what she already knows. Thanks, but no thanks.

She's gone; she just walked out. She had a fight with the father of her child and left the only person who cares for her unborn baby, someone who might even care more than she does. Where did she go, they ask. She's over on Millford Station, that's where she always goes.

He's so tired of this; with another man's dime, he goes to buy a drink to drown out his anguish of being left again (so many times that he stopped counting).

But they know she'll be back; she always comes back. And this time, they might not be waiting around to help. They just might be finished with this. They can only reach out so much. She has to choose to respond.

You want to change her, but have you loved her?

how to know your neighbors

I'm not great at knowing my neighbors, actually. I'm consumed with busyness, just like the rest of us, much to my disdain sometimes. But what I do know has been put to the test.

How do you know your neighbors? Cook some food.

Not just any food, though. Hamburgers and barbecue balogna (Ba-lone-ee). Hot fries and brownies. Those are the foods that we all, errr... that most of us like.

The humidity and the heat index of 115 may threaten to keep us away, but alas, the will to be neighbors overcomes the desire to stay inside where the air conditioner runs strenuously.

Of course, I don't know my neighbors after just one cookout, but I do see some familiar faces, meet some new ones, and learn some good facts: "Oh! You live in the little blue house on the south side of the street?" And so it begins.

Let us be neighbors!

out of the heaviness: a poem

The world is heavy; we are all heavy.
We weigh so much, what with all our burdens,
and then we lay up those burdens on others.
We speak things we don't mean -
some of which we thought we meant -
others of which we spoke because it would make
this fleeting
moment
easier.

We hurt and drag and lead on.
We cause much hurt,
much sadness,
much hardening of hearts.
But can we help it?
Oh, the need for grace, my love, even for you;
even for me.

I'm no saint; I'm no lover.
And even on my most holy days, I am
but a fraud.

Maybe I know not what holiness is;
Maybe I cannot know.
Mystery, you say?
Washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Grace.
Light.
(Opposite of dark; opposite of heavy.)

I saw the light.

(written in the dim light and late hours of sadness and heaviness)

$84 Million... is this OK?

If it weren't for Ty living in this house, I wouldn't be blogging about this, because I probably wouldn't know about it. But now I know, and now I will blog.

Rudy Gay has just signed a 5-year contract (Google this for more accurate details) for $84 Million. He's been with the Grizzlies for several years already. I don't know the rest of the details (maybe I should read them more closely before I post this).

Is $84 Million OK with us? Will anyone be around to help Rudy Gay know how to deal with this much wealth? Is this much wealth OK? Money can be used in a million (no pun intended) different ways, a million different good ways. But tragically, it often isn't. I don't know Rudy Gay, but I know even masses of Jesus-followers in our city delight in his return, yet will we be moved, burdened by $84 Million?

God embodied: a lesson in love

"...God had to be embodied, or else people with bodies would never in a trillion years understand about love."
(Lauren F. Winner, "Girl Meets God")

We look for love in a million places, in a million ways, with a million failures. We not only fail in finding it for ourselves, but we fail to love because we are also trying to express love to others in those same failure-like ways that we sought it for ourselves.

Let us look at the nature of our Living God, embodied in Jesus, for some clues about how to love!

Allowing himself to be served (loved) by those the world taught his people to despise - a drink of water from the Samaritan woman for a thirsty Jewish man. (John 4: 1-30)

Meals, and probably some laughter, with "crooks"! (Luke 19: 1-10)

Washing the disciples' feet - He, the one they followed and looked up to, washing their dirty feet? Never! "If I don't wash you, you can't be part of what Im doing." We must allow ourselves to be served (loved). (John 13: 1-17)

We want to understand about love! Teach us, Jesus...