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Rise Above Judgment

Photo by Eddie Bartholomew

Judgment
i shrink
pinhead on white


big hands crush my footing
turn my world inverted


i sweat and pray


deeply
i know
the world's back
the tossed head
the laughter over shoulder


as my small
ball of a world
is tossed away


By Marianna Robin Bartholomew


In college, we laughingly called this type of poetry "Oh God I'm Suffering Poetry." Every writer probably has a drawerful. I wrote this one years ago. In college? Or, perhaps, high school?


I thought of this poem this morning because, well, I admit it. Last night I had my "small ball of a world tossed away" moment. Actually, two of them. Consecutively. Wham - wham! In community, two very strong personalities judged and discarded me.


In a setting where people of faith gather to uplift one another, this sort of occurrence always blindsides me. I gasp internally, try to readjust. My husband looks at me with his rich, brown eyes, and says, "You need to develop a thicker skin."


Last night, thank God, I was adjacent a church. I smiled, waved to a few people, then took a 10-minute sabbatical from our gathering to step into the  candlelit, vacant dimness. I hope it was vacant, because I spent the next moments on my knees, singing to Jesus in the tabernacle. Songs from years ago, from my old prayer group: 


"I will give You all my worship, I will give You all my prai-ai-ai-aise! You are worthy of my worship. You are worthy of my prai-ai-ai-aise! I will bow down, I will bow down. Hail You as King, hail You as King. I will give You, I will give You, everything. E-e-everything!"


You know. The type of music everyone makes fun of...The type of music I sing quietly and secretly, because my early reversion is all about that type of music -- and the Sacraments and Scripture, where that music led -- and the amazing, warm, motley, non-judgmental group of women, men and children who were re-converting and finding God, and loving me, as I loved them. 


In each other's eyes, we saw Jesus. An irresistible attraction. The attraction kept me going faithfully to "Wednesday Group" whether I was tired, crabby, over-busy, disinclined to drag my baby and two toddlers out to Mass and prayer group...


So. Last night I sang my music, and had my moments telling God, "I'm glad You understand me. I'm glad You love me. And I'm glad in heaven, everyone, even all the prickly, judgmental, self-righteous ones -- and I know that includes ME -- will all understand each other."


I love to think of that. Back in prayer group, everyone laughed once when I fervently exclaimed, "I can't wait to get to heaven, where I'll know everything!" All the mysteries explained, without a word, except The Word. And in a grand soul-infusion, we'll just know. All our pesky questions answered. And all the things we misunderstand about each other? Fully, blissfully cleared. We'll be transparent as Tiffany glass. Wait. Tiffany glass is largely jewel-colored. But this is heaven, and we'll be jewel-colored and transparent! I know it...


At a retreat once, I heard a priest talk about "The Sensitives" -- people open to the Holy Spirit. As we draw closer to Jesus in the Holy Eucharist, God the Father and His Holy Spirit, our hearts warm, open, expand, and become more sensitive. We feel empathy that should embrace and uplift the other.


Yet, I'm advised to thicken my skin. Therein lies a conflict.


I think the answer is to accept the pain that comes with artistic and soul-felt sensitivity. I am a writer, so bound to feel things deeply, right? But then I must move on, and keep my gaze fixed far beyond Self. I'll do my little self-examinations daily, resolve and pray to do better, visit my confessional for Actual Grace that keeps my faith vibrant and organic. Those are my resolutions. But beyond that healthy self-tending, God and Other should be enough to keep me largely occupied!


I saw the humor last night, as I softly sang my praise songs to my Friend in the Tabernacle. I imagined a janitor in the corner, lurking, having a snicker or two at my expense. I know the janitor was stalking the halls last night, crabby, because our group was a bit boisterous, messy, and late in staying. In church, I had my moment to regroup, whether with or without the janitor, or some other hidden visitor, as my audience. I took a few breaths, felt God's Presence replace bitterness, then returned to the party, determined to have a good time.


Sometimes, community will burn, not sustain. But it reminds me of Mother Teresa's words:

Do It Anyway 

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.  Forgive them anyway. 

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.  Be kind anyway.  

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies.  Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you.  Be honest and sincere anyway. 

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.  Create anyway. 

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.  Be happy anyway. 

The good you do today, will often be forgotten.  Do good anyway. 

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.  Give your best anyway. 

In the final analysis, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them anyway. 

-this version is credited to Mother Teresa

Sewing Sacred Linens a Sign of New Springtime

Courtesy of Fiber Images

In 2008, a priest in the capital city of Lincoln, Nebraska, told me he saw signs of that new "Springtime of the Faith" often spoken of by the Blessed Pope John Paul II.

It all began at Blessed Sacrament Church when a group of junior high girls serving as lectors asked Father Brendan Kelly for a tour of the sacristy. He noticed how drawn the girls were to the sacred linens – the vestments and altar cloths. It got him thinking about how worn those linens were at his struggling mission church, and about his grandmother’s Order of Martha sewing materials.

The 13^th of 14 children, Father Kelly was born in the southwest Chicago suburb of Oak Park. He remembers coming home from high school to see his mother opening an old box of his Grandmother’s. Together, they looked through patterns that his Grandma had used to make altar linens in her Order of Martha sewing circle.

Courtesy of Catholic Encyclopedia

Started by the Catholic Church Extension Society in 1911, Order of Martha groups sewed for missions in the U.S.. The groups peaked in the 1960s with 6,000 members.

Brendan Kelly’s Grandma had left one last purificator only partly sewn in her box. When the young man decided to be a priest, the youngest granddaughter on up to his mother passed the cloth around until the final seams were sewn. Then the cloth was used to wipe the chrism oil off Father Kelly’s hands during his ordination. The family followed tradition by burying this special cloth, called a manuturgium, with his mother when she died.

Fast forward some years, to Father Kelly serving at Blessed Sacrament Parish. When he gave that tour to the young lectors and saw their interest in sacred linens, he started praying about the situation. He realized that in hand sewing altar linens, women offered themselves at the altar, and that sewing itself is a contemplative act. He started talking about this theology of sewing, and girls and older women came to him saying, I don’t know how to sew, but can I learn?

In 2008, Father Kelly contacted Extension to tell about the first new Order of Martha Household to form in 30 years!

When staff at Extension heard the news, they were excited. By the middle of the 20^th century, Order of Martha sewing circles had shipped nearly 400,000 sets of altar linens. But all that had come to an end with the use of polyester and ready-made sacred cloths in church. By 2005, only six known groups still operated.

Younger generations find joy
in hand sewing. My daughter
 and a friend in the park.

Through Extension’s office moves, original sewing patterns had been lost, yet here was Father Kelly with his grandmother’s patterns. One editor at EXTENSION Magazine wrote me in an email: "I’m very tickled about this Order of Martha household because I sew. My husband asked me a couple of weeks ago 'if women still do that,' and I had to scratch my head. I only know a few.”

Father Kelly said few of the girls and women coming forward in his parish had any sewing experience, but something was drawing them on to learn how.

During the first junior meeting, tornado sirens blew and the group ended by celebrating Mass with Father Kelly in the basement. At following meetings, members worked on simple purificators. When they graduated to sewing real linen, it was beautiful imported linen from Belgium, provided by Father and other donors through the altar society.

One sixth grade girl asked to embroider a little baptismal garment, saying she wanted to give back to God because He had given so much to her.

Another member had been sexually abused by family members as a child, and found healing in sewing the pure, white linens. She said dressing the altar with these linens, was like dressing Jesus.

Today, Ruth Push is Vice-President of Blessed Sacrament’s Order of Martha. It’s been hard to keep members because things happen in people’s lives to draw them away. Also, Father Kelly now serves at another Nebraska church. But still, an average of seven women gather monthly to sew. The youngest of seven siblings, Ruth is a divorced mother of two grown boys and runs a day care from her home, yet she sews at least a seam a day. Sometimes that means taking a purificator to the laundromat and sewing while she processes her laundry.

She asks the Lord to accept each stitch as a prayer and has seen miracles happen, including one person becoming Catholic. Ruth has grown to a deep sense of knowing that Jesus really is present in the Eucharist. When her father died, she had the honor of hand sewing the corporal, purificator and hand towel used at his funeral.

Her Order of Martha group hand-sewed and donated altar linens for Our Lady of the Most Holy Trinity Chapel at Thomas Aquinas College in Santa Paula, California. Today, they’re finishing 23 corporals and 15 purificators for Blessed Sacrament.

Are hand crafts re-emerging?
Women in our tech-saturated 
society are taking time to 
sew and knit.  
Photo by Marianna Bartholomew

When I first spoke with Father Kelly in 2008, it was fun because I, too, was noticing an interest in sewing and traditional handcrafts with my daughter and her friends. At one point, we had three generations of women working to turn the train of my wedding gown into a veil for a pilgrim statue of Our Lady of Fatima. It was amazing to see a grandmother, two mothers and two 16-year-old daughters sewing seams together. We still meet during the summer for a knitting club in the park.

Father Kelly said this re-kindling of interest in the lost art of hand sewing, was a sign of something bigger. When I got off the phone after our first conversation, I literally did a little dance for joy. I had this sense of the Holy Spirit moving through hidden pockets of women across our nation, through their simple acts of hand sewing. Father told me, “These skills were lost for a time, but not entirely lost.”

Seeing active, modern women seeking quiet … settling in to the contemplative work of hand sewing vestments, really is a sign of a re-kindling – and a New Springtime in the Church. 

I present this piece in the new Catholic Vitamins podcast for "R-Rekindle." Also featured in that podcast are a song performed by popular singer-songwriter Simonetta and an interview with Kelly Wahlquist about the Father Michael Gaitley, MIC, Marian consecration book, 33 Days to Morning Glory.

"The Three Little Pigs" in Shakespearean English? One of my favorite things about today's technology is sharing videos like these! Enjoy...

Big Game Hunting, Suburban-Style

Photo by Kenneth Stansell/USFWS

A few months ago, my 14-year-old son told me the father of one of his classmates was a big game hunter.


"He shot a giraffe and has it in his garage," my son said matter-of-factly.


I burst out laughing, explaining to my poor, gullible son that his classmate was pulling his leg. My son insisted, however, and we left the conversation with him shaking his head that I wouldn't believe his story, and me pitying him that he would.


Today, I went over to the classmate's house for a school function, and couldn't help but notice the pelts and taxidermied heads of deer on a number of walls.


"That one's a wildebeast," explained my hostess, pointing out a strange head that bore horns just like the beast character in Disney's Beauty and the Beast.


Over cookies and coffee, my gracious hostess mentioned her husband's passion for hunting, saying one of his biggest animals hunted was even now in their garage, en route to their Colorado cabin for hanging.


"Oh? And what is that?"


"A giraffe," replied the lady, mother of six, and a beautifully dressed blonde with a home expressing a warm, eclectic, country feel.


We marched out to the garage, and there, in a box at least twelve feet long, lay a taxidermic giraffe, from the torso up. The effect this had on me, munching my chocolate chip cookie after a little school function, then reaching out to touch the strangely oily hairs of this majestic animal, would be hard to describe.


Months ago, if my son had told me a UFO had landed on his friend's house, I would have given him the same reaction I did about the giraffe's tale. Yet, the preposterous story was true!


After initial amazement, my next reaction was sadness that this creature was sacrificed for sport. But the meat was harvested and eaten by people in Africa, assured my hostess, so that makes it just a matter of custom, when you think about it. I've always loved giraffes, with their mottled hides and goofy projections atop their heads. But cows are lovable too, and we eat those! So I guess the morality of shooting even a graceful giraffe is akin to whether we should slaughter a cow.


But seeing a giraffe in a Chicago suburban garage was such a non-sequitor, it kept me chuckling all day. You know those lists people send around on FACEBOOK, that say, "25 things about me you didn't know." I could just see this dear lady's list: "1. Make mean chocolate chip cookies; 2. Am a closet oil painter; 3. Have a giraffe in my garage...


This whole scenario gets me thinking about the nature of ideas and truth. With his giraffe story, my son was speaking truth, but I couldn't accept that. How often have we discounted some truth spoken by a loved one or colleague, just because of a closed mind? Think about geniuses like Edison and prophets like John the Baptist. The outrageous, out-of-the-box messages they proclaimed were rejected by many, but were simple truth.


In fact, we often go through our days rejecting how crazy and surprising is the truth of our very existence. That our bodies are complex connections of regenerating cells? Incredible. That our very thoughts emerge as speech intelligible (in varying degrees) to others? A miracle. That our body is simply a shell for our eternal soul? Mind-boggling.


A giraffe in a garage? A good reminder that nothing about life is mundane, if seen with right eyes.

Happy Easter

He is Risen! Alleluia! Happy Easter!

Photo by Ed Bartholomew

Living Stations of the Cross at University of Illinois

My family attended this living Stations of the Cross at the University of Illinois, in Champagne-Urbana on Good Friday, put on by the Catholic students through St. John Newman Catholic Church and the Newman Center on campus. The reverence of the students at this well-attended Good Friday devotion was inspiring.

Top two photos by Marianna Bartholomew, remaining photos by Ed Bartholomew.