Pray for those still in darkness and cold

To those suffering effects of Hurricane Sandy, our thoughts and prayers continue to be with you. See this New York Times update of recovery efforts: Update. 

And a "Quest for Normalcy" story at CNN.

Here is a time-lapse video of New York City in the midst of Sandy:

New Yorkers "are facing desperate situations as they rebuild their lives...please pray for all who are suffering from this tragedy and for all who are working on the relief efforts."
Timothy Michael Cardinal Dolan
Archbishop of New York

North American Martyrs, Heal Our Nation

Joan of Arc helped liberate Orleans, France in
the 1400s. This city nurtured North American
martyr Saint Isaac Jogues in the 17th century.
Image from Catholic Forum.

Imagine growing up in Orléans of Saint Joan of Arc fame, in the 1600s. Recovered from the Hundred Years’ War, this north-central French city on the Loire River, has the amazing Gothic Cathedrale Saint-Croix d’Orleans, or Cathedral of the Holy Cross, a thriving university dating back to the 1230’s, and is a transportation center, filled with culture and commerce.

Next, imagine you receive a fine education and are ordained a Jesuit priest. You can fit right in with intellectuals and rulers of Orléans. But you feel called to remote forests, to serve people who have never seen a modern city, don’t speak your language and are fierce warriors.

This is Saint Isaac Jogues’ story and it has given me chills since childhood. His superiors sent this native of Orléans to serve allies of the French, the Hurons and Algonquins, in North America, in territory called “New France.” In a canoe en route, several Christian companions and he were captured by Mohawk Iroquoise. Father Isaac Jogues could have easily died from blood loss or gangrene after his captors tortured him and chopped off several fingers. He survived and became a slave of the Mohawks, seeking every chance to teach the tribal people about Jesus and God’s mercy. When Dutch merchants learned of his plight, they smuggled him off to present-day Manhattan.

Miraculously, he sailed back to France, where people greeted him as a "living martyr." He was even given special permission by Pope Urban VIII to celebrate Mass with his mutilated hand, since the Eucharist is only supposed to be held by the thumb and forefinger.

Orleans, France. 1895 Image is in public domain.

He had certainly earned safety in some quiet assignment. But after just a few months of recovery, Father Isaac Jogues headed back to North America.

A shaky peace was forged between the Iroquois, Huron, Algonquin and the French, and in 1645, Father Isaac Jogues and lay helper Jean de Lalande went into Mohawk country to act as ambassadors. But illness and crop failure had hit the Mohawks. Europeans immigrating into the New World, especially children, were helping to spread smallpox. But Indians feared the missionaries were magicians who were casting spells on their tribes.

The missionaries preached peace, but when they were captured by a hostile group of Mohawks, they were taken to their village of Ossernenon, now Auriesville, New York. The Turtle and Wolf Clans of the Mohawks argued for the priest’s lives and wanted to free them. But members of the fierce Bear Clan, ambushed the men from behind, using tomahawks to behead them.

Photo of mosaic in Cathedral Basilica 
of St. Louis taken by Mark Scott Abeln.

For my Catholic Vitamins podcast "J-for Jubilee," I told how my family drove along the Saint Lawrence Seaway, past Quebec City to the spectacular shrine of St. Anne de B’eaupre. We didn’t realize at the time that when Father Isaac Jogues was martyred by the Mohawks, his body was thrown into the St. Lawrence River.

Just about ten years after this martyrdom, an Indian maiden was born near Ossernenon. Kateri Tekakwitha was the daughter of a Mohawk chief and a Catholic Algonquin woman, and it is thought she belonged to the Turtle Clan who had argued to save Father Jogues and Lalande. 

Kateri lost her brother and parents to smallpox, that also left her with impaired vision and facial scars. She was quiet, avoided social gatherings, and covered her head with a blanket to spare others the sight of her scars. She was mocked and cast off by her tribe because she took a vow of virginity, consecrating herself to God. When she died at the age of 24, eyewitnesses saw her smallpox scars fade and her face bloom into beauty.

“The blood of the Martyrs is the seed of the Church.” Tertullian penned these words around the 2^nd-3^rd century after Christ. It seems that the sacrifice of Saints Isaac Jogues and Jean de Lalande watered the soil that nurtured Kateri, known now as the Lily of the Mohawks. 

In the United States, we celebrate the Feast of the North American Martyrs, also known as St. Isaac Jogues and Companions, on October 19. And on October 21st this year, Pope Benedict XVI is scheduled to canonize Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha.

It seems something really significant, some powerful force for good, will be unleashed with this event. And the Native American community? It has waited for this canonization day for centuries.

A depiction of Jean de Brébeuf's and Gabriel Lalemant's martyrdom marks
a map of 1657 drawn by Bressani. Image is in public domain.

I started my Missionary Moment for the Catholic Vitamins "M for Mercy" podcast this week by playing the Huron Carol on recorder. The Carol was written in 1643 by Father Jean de Brebeuf, another North American Martyr. He wrote the words to the Carol in the language of the native Huron/Wendat people and based the tune on a traditional French folk song. He overcame tuberculosis to come serve the Hurons near Lake Huron, and many of the Indians came to love him and follow his faith. When he was later captured and tortured by Iroquois, the warriors consumed his heart because they hoped to gain his courage. He was a massive, powerful man with a gentle way, and people said he did not cry out in pain even once at the end.

Not everyone has the courage of Saints Isaac Jogues, Jean de Brebeuf or the other North American martyrs. But we do have the actual saints rooting for us. Their interest in saving souls didn’t end when they reached heaven.

This 17th-century painting
by Father Claude Chauchetiére is one
of the oldest portraits of Kateri
Tekakwitha. Image is in public
domain.

Maybe this October, as we put out our pumpkins, we can call on all the saints and remember that Halloween is really All Hallow’s Eve, the day before All Saints’ Day, honoring all saints in heaven, known and unknown.

You might plan a trip to the National Shrine of the North American Martyrs, also known as the Shrine of Our Lady of the Martyrs, in Auriesville, New York. Or visit the National Kateri Tekakwitha Shrine outside of Fonda, New York, also the site of the only fully excavated Iroquois village in the country. My husband and I took our children to the rustic chapel and museum in a 200-year-old barn near Fonda some years ago, and it was an awesome experience to pray and learn more about our North American saints. 

With the saints on our side, any first timid steps into holiness will grow bolder with practice. Even if we’re in a situation or time in our life when we’re especially hidden or lonely – we can be assured we’re not alone in living our faith. Holiness spreads. It bridges heaven and earth -- and practiced on a large scale, will renew a nation.

Anniversary Blessings and All That Jazz

A bit grainy, taken off our cell phone, but proof of a
great "date night!"

My husband and I lived in different parts of Chicago the four years we dated. My little efficiency apartments featured a cast iron "Murphy bed" that threatened to squash me every time I lowered it from its closet, views of brick walls across alleys, cantankerous scraping of elevator cables sounding through the night and, yes, jumbo-sized cockroaches.

From the official Murphy Bed Co.
website. Folding away my cast iron
bed each morning was a feat of
strength and willpower!

On the upside, these cubbyholes granted me access to St. Clement's Church and singing in its choir, Lincoln Park brownstones, lakefront strolls, forays to the zoo and conservatory, cheap diners, classic movies at the Music Box Theater, coffee house sessions at the Old Town School of Folk Music. 

Ed and I were in our early 20's, had student loan payments, and were working for non-profits, but we didn't need much cash to have fun. He would hop a bus to meet me and we would walk and talk for hours -- rain, snow or shine. Some of the world's best sight-seeing was at our disposal, and we never carried a scrap of extra weight during those years!

So...to celebrate our 23rd Anniversary Saturday night, Ed took me to Girl and the Goat in Chicago's West Loop area (owned and run by Iron Chef America contender Stephanie Izard). Chickpea fritters; pork, beef and goat stew with homemade noodles; fresh-baked bread with bacon, butter, and diced pear. Outstanding and surprising  dishes! Dim, artsy interior with rustic tables and floor, wood-fed brick oven, chefs in tall, cylindrical hats, and a soaring bar area with iron grill work salvaged from some architectural treasure house.

Chicago's Field Museum, just a bus ride away when we
lived in the city. Photo by Bartholomew

After a week of our family fighting a respiratory bug, it was so delightful and unexpected to escape for the evening. After-dinner espresso and latte at La Colombe Coffeehouse on Randolph Street, then on to the Jazz Showcase to hear Benny Green and his trio. We sipped Bailey's Irish Cream in front row seats, positioned perfectly to see the pianist's flying hands. 

After the first set, Benny autographed a CD for us: "Marianna and Ed, Happy 23 Years! Many, many more and on and on..." When he saw us still there after the second set, he greeted us by name. He was upset, saying if he had known we stayed, he would have dedicated a song to us. He leapt back on the stage, grabbed the mike, but by then the lights were up and house music playing. The thought was there!

Funny how jazz has been a recurring theme in my life this year. I wrote about another powerful jazz encounter here: Monsignor Reilly, Great Jazz and an Amazing Week.

But back to Jazz Showcase. We watched the pianist (Benny Green), bassist (Ben Wolfe) and drummer (Kenny Washington) in awe as they moved in and out of improvisation seamlessly. Distinct voices, yet one stunningly unified team. Sounds like a metaphor for marriage at its best, although I didn't think of that at the time. During intermission, Benny told Ed and I that when he composed, he expressed things in music he couldn't put into words. I told him his music and performance reminded me of prayer. It seemed so fundamental, spiritual and free. He seemed touched when we said we couldn't think of a nicer way to spend our anniversary. He looks so edgy on his CD cover, but in person, seemed gentle and receptive, thanked us for our encouragement, and said "bless you," several times, for our comments.

In Father Robert Barron's youtube video about Seven Great Qualities of a New Evangelist, he talks about how we must be plugged into culture, and find God's truths and beauty shining forth through even the secular arts. I definitely felt God's goodness pouring through this trio's music. At times, the sounds were so delicate and probing, they seemed to express qualities like love, loneliness and pondering. At other times, these three men in suits rocked with exuberance, laying all their energies into themes they explored with deepening intensity.

Before we married, Ed read Jane Eyre to
please me. Pictured here is author
Charlote Bronte, painted by
J.H. Thompson. Image is in public
domain due to age.

Learning to appreciate jazz has been a labor of love. When I first met my husband, I thought jazz ran in circles with nowhere to go. But living 23 years with a trumpet player has led me to lay down prejudices. I've been blessed by an enjoyment of jazz that might never have developed if I hadn't determined to like it for Ed's sake.

The great thing, is that my husband also gives my preferences a try, which led him to read my favorite book of all time before we married (Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre), buy a second-hand canoe this summer, and take me to such an out of the box restaurant featuring goat cheese and locally-grown veggies for our anniversary!

That great meal and music was soporific, because next morning, the whole family stayed in bed until noon -- an unheard-of luxury. We arose to Ed and my actual anniversary day, which mimicked the glorious, sunshiny weather of our wedding day. I remember my parents driving me and my boxed wedding dress and veil along Lake Shore Drive toward St. Clement's Church, Lake Michigan glistening at our side and sun smiling overhead -- and us belting out the show tune from "My Fair Lady" -- "I'm getting married in the morning. Ding-dong the bells are going to chime..."

We had relatives fly in from as far away as Ireland and England. We never guessed that within a week, Ed's father would be stricken by a brain embolism. How blessed we were to have both sets of our parents at the wedding.

The now-Bishop of Tulsa (then, President of the Catholic Church Extension Society) Father Edward Slattery, sang the "Creation Mass," and our St. Clement's Church Choir sang, finishing with part of the Hallelujah chorus from Handel's Messiah. After Ed and I were named husband and wife we turned to face the congregation, and the 30-some members of the choir waved to us from the loft of the newly-refurbished, historic, Romanesque-style church! Ahhh, memories.

Memories filtered pleasantly through my brain all weekend, as our leisurely celebration of life together extended through Sunday. We had two coupons for a nearby coffeehouse, so walked there in the afternoon to exchange gifts. I bet we looked silly walking down the street, each carrying a large, brown shopping bag. Ed got me an ingenious bird feeder that attaches to the kitchen window so we can watch birds while doing dishes. I got him a quintet's worth of Canadian Brass sheet music so he can play with the kids on their trombone, trumpet and clarinet, along with a Canadian Brass CD. Also, Handel's Messiah sheet music and CD so he can play along on his trumpet. I love how our gifts benefit the whole family.

Later, at 5:00 PM Mass, our family was asked to bring up the gifts. The entire theme of the Mass happened to revolve around the one-flesh, sacramental union of husband and wife. A great Indian priest gave a homily full of scriptural references and rich insights as to God's plan for marriage. In one of the lighter moments, he told of an English couple who held a world record for being married for eighty-something years! The wife advised forgiving each other and always going to bed good friends. The husband summed up his approach in two words: "Yes, Dear!"

The Battle of Lepanto, 1571, painted by acclaimed,
19th-century Filipino master Juan Luna. Image is in public
domain, due to age.

After dinner, I read this article from Soul Magazine to Ed and the kids, to remind us about what an amazing anniversary date Ed and I have. October 7th is the Feast of the Holy Rosary. On this day in 1571, the last oared, naval battle in history took place. An outnumbered, ragtag fleet of Christians turned back a powerful invading force of Turks threatening to overrun Europe. (The Muslim fleet was powered by Christian slaves at the oars.) The Christian victory is credited to the fact that Europe united in praying the rosary, since defeat seemed certain. You have to read the story of this incredible battle. The prolific writer G.K. Chesterton wrote a poem about the event, called Lepanto. The language and imagery are breathtaking. 

Well, for Ed and I it's been twenty-three years (not counting the four we dated) -- six pregnancies (three miscarriages), various catastrophes (job loss, illness, disputes) -- but above all, shared faith, sacramental blessings, companionship, family, and the sense of adventure as new opportunities unfold.

Looking out to a bright future,
with Edward J. Slattery, now
Bishop of Tulsa, OK.

Has it all played out as I envisioned as a 16-year-old? Hardly. In many ways it has surpassed my hopes and dreams. It's a lot like jazz. We improvise as we go, helping the other each sound his or her own unique tune, yet begging God to blend us in pleasing harmony, forging something beautiful in our hearts, home and the world.

Happy Feast of the Archangels

And Now, A Little Technology Humor

Monmouth College left a recruitment message in our voice mail. Our spiffy new arrangement feeds these messages through a voice recognition system and emails them to us in text format. Remember that game "telephone," with kids whispering a message to each other to see how it emerges at the end? Well, this version of "telephone" had my family howling with laughter...

Message as it appeared in the email:

Date	: Sep 19 2012 06:04:57 PM
From	: MONMOUTH COLLEG (130********)
To	: E. Bartholomew (16*****-****)

"Hi, this is Matt from Monarch College calling for ******. We were just calling to see how your senior year in high school is going and also to see if after a few groceries if you're gonna be interested in looking at at colleges mama college is very interested in having you attend here. Oh we are just wondering if you'd be interested in actually point here. If you haven't heard of us and we can check our website at mom's college that you. I love you. See what you're looking for a college education, then you can feel free to schedule a campus visit or apply online is completely free. They don't they wanna do either. So, we'll, we're gonna try to get a hold of you a couple weeks and if you have any questions you can feel free to call us at 1-800-***-****. Thank you" 

--- Brought to you by ***age --- 

This email was sent from a mailbox that does not accept replies. 


Isn't it great how communication keeps getting easier?!

What We Do Changes Who We Are

Michelangelo's the Creation of Adam

in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican.

Identity – What We Do Changes Who We Are...

Philosophy buffs, C.S. Lewis and Tolkien fans...Click on the link above to check out this riveting reflection by Peter Kreeft, that appeared at The Integrated Catholic Life blogsite.

Best Face Forward

Pleasing through our complexions...how far must women go to be judged worthy? One of the most popular film stars of the 1920s, Clara Bow was known as the ultimate flapper, and had a complicated personal life to match her flamboyant style. Photo is in public domain.

My high school reunion is this month. When I was little, an event like that would have Mom “putting on" her face. I would scramble for a ringside seat. Women back then approached hair and face like architecture, building up from bedrock. Headband framing the naked canvas, Mom pursed and smeared: Ponds Cream, foundation, blemish stick, “rouge,” eye shadow, eyebrow liner, mascara (for a really big event, false eyelashes), powder, and the grand finale, lipstick to tie the new, refurbished package in a bow.  

Another half hour untangling curlers, styling springy, Dippity Do-slicked curls, sliding in a hair extension called a “rat,” encasing the “do” in a sprayed, silicon shell, snapping on earrings, and dabbing perfume behind ears, and the lady, from the neck up at least, was complete. I dreamed of styling my own elegant mask. But would it be freeing?

One landmark day as a teen, I trotted off with Mom to a cosmetics counter for a makeover. A white-smocked lady slathered my blemish-marked skin with lotion. That launched me on an extravagant cycle: exfoliating cream, astringent wash, moisturizer, foundation, blush, powder, eye shadow, eyeliner drawn with a brush, mascara…voila!...a new creation. The results boosted morale. With makeup, I perceived myself as more polished, confident, and acceptable in the eyes of the world.

I wasn't alone. An October 12, 2011 New York Times article asks: "Want more respect, trust and affection from your co-workers?" and outlines a Harvard psychology study that shows makeup-wearing women faring better in the workplace.

By the time I worked downtown in my early 20’s, I wouldn’t leave my apartment without “my face on.” Forgetting to tuck makeup into my purse was irksome, getting my face right in the morning, essential. As hours passed, I sensed eyeliner or lipstick smudge, and fished out a mirror to check the damage. Catching me pressing palm against lips to blot lipstick, a coworker asked if I was ill.

Then, came the Great Unmasking. Children arrived. Hugs and kisses took precedence over image. Makeup happened when I had time, until I developed chemical sensitivities. Even hypoallergenic cream made me itch. Mom developed the same condition, making the whole synthetic beautifying process more pain than pleasure.

A funny thing happened as Mom and I ditched chemicals. Mom’s hair naturally grayed into stunning silver. At least in the eyes of this beholder, simply wearing her own face increased her beauty. As for me, I made peace with my unvarnished reflection. In time, I quite liked it.

Today, not slaving over and smothering my skin just to pass through my door makes me giddy with gratitude. I applaud current fashion trends featuring light makeup and easy-care hair. I still enjoy wearing lip color. As for the rest of the hooplah, I’ve sent it to the Pit of Oblivion. Hurray!

Many women take cosmetics in stride, using them as helpful beautifying tools and not a distraction. But for one who felt naked without a synthetic mask, it’s nice breaking the attachment.

In the online comments section of that New York Times article, women raged over the inequity of society and workplaces discriminating against women without makeup. Men are not expected to spend 20 minutes daily on skin care, so why must women?

On the other side, some women equated makeup with influence. "There are times when you want to give a powerful 'I'm in charge here' kind of impression, and women shouldn't be afraid to do that," by, say, using a deeper lip color, said pro-makeup Sarah Vickery, quoted in the New York Times article, and an author of the Harvard study. 

She is also a Procter & Gamble scientist, snarked one online commentator, while another asserted, "a person shouldn't feel like they look hideous in public without makeup."

In the end, one truth emerges: true beauty shines from within. Some crabby, self-absorbed women in exquisite makeup, look severe and unattractive.  Other women with plainer, unadorned faces beam as they good-naturedly live their day.


Society should reach that point where no woman is discriminated against or judged because she does not wear makeup. As for women who enjoy "war paint," more natural-minded consumers are demanding safe cosmetics, so women do not have to sacrifice health for beauty.

Sometimes it works to keep it simple. Extra-virgin coconut oil  cleanses and moisturizes, apple cider vinegar is a good astringent, and a healthy, holy outlook on life gives faces a glow. The first two items are found at health food stores. The third, takes hope, humor and a lifetime of persistent prayer, a recipe that makes people winsome with age.


I know the pleasure makeup can bring, especially when trying to make a good impression for some special event. A small part of me wishes I could go beyond the lipstick for my high school reunion. But by the grace of God, it feels good to be unmasked, and putting my own best face forward.

Chemicals found in makeup comprise a toxic list. Can you imagine saying, “I’ll be ready in a minute, Honey, as soon as I plug my pores with octyl methoxycinnamate, propylene glycol and methylparaben”? To learn more about harmful and even carcinogenic chemicals in makeup, check out the non-profit Environmental Working Group site: http://www.ewg.org/skindeep/?key=39529902. The site also provides information on natural beauty products.