Mortification

So, I've prayed many, many times for God to make me humble. Last week, I prayed that God would humiliate me. Boy, was that a mistake!

First off, to explain my extended silence, I've been running over to the diocesan chancellery to try to clarify our canonical status as a community. Since we are not a community in the traditional sense, (although we tend to be traditional in our devotions), we have to work out how the governance of the community will work, as well as our continued relationship with the diocese. It is all very convoluted, and puts me to sleep!

Anyway, with all that weighing on my mind, I just did not get a good jump on the Sunday readings this past week. The readings were excellent for discerners, and the great commission that Jesus gives to all the disciples to 'pray that the Master of the Harvest send more laborers into his fields.' Did you know that this is one of the few things that Jesus specifically tells us to pray for?

Great stuff, but let me fill you in on my day yesterday:

In addition to my duties here at the monastery, I also have to assist at parishes in the immediate area. There is a slight need to help the pastors, and I am glad to assist as they also help out here. Well, things took a bit long here at the monastery and Sr. Caprice needed to chat right after Mass for a few minutes, plus Sr. Maxine was filling in all the details of her wanderings, plus Brother Brit's continued, ummm....., activities; all added up to me leaving the monastery way late and getting to the parish with about five minutes to go before Mass. Not enough time!

Wouldn't you know it, there were a few extra things for Father's Day going on, too; plus something about their upcoming festival; my mind was about the consistency of scrambled eggs by the time I started Mass.

Well, the homilies I give at the monastery are usually pretty focused on things there, so I often have a different theme for the parish Masses; and I thought I had something worked out; but didn't get the time to actually write out my thoughts. No problem, I thought, I've been at this for long enough a time that I can wing it.

Well, with all the mass confusion at the monastery, traffice to the parish, and the hullabaloo at the parish, I finished the Gospel and my mind was a vast wasteland of ideas. I am talking Sahara Desert: vast and dry.

I turned, looked at the assembled crowds, and humbly admitted: "I have no idea what I was going to say."

I stumbled on for a bit of time, when it dawned on me from my seminary days: 'The best way to end a homily, if you've got nothing else: "Stand for the Creed."'

Most of the people were laughing after Mass, and I have feeling that this might live on in infamy long after I am gone.