“Veritas Aequitas”

(Truth & Justice/Fairness)

For the fans who did not hear or did not have a chance to see Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day, I regret to inform you, you missed out, but now…you have a chance at redemption. As of November 25, 2009, Boondock Saints II is going into national release!  After funding issues and one hold up after another, Troy Duffy and the original Boondock Saints cast made the last 10 years well worth the wait.

A priest is killed in Boston and  Connor MacManus (Sean Patrick Flanery) and Murphy MacManus (Norman Reedus) are framed for the murder.  To clear their names and serve up justice Boondock Saints style, they are forced to come out of hiding after living with their father in Ireland for the past 8 years.  Since their sidekick Rocco aka “The Funny Man” (David Della Rocco) was killed in the first movie, to complete their trinity, they befriended a Rocco-equivalent Mexican by the name of Romeo (Clifton Collins Jr).  The FBI agent to step into Paul Smecker’s (William DaFoe) role is Eunice Bloom (Julie Benz).  Although hard shoes to fill, Benz does an impeccable job acting and interpreting Smecker’s idiosyncrasies.

Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day Official Trailer

If you are a fan of Boondock Saints, you will appreciate not only the original cast coming back for the sequel, but everything that made the first one great.  The prayer, the witty dialogues, the over the top crime scene explanations, everyones favorite neighborhood Irish arms dealer, the friendly/cursing/stuttering bar tender, epic gun fights and that confounded, stupid rope!!  There is also a special surprise at the end which was uncredited but momentous!

By staying true to everything they are about, Duffy is creating a masterpiece which hopefully involves a third movie.  It’s unfortunate these films do not get the credit they deserve in the mainstream world.  Boondock Saints I & II  are completely original in thought and execution.  They arent superheroes, but they are the hope that is devoted to wiping out evil and corruption and “[they] will send you to whatever God, you wish.”

“A thank you message to the fans from writer/director Troy Duffy and the two stars of Boondock Saints II, Norman Reedus and Sean Patrick Flanery.” (11.25.09)

Who ordered the whup ass fajita?! – The Boondock Saints II

A great new project from Zbooy:

“The catacombs in the crypt under the Reformed Franciscan church are among
some of the most secret places in the city. Unique climatic conditions found
in the basement caused the bodies of the dead to undergo a process of
natural mummification whereby they remain in an excellent state of
preservation. Among them, hidden away since 1667, are the remains of many
monks and members of Polish noble families. Monastic books reveal that in
total almost 1,000 bodies were placed in the catacombs over the years, among
them around 730 lay people and 250 monks. The crypts, now holding only about
a hundred bodies, are now made available for public viewing just once or
twice a year, traditionally on All Souls’ Day (November 2nd), the day after
All Saints’ Day. In the past, the mummies attracted crowds of visitors,
causing adverse climatic challenges.

Seven panoramas and about 50 photographs can be viewed here.

CAUTION: you may find some imagery quite disturbing.

As the monks say in the leaflet: “This is not a museum but a cemetery.
Respect solemnity of this place and say a prayer for the dead.” It’s not
meant to cause sensation but it is a memento to our fragility, reminding us
that after death we are all equal.”

I love these images from around the world of people paying homage to the netherworld. Some really extraordinary pictures here that are sure to make you feel something.

From October 31st through November 2nd, a number of festivals, holidays and solemnities take place, all loosely related and revolving around remembrance of the dead.

Halloween, Samhain, All Saints’ Day, All Souls’ Day, the Day of the Dead and other festivals trace their origins back to Celtic, Aztec, Roman and Christian traditions. Halloween is largely a secular observation these days, All Souls and All Saints remain mainly Catholic observations, and the Day of the Dead is still largely a Latin American tradition, its roots in Mexico’s Aztec heritage. Collected here are photographs over the past week from the varied observations of the Days of the Dead around the world.

A skull covered in marigolds rests in front of a wall of graves during preparations for a massive altar in the San Fernando Cemetery in Mexico City, Tuesday, Oct. 27, 2009. Workers added thousands of marigolds, known in Mexico as “cempasuchil,” to giant skull images Tuesday as they prepare to observe the of Day of the Dead.

Women in fancy dress attend a charity Halloween parade in Hong Kong on October 31, 2009.

Four-year-old Dakota Magnuson, of Boise, Idaho, clutches her pumpkin while walking around the Wissel family pumpkin patch, Sunday, Oct. 25, 2009, outside Nampa, Idaho.

Performers greet local school children as they arrive for a Halloween reception by U.S. President Barack Obama and his family at the White House in Washington, October 31, 2009.

US President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama greet trick or treaters at the North Portico of the White House as they celebrate Halloween in Washington, DC, on October 31, 2009.

The First couple welcomed more than 2,000 children from Washington, Maryland and Virginia schools and their families to celebrate Halloween. (Awesome!)

Queens Ana Maria Sosof Pacach, 19, right, and Glenda Araceli Kua Ajsac, 15, pose for a picture prior to the ceremony in which the new Todos Santos’ Queen will be elected in Todos Santos, northwestern Guatemala, Friday, Oct. 30, 2009, part of the local observation of the feast of All Saints, for which the town is named.

Giant kites made by residents of Sumpango, in the municipality of Sacatepequez, some 48 km west of Guatemala City, Guatemala, for celebrating All Saints day on November 1, 2009.

A woman visits the grave of her son in Mazatlan Villa de Flores cemetery, during the Day of the Dead in Oaxaca, Mexico on November 1, 2009.

A Filipino family uses a makeshift raft to paddle their way through a flooded cemetery in suburban Angono district east of Manila on November 1, 2009. Millions of Filipinos across the country trooped to cemeteries to honour their dead on All Saint’s Day, a day after typhoon Mirinae slammed into the country and killing at least 14.

Mirinae’s rains and strong winds also compounded the emergency situation for tens of thousands already left homeless by two previous storms that had killed over 1,100 the past five weeks.

A view of Nueva Esperanza cemetery during “Day of the Dead” celebrations on the outskirts of Lima, Peru on November 1, 2009. Every year thousands of people visit cemeteries in Peru to honour their dead.

Carlos Estrada of Santa Rosa, entertains motorists under the Highway 12 overcrossing at Olive Street as he brings up the rear of an immigrant march that started on Sebastopol Road and ended at Santa Rosa’s city hall, Saturday Oct. 31, 2009 in Santa Rosa, Calif.

Candles light up graves in the San Gregorio cemetery during Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico City, Mexico early Sunday, Nov. 1, 2009. According to tradition, candles are lit to guide wandering souls back to their families.

I love that last photo. The cemetery looks so beautiful with lights, and not in a tacky pre-planned sort of way.

Remember the Dead. Fight for the Living.

Last night I could not sleep.  The winds returned at 35 mph with gusts up to 70 mph and the rain fell in sheets.  But I had some time to think about the ever-present themes in my novels.  The one theme that came up in all three of my novels thus far revolves around the characters’ need for liberation.

In the pages of “Go, Lucy Go” Lucy Yakamoto, the main character, struggles with adult responsibilities and the constant need to have fun.  Lucy, a Japanese exchange student came to the States on a lark and ended up at Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington.  You just can’t find a better place for culture clash, and on many levels.  Why the conservative set and politicians hobnob at the State Capitol, the students at Evergreen live their progressive, politically correct lives to the hilt.  Not only that, this story takes place in the 1990s when a do-it-yourself music scene held some prominence in Olympia.

At first Lucy seeks sexual liberation, but then that leads to finding herself, rather quickly, in a year’s time.  She discovers that she wishes to live the life of a pop star so she returns to Japan and changes her fortune.  The novel attracted some attention on Authonomy, but was rejected by the handful of agents I queried.  It might have been the phone booth sex that takes place at the start of the novel.  I did not write that scene for shock value, but to dive into Lucy’s head.  It worked for me.

If you would like to read sample chapters from “Go, Lucy Go,” you can do so at http://www.golucynovella.blogspot.com

Agnes and Yves in another of my novels, also seek liberation.  Francophobe Agnes seeks liberation from her journalism job and an assignment of an article about French painters.  She also just seeks an escape from adult life and hopes to lose herself in an affair with a Spanish musician.  Yves hopes to liberate himself from his overbearing lover and former model so that he can paint again.  They end up finding balance with adult responsibilities and pursuing their dreams.

I do not have a blog for “Agnes et Yves” but you can read sample chapters on Authonomy.com  Just type in the title in the search box.

The characters in “All Saints’ Day” seek a different type of freedom.  As the title of the book implies, we are dealing with saints.  They have reincarnated to Manhattan and find themselves dealing the same problems as us non-saints.  Again, those adult responsibilities come up, such as saving the earth from all kinds of perils, loving other creatures and loving each other in a non-celibate way. 

Jeanne d’Arc escaped any kind of sexual relationship or family life in her medieval life.  Francesco of Assisi knew carnal knowledge but after taking a vow of celibacy also walked away from any sort of intimate relationship or family life.  In a way, running off to war or the grottos for a mystic experience could be called a type of escapism.  Yet, the responsibilities of saving a country (Jeanne) or starting a religious brotherhood (Francesco) has its own set of duties and even a heavier responsibility than either of those saints could have imagined.

So the question I ask in my novels is can we take on our life missions and still feel liberated? Do we escape enslavement by following what’s in our hearts despite the responsibility thrust on our shoulders?

Chapters from “All Saints’ Day” (a mystical comedy), found at http://www.allsaintsnovel.blogspot.com or the most  updated version at http://www.authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=9471

Hello All !!! I finally got to see the Boondock sequel and it was awesome. A lot of my friends thought that it was corny, but all sequels are in my opinion. I went in the theater expecting the worst and left quoting the best parts that stuck out in my head. It was comical along the same lines as the first on and had almost all the same cast with a couple of new additions. I laughed my a$$ of through most of the movie. It is by far the best sequel I have seen in a long time. If you liked the first one then I highly recommend seeing the second. Just remember that if you expect the second to be better than the first you will be disappointed. You cannot top the first one. It was awesome, but the second one is a good follow up and is worth seeing.

I’d arranged to be in Mexico City for Day of the Dead, in fact, I’d extended my trip especially so that I could go and see it. I’d read that Mixquic, a small village in the vast, sprawling suburbs of Mexico City, was famous for the beauty of it’s celebrations and had earmarked that as the place to be on 2nd November. Day of the Dead (in spanish ‘El Dia de los Muertos’) is held over two days; All Saints Day on 1st November and All Souls Day on 2nd. Mexicans mark the passing of children on 1st and that of adults, the day after.

We arrived to Mixquic around 5pm after a metro, train and two-bus marathon. The village itself felt pretty small, though it was hard to hard to tell, since market stalls choked the streets, selling all manner of things from ceramic skulls and woolly jumpers, to a wide variety of food. This won’t be the last time I mention food in Mexico but just to say; Mexicans are excellent at supplying delicious, fresh food wherever you might possibly need it. This was no exception and the smells filling the streets of Mixquic certainly had the stomach juices flowing.

But the light was fading so the priority was to make it to the cemetery before sunset. Arriving at the church gates, I was surprised to see it was quite modest in size; it was not much bigger than an average village church and churchyard in the UK.

That was where the similarities ended. As soon as I passed through the gates, all I could see were flowers; thousands upon thousands of blooms filled the cemetery. Every single grave had been decorated with flowers; in pots, in grand stone urns, in elaborate arrangements and bouquets. And then there were the petals of rich oranges, bright pinks, deep reds, lemon yellows, painstakingly arranged into wonderfully elaborate designs; the Virgin of Guadalupe, the Sacred Heart, even calaveras; the skulls synonymous with the festival.

Decorated grave at Mixquic cemetery

As darkness fell, the sky was streaked in deep, rich blues; creating the most wonderful backdrop for the scene that had unfolded. A sea of candles flickered in the breeze and the smell and haze of incense hung in the air. There was quiet chatter and music from a market stall in the streets outside and all added together, it made for an incredibly special atmosphere. It was moving, it was inspiring and more than anything, it was dignified.

Darkness falls at Mixquic

On All Saints Day I decided I was going to study the saints and and others who influenced the church.  Continuing my my focus on the saints, and other key people of our faith.  You all are going to get a double dose today.

November 14 1784 Samuel Seabury was consecrated in Aberdeen.  He was the first Bishop of the Episcopal Church of America.  Originally Seabury traveled to England seeking approval, and ultimately to be consecrated as a Bishop.

Seabury did not have success in England.  Being an American citizen he could no longer take the oath of allegiance to the king.  From England Seabury traveled to Scotland in hopes of favor with The Scottish Episcopal Church.

The Scottish Bishops were more accepting of Seabury.  They refused to recognize the authority of King George III.  So with one condition he was consecrated and made Bishop.  The one condition the Bishops gave Seabury was to incorporate The Scottish Holy Eucharist Liturgies to their Book of Common Prayer.

Shortly after  Seabury consecration concern raised up in England over fears of what was going on in America.  English Parliament was pressured to make provision for the ordination of foreign bishops.

Seabury’s bold and no nonsense attitude brought a closeness between The Episcopal Church of America and The Church of England.  Many realized the fight was not over faith, liturgy, or doctrine,   but over politics.

Prayer for The Consecration of Samuel Seabury

We give you thanks, O Lord our God, for your goodness in bestowing upon this Church the gift of the episcopate, which we celebrate in this remembrance of the consecration of Samuel Seabury; and we pray that, joined together in unity with our bishops, and nourished by your holy Sacraments, we may proclaim the Gospel of redemption with apostolic zeal; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

That’s right everybody! We did it! Through petitions and internet communications we were able to get Boondock Saints 2: All Saints Day to be released nationwide in the U.S. It was originally a limited release to only the East and West coast, which made no sense to me. Why wouldn’t you release it. You would think that they would make more profit in doing that. It doesn’t matter now because it will be released November 13th 2009 nationwide. Woohoo!!! Got to go. I have to get my tickets. See ya next week with a review.

It’s time for a mental break. I am dealing with a host of menopausal-related problems, physical and mental and the stress from pitching articles, pitching novels and watching my novels fall deeper into the red zone on Authonomy have been too much.

The French cultural organizations and French culture authors ignored the e-mails I sent out about “Agnes et Yves” and I feel despair.  Perhaps my pitch did not interest them or my e-mails ended up in spam folders.  I’ll never know.  The two agents that I contacted about the novel have not shown an interest either.

I decided to switch “All Saints’ Day” to private at the end of this month.  The way the Authonomy site works is that a novel does not rise to the top unless the author is willing to read a lot of other novels on the site, comment and shelve a multitude of novels.  It only works for the popular folks.  It feels too much like a high school popularity contest and too much like a game in which I don’t know the rules, or care to know them.  I can’t spend anymore time on that site because I freelance for a living and need to spend my time actually earning money.

My reasoning at first was that I would push my novels, read as many other novels as possible and that I would at least get my novels into the Top 100, but it’s too much work.  I end up reading novels that were abandoned by authors so they don’t even know I read their work.  Or authors of thrillers read one chapter of my novel, shelve it and expect me to reciprocate even though I can’t stand reading thrillers, and refuse to read them.

At least I am waking up to the fact that Authonomy only works as a place to park a novel in hopes that an agent or publisher stumbles upon it.  I originally thought that I was growing as a writer having my work on that site, until I realize that I might have ruined my novels by taking too many suggestions.   So it’s time to rely on myself and follow my own inner light.

The journey does not end here, it begins on a new path.  Time for Plan B, as soon as I come up with it.

Sermon preached by The Revd Neil Fernyhough, Feast of All Saints (Nov.1, 2009).

Readings:  Isaiah 25: 6-9; Psalm 24; Revelation 21: 1-6a; John 11: 32-44.

I was not charmed by my work during the spring and summer of 1993.  I had a number of difficult cases I was dealing with as a social worker with the Ministry of Family and Child Services, as it is now euphemistically known.  My personal life wasn’t going so well either.  I was bored and lonely in my little cedar shake cabin, located on three acres of broom and bramble north of Sooke on Vancouver Island.  Most of my friends had long since left the Greater Victoria area for other pastures, and my job was a daily drain on my energy and contentment.  My only real pleasures were my garden – a plantation for the deer, as I ruefully considered it – and hiking in the hills, often with the Book of Common Prayer tucked into my back pocket.

One of the few cozy, comfortable nooks of my life during those months was – and it’s a good thing you’re all sitting down for this – Saint Augustine (commemorated August 28^th).  I’d get home from work, crack a beer (in those days, I brewed my own beer, and consuming it was a constant chore), and curl up in a hammock strung between two pine trees to read his memoirs.  They are called – appropriately enough – Confessions.  For all that people in the church today deride Augustinian theology – even if they haven’t read any of it – there is little doubt that the scholar reluctantly made Bishop of Hippo was a deeply spiritual man.  He had undergone a very profound journey from Gnosticism to Christianity, guided by his mentor, St. Ambrose (commemorated December 7^th), and he detailed that evolution in his autobiography.

My encounter with Augustine changed my life.  I may not have made my own journey to ordained ministry had I not come across this book, along with John Dominic Crossan’s The Historical Jesus.  I mention this because it provides an example of how the saints – those people honoured and revered for their exceptional holiness – can work miracles in our lives.  And by saints, I don’t just mean the 157 individuals named in our yearly calendar, including our own Hilda of Whitby (commemorated November 18^th), I mean also your saints, and mine.  Beloved parents, brothers and sisters, children, husband or wife, friends, colleagues, and comrades, teachers, pastors, and mentors – we all build shrines in our hearts to the holy people who have changed, and continue to change, our lives.

So given this, why have we chosen today – the Feast Day of All Saints – to incorporate stewardship of creation into our worship?  If we consider the principles that animate our communion with the saints, it is, I hope, clear.  For those principles – continuity, connectedness, and veneration – are the same ones that animate our communion with creation.  Our hands reach back in time to clasp other hands, which in turn reach back until they touch those twelve pairs of hands – those of the first disciples – who touch the hands imprinted with nails.  This lineage – this web – is the superstructure of the saints which binds us together as a people called “Christian.”  Continuity, connectedness, veneration.

The heritage that has been entrusted to us is not an institution nor a set of dogmas.  It’s more organic than that.  It’s a movement – a movement for hope, for peace, for joy, for life.  A movement, in other words, of the Spirit.  And as a movement with those characteristics and this heritage of antiquity, we should be acutely concerned about its place in the fabric and fibre of the planet.  The message of Jesus is not words, it is action, beginning with a strong defence of the creation which makes life possible.  The first act of God was to bring being into being – the stage where the divine drama could eternally unfold and eternally enfold its creatures.  And whether it was St. Jerome (September 30^th) fervently translating scripture into the Latin vernacular, called the Vulgate, so that it could be read and understood; or whether it was William Wilberforce (July 29^th) exerting every ounce of his energy to ensure that human would no longer enslave human; or whether it was Dietrich Bonhoeffer (August 14^th) strangled with piano wire because of his opposition to Hitler’s fascist tyranny and race hatred; Christians have recognised that without creation, salvation and sanctification are meaningless concepts.

Our hands reach back in time in another sense as well – they grasp roots, paws, stones, talons, fins, soil, water; forming another sort of lineage, another sort of web, reaching back to our creaturely origins.  But this lineage and this web embeds us in the fabric and fibre of the planet as thoroughly as does the lineage of our human ancestors in the spirit; the saints.  In fact, and I hope this is not too heterodox a claim, the cloud of witnesses with whom we are surrounded include those rocks, earth, birds and beasts, water, trees and plants that truly make up this holy stage called creation.  This creation, sanctified by God’s original blessing of the Book of Genesis – “God saw it, and indeed it was very good” – abides indeed in the company of the saints.

Sanctification reminds us of the permanence of God’s original blessing in our lives, which seem so fleeting at times.  We are truly here in an instant and gone again, like a water drop vaporised in a hot frying pan.  But like the steam that thus rises, we don’t actually disappear, but are joined to that cloud of witnesses, to Augustine, Ambrose, Jerome, Wilberforce, Bonhoeffer, Hilda, and all those ones known to us alone, to smile benignly on the stage of nature where the divine show continues to play into the wee hours of eternity.

I invite you to step outside today prepared to breathe in the good air, to feel – perhaps – the rain and cold slap against your skin.  See the trees, these beautiful trees, rise up around us, and poking through them beyond, the vast, continuous ocean, to where it meets the vaster, limitless sky.  Breathe in and out and feel your heart beat and your blood pulse.  Experience the continuity, the connectedness, and the veneration.  And then think of those saints, those holy men, women, and children, who are bringing you to a state of greater spiritual maturity…and intimacy.  Recall their wisdom, and whet your appetite for further knowledge…and deeper love.  And again, experience the continuity, the connectedness, and the veneration.  So begin your week, and so begin your ongoing journey home to the saints above, even as you now abide with the saints below.  Amen.

© Richard Neil Fernyhough, 2009.

hello! kumusta naman kayo nung november 1? ako eto sumesegway

sa ibang puntod napadpad hehe.. sinaman kc ko ni bf sa kanila, pinakilala nya ko sa parents nya.. okei naman, enjoy

ayung nga lang after ng nov 1. busy busyhan padin sa mga duties.. haaay

pero ilang months nalang din naman. konteng tiis pa, mag gagraduat na rin naman kame. hehe

The storm of wind and rain has finally passed.  Yesterday I missed the bus twice and walked to downtown Mount Vernon.  The bus ride takes about 10 minutes, the walk around 25 minutes, but I passed through my favorite neighborhoods, with the drizzle dampening my hair and the wind hitting my face.

When I strode through the Hill Top neighborhood, past the Immaculate Conception school, past Mount Vernon High School, past Skagit Valley Hospital and past the Mexican restaurant tucked away in an old pink house, I reminded myself of my unfinished story, “Maiden of Mount Vernon” which revolves around a young woman who lives above the Mexican restaurant and works as a graphic designer for one of the schools.  She desires a teaching profession, but can’t move past her shyness problem.  She earned her teaching degree, but when she had a test run to teach a class of third graders she choked and humiliated herself.

An event happens involving a pedophile hanging around the school, where the woman, let’s call her Margaret, must face her shyness problem and deal with this threat to the children.  But none of the story makes enough sense to me, the details are missing, leaving me with a writer’s block, at least in regard to that short story.

Yet, I desire to write a story that takes place near where I live.  Up until now, my novels and short stories with one or two exceptions occur in places I have not even visited.  “All Saints’ Day” takes place in Manhattan, “Agnes et Yves” in San Francisco, Paris and Barcelona” though “Go, Lucy Go” takes place in Olympia, Washington, a place I have visited several times.

So call me “an armchair traveling novelist”!

That’s what guide books, music recordings, DVDs, and maps are for, no?

I would love to travel, but airplanes cause problems for my ears, which always seemed stuffed up, not to mention the pain to my sinuses.  In the past, I have traveled around southeast England, including London, Boston, El Paso (though not by choice), Ontario, Upstate New York, and western Canada (mainly Victoria and Vancouver).

Collectively the members in my family have lived and traveled to many places, my dad was in the Navy and my mom grew up in South America.  My sister has walked “El Camino” in northwestern Spain three times and my brother has lived in many places as well.  So you think this nomadic tendency would show up more in my DNA.  It does, it comes through in my writing.  I travel more through the mind, love other places, cultures, ethnicities and traditional music.  I have always been interested in “the other” and the exotic.

I just wish I did not have so many health problems that prevents me from traveling.  And I must have my herbs with me if I go on a plane, and I learned that’s not permitted.  My medicines are self-prescribed.

And speaking of self-prescription, I just received a letter from my U.S. Representative about the health care reform bill that just passed.  My questions are, will I be forced to buy health insurance and see conventional doctors? Can I still use preventative medicine, heal myself when necessary, follow common sense and see only alternative medical professionals?  I ask these questions because I choose not to conform to any belief system or structure that does not personally serve me.

I won’t subject my body to invasive medical test, get vaccinated or put chemicals in my body with side effects.  If others choose to do that and end up as “victims” that’s their prerogative.  Personally, I think it’s time for humanity to awaken and realize that the old structures are crumbling, they don’t work and leave us feeling miserable, yet many people believe that we cannot live in Utopia.  That evil is a necessary part of life.  I don’t think that way.  Time to awaken folks…then once you awaken, I can stop ranting about how so many humans are driving me crazy with their games, obsessions and machinations, and get on with my writing.

That’s what I came here to do, write…So please if you read this message and you have not gotten it together, please take one small step today to your personal evolution.  Start thinking for yourself, and better yet, follow your heart–not what others tell you to do, but what you know is intrinsically your path in life.  Face your fears and take that first step to liberation.

I personally will applaud your efforts when I get a break from writing.

Much like Day of the Dead, the Haitian Vodou holiday Fet Gede is celebrated every year on All Soul’s Day. It’s a day to honor the Ancestors and the group of spirits known as the Gede.

At the head of the Gede family is The Baron in his many aspects (Baron La Croix, Baron Samedi, Baron Cimitiere, and Baron Kriminel to name a few) and Maman Brigitte, the mother of the Gede. Together they reclaim the souls of the dead and transform some into Gede lwa, thus the Gede are innumerable. Papa Gede Nibo is the oldest and foremost Gede – said to be the oldest ancestor of the human race.

The Gede are much loved and they are the life of the party when they appear. They’re known for their bawdy and irreverent sense of humor, for dancing the banda – a dance which parodies intercourse, but also they are known for their great ability to heal the sick, give advice and prophesy the future. They have a special fondness for and are protective of children. In all, they embody the mysteries of death, fertility and birth. (source: www.dadamancer.com)

Note: What follows is my personal account of the events of that day. I did not take written notes at the Fet (a bit difficult when one is dancing). So, any inaccuracies described about the ceremony are likely errors of my memory and not of the actual ceremony.

The Fet Gede celebration that I attended last weekend was held on Sunday, Nov. 1 (All Saint’s Day) rather than Nov. 2 (All Soul’s Day). I am not sure if it was held on Nov. 1 due to people’s work schedules or another reason, but it did not seem to make a difference. The spirits were in attendance.

The day started out with an unexpected surprise. I was chatting online with a good friend of mine (whom I’ll call “L”) when she said she had a surprise ready for me and wanted to bring it over that day. She was pretty adamant that she bring it that day, which piqued my interest. So, about an hour or so later, she presented me with this lovely spirit box:

Note that the veve for Papa Legba is handpainted by L on the top in red, one of his colors. There were three pennies for him inside. Veves are complex and I was touched both by the thoughtfulness of the gift and the time put into it. L is a talented individual in her own right, and works regularly as a henna artist. I presented the box to Legba the following day, and it is now displayed prominently in his shrine area.

Of the four friends I invited to accompany me to the Fet Gede, only two (Greg and Robert, not their real names) were able to make it. Both are new friends that I haven’t known long, but both  have very good energies about them. I met them through our mutual friend Gayle, the owner of the wonderful Gargoyles Statuary. Greg called me earlier in the day, suggesting we meet aournd 6pm somewhere before the ceremony. This turned out to be an excellent idea, as we were able to meet at a sushi bar (the same place where I met Mambo C) for drinks and a light meal. The cocktail I ordered relaxed me a little, which was good because I had been antsy with excitement all morning. After our meal, Greg and I walked over to the dance studio where the ceremony would take place, and met Robert there.

The three of us are very different in appearance; we could be the three leads for a television series that cast its characters with political correctness in mind, LOL. Greg is white with short reddish brown hair and dresses tastefully Goth. He has been a solitary practitioner of Vodou and Hoodoo for a number of years (not sure exactly how long). Robert is black with dreadlocks and dressed casually for the occasion. He is Pagan and somewhat new to Vodou. I am Asian/Inuit with medium length wavy hair and dressed semi-casually, formerly Wiccan and have only been studying Vodou seriously for about a year.

I have to admit that I did my precursory “color head count” of the crowd. I’d love to be color-blind, but like many people who have lived in areas where there are not many others who look like them, the head count becomes an ingrained habit. Plus I have been curious about what a Vodou crowd in the Pacific Northwest would look like. So, for the record, here it is: Total of about 30-40 people. Of those people, 3 of African descent (Robert, one of the guest dancers, and a middle-aged woman), an Asian woman (whom I discovered later is a member of the same dance troupe that performed at the Fet, a group that I would like to see again, Danse Perdue) and myself. Some of the people I’ve mentioned this to are surprised that there were not more people of African descent present, but somehow I wasn’t surprised, it being the Pacific Northwest.

The festivities took a while to get underway, but this gave me time to catch up with Greg and Robert, check out the altar, and say hello to Mambo C. The ceremony opened with a greeting from Mambo C, and then recitations of both the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary litany. (It may surprise some readers, but Haitian Vodou is heavily syncretized with Catholicism). Following the prayers were songs and dances for the numerous lwas, beginning with the Rada lwa. This includes, among others, Papa Legba and Damballah. Here I was grateful for all the reading I’ve done. Even though the songs were in Haitian Creole, my ears were able to pick out certain terms and names throughout the ceremony.

It took a while for Greg, Robert and I to get into the dancing, although the drumming (provided by the amazing Bill Matthews and Friends) was highly infectious and could not be resisted for long. Greg and I were both moving to the rhythms, although not quite dancing during the early numbers. Robert was appreciative of the music but not moving too much early on. At some point during that first hour of music, one of the dancers, a lithe,  lovely raven-haired vision in white lace, extended a graceful hand to me and drew me into the dance. From then on, for a total of around 3 hours, it was nearly non-stop dancing for me. Greg had started really dancing around this time too and never stopped.

After I’d been dancing for a while (maybe 20 minuntes? I lost my sense of time during the dance), I noticed Robert was gone. Initially I thought he’d gone to the restroom, but soon I saw that he was walking arm in arm with the houngan in a circular path around the dance floor. Afterwards the houngan returned Robert to where he’d originally been standing, and put his forehead against Robert’s. I could see the houngan’s lips moving, but could not hear what he was saying. (The houngan made this circular walk with several participants throughout the night, including the Asian woman, the African woman, and the dancer who reached out to me. When I later asked Robert what the houngan said to him, Robert said, “Nothing.” Robert thought that perhaps he had received a blessing. My guess is that the houngan was possessed at the time, possibly by Damballah, who does not speak. I had heard his name mentioned during one of the songs. Sometime later, the houngan did indeed display the signs of a Damballah possession. He fell to the floor and was immediately covered with a white sheet by several people while the Mambo brought the houngan back to himself.) After the blessing, Robert danced freely for the rest of the evening.

There were two other possessions during the evening (possibly more, but I was only sure of these two). During one of the dances, I saw the African woman seated in a chair near the altar, seemingly frozen in an odd pose with one of her arms arched above her head, the other out to the side, and her torso leaning over to her left. Shortly after that she was dancing in a dazed way, and had to be supported by one of the Mambo’s friends.

The other possession occurred while we were honoring the Petwo lwa, specifically during the song for Bossou, the bull lwa. I knew from speaking with the Mambo that this was her met tet (master of her head), so I kept an eye on her while dancing. And sure enough, he came calling. The Mambo’s face assumed a fierce expression as she snarled. Either she pulled off her headcovering or it fell to the floor, but she made no effort to retrieve it. She began charging into people and continued doing so until the houngan got hold of her and asked the lwa to depart.

The last part of the ceremony was to honor the Ghede lwas and the ancestors. This section was opened by one of the dancers who was married to Baron Samedi. She presented him with a bottle of liquor, which she opened, took into her mouth, and then sprayed over the alter three times. What followed then was another hour or so of crazy lascivious dancing (fully clothed). Near the end of the Ghede section, all of us took turns approaching the altar and leaving offerings for our ancestors. We were encouraged to make requests from them at that time. I left a purple candle for my beloved Puck, requesting his further assistance in my Vodou studies. I know he would assist me regardless of the offering or the request, but it is always nice to ask and show appreciation. And I do so appreciate him–he played and continues to play a large role in my Vodou exploration.

The following Friday, at work, I was grabbing a tea bag out of a box when a little figure tumbled into view. This is one of those tea boxes that sometimes includes little porcelain figures. This particular tea box was given to me by a coworker maybe a year ago and I never noticed that a figure was enclosed. I picked it up. It was a little brown cat. Upon closer examination of the tea box, I saw that there were a total of ten possible figures that could be enclosed. Of those ten, two were cats–the other being a figure of two kittens. So that is a 20 percent chance of getting a cat, and a 10 percent change of getting the solitary cat. I don’t know what the odds are of my co-worker not finding the figure herself or me not finding it earlier.  Make of it what you will, but I took that as a very good sign. Also, the mirror I ordered from Gargoyles came in on Tuesday, and I plan to present it to La Sirene this weekend, along with a pipe that I have for Legba. I will give the little cat to Puck. I also will be setting up a Ghede shrine soon, simply because I am fond of them.

In closing, I was experiencing weird pain at the Fet Gede, although not severe enough to stop my feet from dancing. I will explain this further in my next post.

All Saints Day, Dzień Wszystkich Świętych, here in Poland is a very special holiday celebrated on November 1^st of each year.  This holiday is not like any other I’ve ever experienced in my life. It was a remarkable, extraordinary, and an unforgettable experience.

…………………………………………………..

When I first heard about All Saints Day from my sister, she basically described what exactly was to be seen.  She said all of the graves are covered and filled with flowers and lanterns as far as the eye could see.  She then referred to this day as the day of the dead, and immediately I thought about my Spanish lessons back in Johnstown, Pennsylvania and what I learned about The Day of The Dead in Mexico.  My Spanish teacher, Señor DiBernardo showed us videos of people in Mexico having celebrations, parties, and parades with bright decorations and colors everywhere for their loved ones who have passed away.  But, of course different countries celebrate holidays in different ways and that image of Mexico’s celebration was soon replaced with my own experience of the Polish holiday, Dzień Wszystkich Świętych, .

On the thirtieth of October my sister, mother, and I went to the Koszalin cemetery to clean and decorate my host families’ fathers’ grave.  When I got off of the bus all I could see were flowers and lanterns for sale.  Many people were also purchasing these items to decorate their loved ones graves.  We met up with Babcia (my host dad’s mother) and bought some white and red flowers to plant in pots and set on his grave.

While I was walking through the cemetery I noticed other families cleaning the fallen leaves off of the tombstones and dusting off the marble and stone slabs with damp cloths.  The designs of these tombs are all different shapes and sizes.  Almost every tombstone han the letters “Ś.P.” (Swiętej Pamięci) which means Holy Memory.  Also inscribed into most tombstones is the phrase, “Ave Maria”.  Unlike most of the tombs in the United States that  have just a head stone, tombs here have a head stone and a marble or stone slab laying on top of the place the person was buried.  This slab is usually where people place pots of flowers and lanterns.  Some slabs even have flowerpots built into them to grow plants on the tomb itself.  Every tomb is different in its’ own way whether  it is the design of the tomb or just the arrangement of the flowers placed near it.

Unfortunately, while we were there preparing my host dad’s grave for November 1^st there was a funeral being held not too far away from us.  Many people were gathered around the resting place and a few firemen in their uniforms.  A ceremony was being held in Polish so I really didn’t understand most of the priest’s speech but I did hear the wonderful music being played for this ceremony.  It did not sound sad at all.   The tone gave off a very peaceful vibe.

November 1^st

On November 1  my mother, sister, and I headed to the cemetery to place lanterns and say a prayer for all of the loved ones and people they knew who had  passed away. This trip back to the cemetery on this day was totally different. Chaos followed.  Today was the actual celebration of Dzień Wszystkich Świętych, and people everywhere!  There were so many people that it was actually very hard to get through the crowds right when we got off of the bus.  Once we found our way out of the crowd all you could see were even more flowers and lanterns for sale lining the gate of the cemetery.  Tables with different homemade pastries were present for people to buy cakes and pies for gatherings held at family homes following the celebrations. We would have a get together that night at Babcia and Dziadek house.

The Flowers For Sale

The Lanterns For Sale

The Pastries For Sale

Even thou we were at the cemetery just two days prior to this event the cemetery totally changed.  There were flowers and lanterns everywhere and just like my sister said they were to be seen as far as the eye could see.  The area still looked bright, vibrant, and beautiful with all of the colors scattered everywhere.  Cemeteries in my mind just seem to be a very grey, respectful, calm, and a simple place for people to be buried.  But here, on this day, the view was just breathtaking.

While we were going from grave to grave my sister pointed out all very interesting engravings   for me to see.  She showed me the smaller grave in the ground where cremated people were buried and the marble little huts where other cremated bodies are places.  Nearby was an area dedicated to important people such as doctors, professors, and government officials of  Koszalin.   There was also a grave she pointed out to me of a man who passed away on his one-hundredth birthday.   There were some with statues of Jesus and some with replicas of themselves.   Karolina pointed out a few tombs that were written in Russian too.  Every grave was unique.

After placing the lanterns on my families loved ones graves we went home to get some rest so we could return by nightfall.  Now nighttime on this very special day has its own wonders.  In the day time all you could see were the beautiful flowers, but at night that’s when the vibrant lanterns showed there magic!  Millions of candles lit up the whole cemetery and this place of sorrow turned into a place of awe.  A huge monument in the cemetary was dedicated to the Russian soldiers who helped Koszalin so many years ago. It h had hundreds of lanterns surrounding it that twinkled in the night.  That night was a chilly one indeed, but when you approached the groups of lanterns you could feel the warmth of the flames immediately.

There is almost no way to describe my feeling that night while walking through the cemetery.  I saw people young and old still setting out lanterns to add more light to this wonderful evening.  In the youth section of the cemetery I saw a very young boy placing a lantern on another child’s grave. A couple not too far from them were seated on a bench, which are commonly built in front of or alongside the graves, cuddling each other on this cold autumn night while remembering their loved one.  At that moment, I realized that this day was to bring loved ones together, to respectfully celebrate and pray for the passing of someone close and dear to them, and to show that they will never be forgotten.

Click the link below to check out the photo album corresponding to this blog.

Dzień Wszystkich Świętych (All Saints Day)
Photo Album

Well…Halloween has come and gone, but I still have quite a few thoughts floating around in my head regarding the Guatemalan version of the holiday. Perhaps many of you have already thrown your beautifully carved Jack-O-Lanterns in with the compost. Or they have been nabbed by the neighborhood kids and smashed in another’s yard. And maybe you have painstakingly removed all the cotton cobwebs and spooky scare crows from the porches and windows and replaced them with wreathes, strings of lights, and candle sticks. Even here in Guatemala the Halloween decorations were stripped down by November 2nd, and yesterday afternoon the city crews strung garland letters of “JOY” and “NAVIDAD” across the main roadways, and positioned sleighs with reindeer in the grassy boulevards. Even my local grocery store rapidly strung lights from the rafters and placed artificial trees in the produce section complete with empty ribbon-trimmed boxes beneath. It’s always surprising how quickly the holiday season comes.

I think its quite a shame that immediately following Dia de Todo los Santos (All Saint’s Day), which is a fairly significant holiday in Guatemala, that every remembrance is swept away and immediately replaced with glitter, pine, and advertisements for holiday deals on the new trendy toy. All that is left from the holiday before are the shredded remains of tissue paper and balsa wood kites stranded up in trees and telephone wires; or if you frequently pass a cemetery on your daily commute it may appear particularly bright and colorful compared to the week before. Other than that, Guatemala, along with the rest of western civilization, is flooded with the sounds of rum pum pum pum, silver bells, and for some strange reason the awful. awful. awful. version of Last Christmas by Wham that seems to repeat every 50 minutes on all radio stations through out the world from November 1st until January 2nd. Its not clear to me why, however, because I know not one person who admits to liking it. But it sure is catchy. Just writing about it I’ve got it stuck in my head. Now look what I’ve done…

Anyway. I’ve got some lovely things to say about Dia de Todos los Santos here in Guatemala. First, this year Hec made his first ever Jack-o-Lantern. Isn’t it cute? He is named Ayotillo (little squash, in Spanish). Hec carved him a few weeks ago and we’ve enjoyed it’s warm glow in our apartment for quite some time. And of course we roasted the pumpkin seeds, seasoned with paprika salt and pepper.

This time of year also offers so delicacies that are not available any other time. One of these is a special pan dulce (sweet bread) that I really really enjoy. It is only offered in the months of October and part of November here in Guate. It’s called Pan de Muerto, literally “Bread of the Dead”. I haven’t researched it’s history, and perhaps that would have been rather interesting to talk about here, but honestly I’m more interested in how it looks, feels, and tastes. The loaves are large round mounds, criss-crossed with rope-like shapes, and topped with a knob-like ball of dough, and dusted off with powdered sugar. The texture is light and fluffy with sometimes very large air bubbles in the center, but when you dive in it is unexpectedly smooth and chewy. It is only slightly sweet with a strong eggy taste. I love it, and I buy it from San Martin, my favorite bakery in Guatemala. We bought one to share with my Suegros this year, and after that tease of a taste I needed more. But seeing that they are 30Q a pop, and being compelled by my fascination with discovering the secrets behind my favorite foods, I decided I would research the recipe and try to make it myself!

I’ll be honest right out. It did not turn out a thing like the Pan de Muerto from San Martin. It was a dense loaf (which is not necessarily bad, but not what I was aiming for here either), and it was rather flat-tasting. I will go ahead and post the recipe I used, which I’m guessing reflects more accuratly the Mexican Pan de Muerto than the Guatemalan, and I have made some adjustments in salt and sugar which I hope will correct for the bland taste I encountered. No promises here, though.

Even though I found the recipe to be quite a failure, I wanted to show my pictures of how the pan dulce of the “autumn” season looks because I think, if anything at all, this recipe was a visual success. Additionally I feel obligated to bring it to your attention in case you would find yourself in these parts around the season, or if you come across a Guatemalan bakery which by chance might serve this bread in October and November (I know there is one in Chicago).

This recipe made for loves the size of half a volley ball. And I was not crazy about it, so I used the loaves to make bread pudding with almonds and crystallized ginger (which turned out to be a huge success). However, for those of you looking for a new holiday tradition, who are adventurous in the kitchen and aren’t easily upset by less than perfect results, I hope my adjustments of sugar and salt serve you well and make it more palatable overall. But for the real thing, I would just recommend visiting me here in Guate some time in the fall and I’ll treat you to a loaf from San Martin!

Pan de Muerto, adapted from here.

Makes 2 loaves

Ingredients:

• 1 1/2 tablespoons aniseed or 5 star anise
• 1/4 cup water
• 2 tablespoons yeast
• 1/2 cup warm water
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 6 eggs
• 1.5 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• 1 stick butter, melted
• 4 1/2 cups flour, plus flour for dusting work surface
• Vegetable oil for coating bowl
• 1/3 cup sugar for sprinkling

Directions:

• Steep the aniseed in 1/4 cup water for 10 minutes.
• In a large mixing bowl, stir together the yeast, warm water, and 1 tablespoon of the 3/4 cup sugar. Let sit until foamy, 10 minutes.
• Beat together 3 eggs and 3 egg yolks, reserving the 3 whites on the side for later.
• Add the beaten eggs and yolks, salt, the remaining sugar, aniseed with water, nutmeg, and melted butter. Stir well until evenly combined. By hand or with the beater of an electric mixer, mix in flour. Transfer to a lightly floured board or counter and knead the dough for 10 minutes, until the dough is smooth and slightly sticky. Place the dough in a large oil-coated bowl. Cover with a lightly moistened tea towel and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 1/2 hours.
• Punch the dough down and turn out onto a floured counter. Pinch off about 2 cups of dough and set aside for decoration.
• Divide the remaining dough into 2 pieces and shape into round loaves and place both loaves on a greased baking sheet.
• Make and egg wash by beating together remaining egg whites with 1 tablespoon water. Divide remaining 2 cups dough into 6 pieces. With four of these pieces roll a snake-like shape. Gently pretty two of these pieces on each loaf making a large X which crossing at the top of the loaf and use the egg wash as a glue. With the remaining two pieces of dough, roll them into balls and place them on the top of each loaf where the snake-like pieces cross. Apparently this is supposed to appear as a skull and cross bones.
• Cover the assembled dough with a damp towel and set aside to rise until the loaves hold a fingerprint when pressed, about 50 minutes. Don’t throw away the egg wash yet!

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Brush the risen loaves with the egg wash and sprinkle with remaining 1/3 cup sugar. Bake until golden about 30 minutes. Cool on a rack

Señor Toastmaster, compañeros toastmasters, muy bienvenidos invitados

La noche de Brujas

El 31 de octubre es una noche especial. Tal vez a vosotros, no os guste La Noche de Brujas /Halloween. Tal vez no os guste ver niños visitándoos sin invitación disfrazados de fantasmas, esqueletos, brujas, murciélagos, vampiros, zombis, duendes y otras criaturas aterradoras. Tal vez, vosotros, como un amigo mío pensáis que la noche de brujas o “Halloween” es sencillamente una fiesta Americana que hemos imitado en Europa y que no tiene nada de atractivo salvo para vender tonterías y decoraciones inútiles.

Yo intenté decirle a mi amigo que Halloween era celta y europeo, pero tuve que admitir que el “truco o trato” era una costumbre americana que llegó a Gran Bretaña (o que regresó) solamente en los años 80. Pero, a pesar de eso no se puede decir que es una fiesta totalmente extraña a nuestras culturas aquí en Europa. El nombre galés para Halloween es ‘Calan Gaeaf’. La palabra ‘calan’ se puede comparar con ‘calendae’ en latín, y quiere decir primer día del ano, ‘gaeaf’ es la palabra por el invierno. Entonces Calan Gaeaf es el primer día del año nuevo celta, o el primer día del invierno. En el otro ‘calan’ el 1ero de enero, niños galeses piden dinero o dulces de sus vecinos y familiares a cambio de poemas y deseos de buen año nuevo. Esta tradición todavía se practica en el suroeste de gales el primero de enero. El “truco o trato” a veces tiene mala reputación como una forma de mendicidad, de intimidación o incluso de vandalismo, pero tenemos que recordar que en la mayoría de los casos es una costumbre muy sociable y amistosa, que se puede comparar con la costumbre de ir de casa a casa cantando villancicos por navidad.

Cuando vine a Bruselas, aprendí que la gente aquí visitaba a los tumbas de familiares difuntos en el periodo de “Toussaint”.  Eso era nuevo para mí, no conocía la fiesta católica de todos los santos y todas las almas – mi abuela solía visitar las tumbas de la familia el domingo de Ramos.

Es verdad que esta fiesta se celebra muchísimo en Estados Unidos. Además del truco o trato la gente decora las casas, se disfraza adultos también, y participa en desfiles impresionantes. Es la segunda fiesta después de Navidad. En el siglo 17 los puritanos que llegaron de Inglaterra, conocían la tradición de Halloween pero no lo celebraban, siendo puritanos por supuesto. La tradición del Halloween fue llevada a Estados Unidos principalmente por los irlandeses que celebraban la fiesta de Samhain en su país. PERO  el lugar donde se encontró por primera vez una mención escrita de esta fiesta el este de Francia y se cree que viene del primer siglo y está escrito en el idioma celta de la Galia.* Para los celtas, el día de Samhain señalaba el fin de la cosecha, y las preparaciones para el invierno. Como vivían cerca de la naturaleza, es normal que este periodo perteneciese a la muerte y entonces a los muertos. Temiendo que familiares difuntos viniesen a visitarla, la gente dejaba comida para ellos, para aplacarlos. Más tarde, los pobres iban de puerta en puerta pidiendo comida, como hacen ahora los niños que hacen truco o trato. Unos dicen que la costumbre de ponerse mascaras era para confundirse con los muertos, para no ser reconocido por los fantasmas que andaban por la calle. Se supone que la importancia de la manzana para Halloween viene, no solo del hecho que las manzanas están disponibles en este tiempo sino también de la fiesta romana de La Pomona y quizás es de este que viene las tradiciones asociadas con las manzanas como el “bobbing for apples” donde hay que coger una manzana en un bol de agua con la boca y con los manos atadas a la espalda, muy difícil pero muy divertido. Se hacían fogatas para quemar los restos de la cosecha. Algunos creen también que los antiguos druidas (sacerdotes celtas) hacían sacrificios humanos en las fogatas de Halloween.

Cuando misioneros intentaron convertir a esos países donde se celebraba Samhain, vieron que las tradiciones estaban demasiado arraigadas para  eliminarlas y la iglesia Católica adoptó la fiesta de Samhain en la forma de los días de todos los santos y todas las almas. La palabra Halloween quiere decir ‘all hallowe’s eve’ o ‘víspera de todos los santos’. Los protestantes británicos, sí que quisieron eliminar la fiesta, suplantándola en Gran Bretaña con el día del 5 de noviembre, la noche de Guy Fawkes, que se llama también ‘Bonfire Night’ – Noche de las hogueras’ en memoria de un católico radical que intentó hacer explotar el parlamento y matar al rey en el siglo 17. La tradición de visitar a casas por Hallowen fue reemplazada por la tradición de buscar dinero para hacer un efigie de ese Guy Fawkes que se ponía  en el fuego. De todas formas, soe puede suponer que, aunque Guy Fawkes se celebra mucho hoy y que el “truco o trato” en su versión americano solo llegó a Inglaterra y a Gales en los años 80, Halloween nunca despareció de Gran Bretaña.

Para la gran desgracia de los mejicanos el Halloween está llegando también en su país, mezclándose con la fiesta mejicana del Día de los Muertos. Tradicionalmente, los mejicanos celebran una fiesta que es una mezcla de antiguas tradiciones indígenas de la muerte y las fiestas católicas de todos los santos y todas las almas donde la muerte está verdaderamente celebrada en una manera que no tiene nada de macabra, con gusto y sin miedo. La gente visita y se queda mucho tiempo en los cementerios dando ofrendas a sus familiares. Se vende una gran variedad de dulces y caramelos incluso calaveras de azúcar que se come con mucho placer. Sin embargo, los mejicanos de hoy tienen mucho miedo que Halloween corrompa la manera particularmente mejicana de celebrar la muerte. Si pensáis que en Europa el dominio americano nos molesta, en Méjico es peor. Pienso en la expresión conocida: ‘pobre Méjico, tan lejos de Dios, tan cerca de Estados Unidos’.

A pesar del deseo de algunos mejicanos de conservar la pureza de su Día de los Muertos, hay que notar que es una fiesta, como tantas otras que es una mezcla, una sincretización,  de muchas tradiciones. Por eso creo que lo tendríamos que conservar, como conservamos todas esas tradiciones que nos vinculan a nuestra historia, como el carnaval de Binche o la fiesta de Navidad, que era antes la fiesta de la mitad del invierno. También, es una oportunidad de sentirnos, nosotros urbanos, asociados a la comunidad, es decir a nuestros vecinos y también a todos los humanos porque la muerte, la consideremos como algo muy serio como en la tradición de Halloween, o de manera más jovial como los mejicanos, no se puede evitar.

Señor Toastmaster.

*http://www.imbas.org/articles/samhain.html

WHAT MAKES A SAINT A SAINT?

Text: Revelation 7:9-10,13-14

I.

Three years ago, I was enrolled in a liturgy class at Santa Clara University that required me to visit a “festival occasion” service at another church and then write a report about the service.  I decided to check out a local Catholic Mass on All Saints’ Day evening, since All Saints’ Day is supposed to be as big of a deal for Catholic churches as Reformation services are in Lutheran churches.  But what struck me most about that experience was not the service, but the sermon.  The sermon was what I would call “old school” Roman Catholic theology.  The priest’s sermon was basically a checklist of things that the worshippers should do in order to become saints.  He told the congregation that saints were just ordinary people who came to Mass, but they let the Mass move them deeply.  They came with sorrow over their sin, they came to hear the Word of God, they came to receive “graces” in the sacraments, and they took the power God gave them in the sacraments and developed a “heroic virtue” that balanced out their sins.  That was the formula the worshippers were given to become saints.  And that’s what I would call old school Roman Catholic theology.

Christian church calendars have designated today, November 1, as “All Saints’ Day” since 835 A.D.  Today is a day that the church remembers the example of faith set by those fellow believers who have gone before us into heaven.  The reading from Revelation that you heard a few moments ago gives us a picture of those saints who have gone before us into heaven.  That’s certainly a group we want to be a part of!  Given the state of affairs on this side of heaven, with swine flu scares, rising unemployment, and global instability, I sure like the idea of escaping this world and being in that group of heaven-bound saints!  But that begs the question: How do I get in that group?  What will get me that title, “saint”?  What makes a saint a saint?

You might suspect that the answer will probably not be found in the formula to sainthood that I heard a few years ago in the homily I described.  No, the proper definition of a saint is one that we should draw from God’s Word.  So let’s look carefully at our Revelation reading to determine what makes a saint a saint.

II.

Revelation is a book filled with symbolic communication, and the symbolic communication in our first verse reveals certain characteristics about the saints in heaven.  “I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands.”  In ancient literature, palm branches were a symbol of victory.  These saints in heaven enjoy their God-given victory over death and the grave.  And the clothing they wear also tells you something about them.  “They were wearing white robes.”  Even if you’re not a Bible scholar, you can probably figure out that white is a symbol of purity and holiness.  And in heaven, that’s exactly what the saints enjoy—a pure, perfect, and holy existence basking in the victory over death that Christ’s death has given them.

But remember our original questions.  How do you and I get in this group?  What will get us the title, “saints”?  What makes a saint a saint?  John tells us that holiness is their distinguishing characteristic.  It doesn’t take long to figure out that you and I don’t fit into that group.  Yes, there are the signs of a sin-stained and problem-filled world around us.  But you don’t need to point to breaking bridges and bickering bureaucrats to find the signs of sin.  You only need to look at the person who stares back at you in the mirror.  You only need to look at the broken promises of the past, the loveless bickering in the home, along with any and every other sinful symptom of our inherited sin to realize that you and I do not belong in a group filled with holy and righteous saints.  But that reality does not exclude us from some sort of sanctified country club!  That reality ought to exclude us from heaven!  That reality ought to condemn us eternally!  That reality puts a permanent barrier between us and God that we can’t even dream of knocking down on our best day.

III.

We need to find out what it is in those people in Revelation 7 that made them saints.  If you and I are going to have any hope of being on the right side of God’s judgment and spending eternity in paradise, we need to find out what makes a saint a saint.  Is there some distinguishing trait or characteristic that put this multitude in the mansions of heaven?

If we look through this reading for some type of distinguishing characteristic, perhaps we can find something if we refer back to the opening verse of this selection.  John said, “I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb.”  If we are looking for a distinguishing characteristic, what do you find?  There really isn’t one, is there?  The crowd of people before John comes from every corner of the world.  Together they speak most every language heard under the sun.  There could not be a more diverse group of saints.  It does not appear that there is going to be a singular common characteristic that threads these people together.

IV.

But something must have put them in this heavenly scene.  Something must have put those palm branches in their hands and placed those white robes of holiness on their bodies.  Something made these people the holy saints that we see in Revelation.

As the apostle John received this heavenly vision, someone who sort of fills the role of a tour guide appears – he’s called an elder – and asks John a question as he viewed these heavenly saints.  “One of the elders asked me, ‘These in white robes—who are they, and where did they come from?’”  That’s the $64,000 question we need to answer!  But it was a rhetorical question.  John didn’t know the answer, but his heavenly tour guide did.  “[John] answered, ‘Sir, you know.’  And he said, ‘These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.’”

The last time I checked, blood was not considered laundry detergent.  Blood does not make things white.  Blood stains and soils clothes, but it doesn’t make clothes white.  But the elder in John’s vision wasn’t talking about any ordinary person’s blood.  The elder was talking about the very same thing John wrote about in his first letter when he said, “The blood of Jesus, [God’s] Son, cleanses us from all sin” (1 John 1:7).   What made these saints saints was not some common thread among them or an uncommonly heroic virtue within them.  What made these saints saints was the shed blood of Jesus.  What made these saints saints was the holiness he offered for their impurities and imperfection.  What made these saints saints was the cleansing blood that Jesus shed to wash away every sinful blot and blotch that mars our life’s story.  What makes these saints saints was the blood Jesus offered for them and for the world on his Good Friday cross.

And the saints in heaven recognize that!  John told us, “They cried out in a loud voice, ‘Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.’”  The saints in heaven know and confess that their salvation came from God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

But you also recognize that.  You know and believe that Christ “became man to set us free,” that he “humbled [himself] to be born of a virgin,” and that he “overcame the sting of death and opened the kingdom of heaven to all believers” (quotes from the Te Deum).  The Holy Spirit first worked that faith in your heart at the font, and he has since nourished that faith every time you have come into contact with Jesus’ forgiving and life-giving Word.  And as you return this afternoon to celebrate Reformation with fellow Lutherans from our sister congregations, you will receive the very same blood of Jesus that makes your spiritual clothes white, and the very same body that makes you a holy and righteous saint before God.

V.

That group of saints in heaven isn’t done growing.  When John asked his heavenly tour guide who that multitude was before him, the elder said, “These are they who have come out of the great tribulation.”  But it might be a bit more accurate to translate that phrase this way: “These are they who are coming out of the great tribulation.”  This is not a past scene but an ongoing present situation.  Every time the Lord calls one of his own out of this great earthly tribulation, another saint is transferred from the church on earth to the church in heaven.

That’s why the correct answer to our opening question is so vital.  What makes a saint a saint?  Certainly not some grand achievement in our lives, but the greatest divine achievement brought about through Jesus’ life and death and resurrection.  What makes a saint a saint is not only the forgiveness that Jesus won for us but also his holiness which now counts for us.  As practical and useful as it is for us to consider how we might grow in holiness in our daily lives, it is far more comforting and assuring to know that our true holiness before God comes from the One who was holy in our place.

November 1 is All Saints’ Day, but October 31 is Reformation Day.  Even though we’re celebrating All Saints’ Day this morning and Reformation this afternoon, there is a common lesson that we can learn from both days.  Luther’s rediscovery of the gospel was not so much centered on the way that Jesus takes our sin away, but more so on the way that God declares us holy in his eyes.  Luther’s rediscovery of the gospel was focused on the way Jesus’ holiness counts for us.  Luther’s rediscovery of the gospel revealed that the way we become saints is not found within ourselves, but is received through faith in the Son of God and his righteousness lived for us.  What makes a saint a saint?  Jesus’ righteousness – that’s what makes a saint a saint.  And Jesus’ righteousness is what will put you in that heavenly scene of saints for all eternity.  Amen.

Celebrate good times with your deceased loved ones…come on!

El Dia de los Muertos (The Day of the Dead) is a holiday celebrating those who have passed away.  Celebrated in Mexico, friends and family gather to remember their loved ones who are no longer with them.  It occurs on November 1^st (in connection with All Saints’ Day of the Catholic holiday) and November 2^nd (All Souls’ Day).

Although so close in date to our personal favorite howl-iday, Halloween, Day of the Dead is not quite as terror-fying and has no connection at all.  While partying with ghosts is involved in both of these events, Day of the Dead honors those who have passed before us in a positive light of remembrance.  And that’s just how Sunset Hill likes to do it.  There are no costume contests or walking door-to-door for candy involved.  So put that witch hat away for next October 31^st.  Save the Reese’s for us…

Families plan all year for this big hoop-la. Loved ones visit the graves with gifts to honor those that have passed.  Graves are cleaned and decorated so the deceased are still fashionable and caught dead in something pretty.

Private altars are built to communicate with the dead, containing keepsakes and favorite foods/drinks of the one that has passed.   They then “fiesta” to honor their “familia.”

The rituals and celebrations date back for almost 3000 years.  Long time, I know.  Death was not seen as an end to life, but instead, a continuation.  That circle of life just keeps spinning.  To them, life was only a dream and it wasn’t until death that one became fully awake.

At Sunset Hills, everyday is a celebration of those who have passed before us.  We encourage family and friends to visit and honor their loved ones.  Bring your loved one the latest issue of Us Weekly, a bag of Doritos, or an ice cold Pepsi.  Bring some for us, too (we prefer Cooler Ranch flavor…FYI). Oh, and don’t forget our Reese’s!

I look forward to All Saints Sunday, but it gets harder every year.

On All Saints Sunday at my church, we recite the same, poignant prayer, remembering those who led us to faith and those who continue to inspire us, before we specifically remember those saints who were members of our particular congregation in the past year. The pastors bark out each name, and, as we do, we light a candle and stick it in sand.

Each year my associates and I call out the names of approximately 30 folks who died. I do the majority of our funerals and memorial services, so each name brings back a flood of memories for me … the shaken voice calling me at home on Saturday night saying that she found her mother dead in the garden … the voice mail message on Monday morning from a son saying his father was in a tragic car wreck over the weekend … the service at which there was only one family member, one son, sitting alone … the literally and figuratively cold graveside service at which there were no family members present – just a lawyer representing the estate, a mortician and me … standing with a family as the nurse pulls the plug on their patriarch, watching him take his final breath … the suicide of a middle-aged father, the car wreck of a teenager … alcohol poisoning.

One year, I buried five persons who drank themselves to death.

I am starting my 10^th year in this congregation, and now many of these folks that I bury are good friends, loved ones. I was first moved to tears during the All Saints Sunday prayer two years ago when I had to call out the name of Dick Ayers. Dick was 73 at the time of his death. He was in the restaurant business and had lived a full and interesting life. His spiritual journey was also fascinating: his passion for and his relationship to God and his church were very important to him. He truly believed that Jesus Christ saved him, and he wanted others to know of God’s great love.

Dick also had a heart for pastors. He cared for many, and he cared for me. Once a month or so, he would make an appointment and take me out for “potato juice,” which was his ecclesiastically acceptable name for vodka martinis. Over potato juice, he would ask me probing questions, listen to me spill my guts, share his wisdom, make me laugh and discuss the Broncos, the economy and his latest female interest.

Two years ago, he shook my hand after worship, told me what a good sermon it was (liar!), got in his car, left the church, drove about a ½ mile, had a stroke and ran his white Cadillac Eldorado into a telephone pole.

Two weeks later, the plug was pulled on his life-support.

To me, in spite of his short-comings, Dick Ayers was a saint.

After the pastors finish saying the names of members of our church who died in the past year, I call for the names of any family members, friends or loved ones who have died in the past year. For a few minutes, the members of the congregation call out the names of loved ones who have died. My associates and I try to light a candle for each name, but the names flood the sanctuary as the stars flood the sky on a cloudless night. The sound of sobbing fills the sanctuary. The organ plays softly, the people sing repetitively:

Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.

Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.

Last Sunday, apparently no one heard me when I called out the name of my saintly father and stuck a burning candle in the sand in his memory.

Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.

Sermon Text: Revelation 21:1-6a

Earlier this year, as many of you know, I taught a Sunday school class entitled, “Questions You’re Afraid to Ask in Sunday School.” We began each class reading the Apostles’ Creed out loud, and using that as a starting point for questions. I would ask, “What do you hear in this creed that raises questions in your mind?” And some of the most interesting and thought-provoking conversation centered on the phrase, “I believe… in the resurrection of the dead.” A few people asked, “What do we mean by that? Is that a reference to Christ’s resurrection?” And I would explain that, no, the creed discusses Christ’s resurrection earlier; this is a reference to our own resurrection, at the end of history as we know it, on the other side of eternity. Both the New Testament and the early Church witness loudly emphasize resurrection—rather than simply “heaven when we die”—as our primary Christian hope.

I completely understand why so many people, including many Christians, are confused about this question of resurrection. When I made my profession of faith in Christ and was baptized, at age 14, in a Southern Baptist church, I thought that what I gained, primarily, was the assurance of heaven when I died. That is the theme, after all, of so many hymns that we sang, including one that we sing in Vinebranch and one that I love, and we’re going to keep on singing: “I’ll Fly Away.” “One glad morning when this life is over, I’ll fly away.” “Just a few more weary days and then I’ll fly away.” We’ll fly away, the song says, to “God’s celestial shore”—somewhere very far away from this world of suffering and sin.

I don’t know… In my experience, most of the time, life in this world, fraught as it is with suffering, sin, and evil, still seems like a really good gift, which I am not eager to give up. And songs like these—indeed, much of what well-meaning Christians say about heaven and the afterlife—can sound like escapism; like the world is really too much for us; it’s too overwhelming with all of its problems; and we can’t wait to fly away to heaven—leave it all far behind.

This is not the picture of our future hope in today’s scripture. Listen to John’s description: “And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.” Our future is not about our going up to heaven to be with God, but heaven coming down to earth—heaven and earth becoming one. Salvation is not about God’s snatching up individual souls and taking them far away from this wicked world—like a firefighter saving people from a burning building. God is actually quite fond of the building, too—of this very good Creation, and God wants to save and redeem it, all of it, including you and me. The saving work that God accomplished through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ was for all Creation, not just for individual souls.

If we want to refer to our future new life on the other side of human history as “heaven,” that’s fine, as long as we understand it in the fullest sense as resurrection. Notice that God says, “See, I am making all things new,” not all new things. God isn’t like us. We’re the ones who sometimes grow weary of this world and want God to simply throw it away and start over. And, let’s face it, we often treat this good world like a trash can, even though God loves it and wants to save it. No, God re-makes or renews all the good stuff that is here—including you and me. As C.S. Lewis writes, “The old field of space, time, matter, and the senses is to be weeded, dug and sown for a new crop. We may be tired of that old field: God is not.”[1]

So… What is life in the resurrection like? Let me qualify what I’m going to say with this caution: There is so much mystery here; language does not live up to the task. Nevertheless, I hope we’re already picturing something very different from the traditional picture of angels playing harps and floating on clouds. I’ll never forget being a young and zealous disciple of Jesus, trying my best to be a witness for Christ to my friends in high school. At lunch one day, I was telling my friend Rick about how great it is to be a Christian and talking to him about the glories of heaven. He said, “I don’t want to wear a choir robe and sing hymns for all eternity. I’ll pass!” Wow! Come to think of it, I didn’t want to do that either!

In 1 Corinthians 15, portions of which are often read at funerals, Paul describes our future resurrection. What we will be, Paul says, is what Christ is, in his glorified, resurrected body. Physical, but something beyond physical as we understand it. And what we will be is at least a little bit like what we are today—only more so. There’s a good theological reason, after all, that some disciples like Mary Magdalene had difficulty recognizing the resurrected Lord at first. His body was transformed—he was like who he was before, but also very different. So we will be. One time a parishioner asked me if we’ll recognize one another in heaven. If we understand resurrection, we know that of course we will. God will save our bodies, too, even though they’ll be transformed.

What will we do in resurrection? We will do meaningful and fulfilling work in service to God and one another in a way that sin, death, and evil prevent us from doing now. And we will love God, one another, and ourselves perfectly, in a way that sin, death, and evil prevent us from doing now. And if that doesn’t sound like great news to us, it’s only because we can’t imagine all the good that sin, death, and evil rob us of in this life.

My profile picture on Facebook shows me playing a bass guitar. It was taken while I was recording a song in GarageBand on my Mac. The caption reads: “Brent always wanted to be a rock star. He enjoys his fall-back career, however, as a Methodist minister.” I know you think being a Methodist minister is glamorous, with all its fame and perks, but… don’t tell the Board of Ordained Ministry this, but a part of me wishes that God had called me to be a rock star. That, I imagine, would be a dream job. Speaking of rock stars, there’s an Elvis Costello song in which he has a parent say, “Well, there’s a boy if ever there was, who’s going to do big things/ I guess that’s what they all say, and that’s how the trouble begins.”[2] Part of our trouble on this side of resurrection is the often insurmountable distance between our hopes and dreams and reality. You feel that tension, don’t you?

We want more out of life; we aspire to more; we sense that we’re capable of more. Even at our best, we possess all this unfulfilled promise. We have so much more to give of ourselves, so much more to offer the world, than we can ever hope to realize, at least on this side of resurrection. I think of my father, who was a gifted and successful entrepreneur in so many ways, but he said that he gave up on the dream that one day his “ship would come in.” Before he died of cancer many years ago, he joked that he would just be happy if his “truck came in.” Listen: in God’s future, on the other side of resurrection, I hope and believe it will—and the ship, too. But in reality much more than that. This is what resurrection means to me: God saves all that is best about us, including our unique personalities, our giftedness, our interests, and even some form of our beautiful and good bodies, and God uses them in and for our life on the other side of resurrection.

Here’s some more good news: We can begin to live out the resurrection in the here and now, on this side of eternity. Not fully… Not completely. But Paul in Ephesians 2 and elsewhere talks about how our future hope for resurrection means that everything changes now. It frees us to live in a way that we couldn’t before. I’ve experienced this, at least in small ways, myself. I will never get to be a rock star, but there are times in my vocation when I feel as if I’m be exactly where God wants me to be, doing exactly what God wants me to do, using all the unique gifts I possess for God’s kingdom. And guess what? It feels great! I feel fulfilled. I’ve heard some of you talk about your own vocations, and I know that you experience that, too. That’s a glimpse our future in the resurrection.

On this All Saints Day, I want us to consider this: If we have already experienced the saving work of God in Christ, we have done so because faithful people who have gone before us have opened their lives up to God’s Spirit and allowed the Spirit to work through them, in order to fulfill God’s mission in this world. We all stand on the shoulders of these saints. These people gave so much of themselves in order that we might have the opportunity to experience this gospel as good news. I can’t begin to imagine all the faithful people who contributed something in order that I would be standing here today. I know many of you feel the same way about your own lives.

Stewardship season provides us an opportunity to ask, “How will I gratefully and lovingly respond to God’s gift of life and eternal life so that others might experience this gift as well? What can I give? What is God calling me to give?”

[2] From “Battered Old Bird,” a song on his 1986 album, Blood and Chocolate.

Check out more pictures taken on All Saints Day in the Jilted Glamour page on the right.

Things are continuing to stay busy here in Rome.  Classes are speeding along and I have been spending a lot of time studying and trying to keep up with the readings.  However, the 2-mile walk each day, to and from class, gives me an hour to just relax and walk with friends.  It is always difficult to be just starting at a new institution because the tunnel seems so long, but I have been assured by many of the newly ordained deacons that their time here in Rome has flown by.  It is pretty amazing that I left the United States three and a half months ago.  On one hand it doesn’t feel like it has been very long, but it also seems like it has been a long time since I have seen my family.  This is ironic because I talk to them a lot and can even video chat with them via Skype.

While things have been normal at the seminary and at the University, this last week was special.  Jean, the Secretary of the Vocations Office for the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City, and her husband, Tom, visited Rome for their first time.  It was nice to be able to spend some time with someone I know from Oklahoma City.  We saw a lot of the sights of Rome, enjoyed some great meals, and we even prayed at the bones of St. Peter (thanks to my diocesan brother, Cory).  This was a travel weekend at the North American College, but I have been telling the other seminarians that I “went to Rome for the weekend!”  The city is so large and I have been so busy that I have neglected to see a lot of the historical sights of the Eternal City.  It was a great weekend and I discovered a lot about the city.  It was also great to show Jean and Tom around St. Peter’s Basilica and the North American College.

Sunday, November 1, 2009, was All Saints Day in the Roman Catholic Church.  It is the day that we celebrate the lives of the Saints that have lived in this world and have led their lives to glorify God.  For Sunday Mass, we went to The Pontifical Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls.  The Basilica was magnificent and very large.  We even went into the courtyard of the Benedictine Monastery and saw fragments of a lot of marble sarcophagi with early Christian markings on them.  There was also a beautiful little museum and Relic Room, complete with St. Paul’s staff.  There was also a very large tapestry with a depiction of St. Paul’s shipwreck near Malta.  It was pretty cool to think to myself that I had just been there just a few weeks ago.

Monday, November 2, 2009, was All Souls Day in the Roman Catholic Church.  It was also my birthday.  It is a tradition in the Church to bring to minds our loved ones whom have gone before us into the Kingdom of Heaven.  There was an option to have Mass within the North American College’s Mausoleum located in Campo Verano.  I had never been to an Italian cemetery prior to this trip and I was surprised with what I found.  In the United States, we are used to green fields with small gravestones.  However, there are so many people here, and they have been hundreds and hundreds of years of deaths, that they have had to adopt a system to deal with death.  The cemetery was composed of small, casket-sized plots with a stone lid and then a headstone covered with names and pictures of the deceased members of that family.  Some of the family plots were simple, but others were massive and quite expansive.  From what I was told, when a family member dies, they place the body beneath the stone lid and wait for the body to decompose.  They then place the bones in a small ossuary-type box and then place it in a different chamber.  There is also not a one-time fee for the plot.  If a plot is not continually paid for, the remains are disposed of, probably by cremation, the monument is destroyed, and then a new family may purchase the plot.  They also do not embalm the bodies, so there was a slight stench from the decomposing bodies.

Deep within the tight walkways, we came upon a beautiful red-bricked building overlooking the rest of the cemetery.  This tall, four-level mausoleum is where the earthly remains of around ten seminarians and faculty from the Pontifical North American College are entombed.  Instead of a small box for their bones, each body was placed behind a 5 or 6-foot wide, marble monument with their name, diocese, and age of death written in Latin.  When seminarians could only travel here by ocean, it would take a long time to get from Italy back to the United States, so if a seminarian or faculty member died, they were buried in this mausoleum.  One of the seminarians, Frank Parater, is being considered by the Vatican to become a Saint.  He is currently considered a “Servant of God”, which is only two steps away from becoming a Saint.  He died in 1920, after living a life in which inspired many people.  His young life evolved around prayer and he eventually discerned that God was calling him to become a Catholic Priest.  He eventually was sent by the Diocese of Richmond to study at the Pontifical North American College.  At the age of 23, he passed away and was buried at the mausoleum.  While he sounded like an amazing guy, his Last Will and Testament is really what caught everyone’s attention.

• “I have nothing to leave or to give but my life and this I have consecrated to the Sacred Heart to be used as He wills…This is what I live for and in case of death what I die for. …Since my childhood, I have wanted to die for God and my neighbor. Shall I have this grace? I do not know, but if I go on living, I shall live for this same purpose; every action of my life here is offered to God for the spread and success of the Catholic Church in Virginia. …I shall be of more service to my diocese in Heaven than I can ever be on earth.”

During the Mass of All Souls Day at the mausoleum of the North American College, I stood right next to his tomb.  What a wonderful blessing it was to realize that God tries endlessly to stir our spirit to follow Jesus Christ.  Even in Frank Parater’s final days of his illness, he kept God’s will as his focus and was completely reliant on Him.  The more I learn about him, the more I wish I could have met him in person.  That is the whole point of even venerating the Saints within the Catholic Church.  They provide examples for us of people that have followed God with complete trust and have showed us a glimpse of the Father’s love.

The rest of my birthday was pretty normal.  It was raining all day, so I was not able to go out for dinner with some of my friends, but I received a lot of birthday wishes from the seminarians within the North American College and from my friends in the United States.  I even received a special call from Mrs. Wynn’s 5^th Grade Class at All Saints Catholic School in Norman, Oklahoma.  During our short video chat, they sang “Happy Birthday” to me.  They are special kids and I really appreciate their prayers and support.  They are the future of our Church and I have been very impressed with their love for God and his Church.

Even though we already stopped the tradition of going from Bacolod all the way to Toboso to visit our dead relatives, All Saints’ Day still sucks the energy out of me. Especially when we go at noon. The blistering, midday sun, the glaring whiteness of the cemetery and the heat from burning candles (and small fires) equal a very unpleasant experience.

Whiteness...

Paying respects

It was a relief when we finally arrived at the family mausoleum in Cadiz. Where there was an actual roof above our heads shielding us from the heat of the sun (Thank God!).

Candles and Flowers

After adorning my grandmother’s and uncle’s final resting places with flowers and lighted candles, we went to my aunt’s residence nearby for lunch. After a satisfying meal of turbo broiled chicken (love the sauce) and lumpia shanghai, we headed back to the cemetery for the Mass. The Cousins’ Guild (or at least, the few who were present) held a short meeting when the Mass was done to discuss current issues and upcoming events, including plans for the Dinagsa Festival. We stayed until evening, keeping the remains of our loved ones company. People resorted to other stuff (like drinking, Yanggaw and Alvic) to keep themselves entertained.

Alvic, my nephew

Guess what's getting all the attention

After a few hours, we again went to my aunt’s house for a tasty dinner before heading back to Bacolod to pay a visit to my mom in Rolling Hills to complete the occasion.