Drowsy

The weight of fecundity
In the greenery
Crushes more than a stratus sky.
Heavy, honey-scented air
And bumble bees buzzing
Are the reason why
I know the petals, stamen, stigma
Call for fertility,
Call for pollination,
Call for seeds to rise.
The weight of this demand
Makes me sleepy in the sun
And sluggish.

And the problem is...

When it is announced at Sunday mass that there is a holy day of obligation that week, you can almost feel the feet dragging and hear the groaning. A few eyes might roll. And yet we know that this is supposed to be a happy day, so why does it feel like such a burden?

Right now, the holy day is just one more thing we are obliged to do within our already overly committed schedules. It adds to the stress and fatigue without adding much joy to compensate. Over the years, I have noticed something though. When I decided to go to daily mass as often as possible, suddenly the days of obligation didn't seem like a big deal. Heck, I was already going anyway! While going to daily mass is a good thing, it is a choice. The only thing that holy days changed was that we tried to have a nice dessert that night. Well, at least that was something...

But it should be a day of joy. If we call them holy days of obligation, we send the wrong message: you are obliged to come to mass or go to hell. Why aren't they called holy days of celebration? A supporting culture would close stores, give everyone the day off, and we would have rip-roaring celebrations. Dream on. The secular culture does a better job with Fat Tuesday than Catholics do with virtually every holy day. Well, I admit that some of that secular celebrating obliges people to visit the confessional...

It doesn't help that the bishops sometimes don't make some of them days of obligation because it is just too much to ask people to acknowledge a holy day with mass attendance.

I have always been puzzled why Catholic schools don't cancel classes that day. What would get kids more exciting about a holy day than no school? Well, maybe if we have to have school in session, it would be an all-fun-and-no-homework day at the very least. As far as I can tell, the holy day only gets a nod and lectures and lessons go on as planned.

But I still feel that somehow our Catholic culture does not embrace holy days with the joy and celebratory attitude that they were intended to evoke. As Catholics, we need to get better at having a good party. Where are the parades, the costumes, the fireworks, the feasting, and the music? The problem is we stink at partying.

Being Beckoned

Recently I read the entire Horatio Hornblower series of books, and I also just completed the first book in the Master and Commander series. This reveals an obvious fascination with life on the sea during the Napoleonic era. Before the Industrial  Revolution and the age of machinery hit, men at sea were entirely dependent on and at the mercy of the weather to get anywhere. What becomes acutely obvious when reading these books is that a sensitivity to meteorological change meant the difference between life and death. Knowledge and skill in exploiting those changes heightened the chances of survival. Reading the winds meant escaping from the equatorial doldrums, riding the titanic storm, or outwitting the enemy in battle. Skillful maneuvering always brought high praise while poor seamanship elicited disdain of shipmates in the best circumstances, mutiny in the worst.

For most of us, our lives have become comfortable since then. We have to create situations to experience distress from the elements. We go camping, mountain hiking, surfing, and snorkeling to expose ourselves to the elements and danger. Watch the Olympics, and you wonder what new sport will be created by the time of the next Olympics for people to compete in, and how much more dangerous will the risks be. When I watched the skeleton competition (it's the opposite of luge where you go down the track on a tiny sled feet first on your back--skeleton is head first on your stomach), I could only wonder what kind of mind you had to have to go 80 plus miles per hour with your head only an inch from the track. Considered one of the most dangerous of Olympic events, it had difficulty getting accepted as a sport because of how risky it was. These people obviously love the challenge of danger.

We recently had a decently large snowfall. It created inconvenience and cancellations. There was no ducking this one. We had to face and deal with the weather. I find big snowfalls invigorating. I love to get outside and embrace it. I love to drive in it, shovel it, and stomp through it. Why? Because it is a challenge. I feel the weather is inviting me to come out and wrestle with it. And when that wind blows in my face, and my cheeks are chilly, and my legs begin to ache from wading through knee deep snow, I feel alive and that all is well. And when Horatio Hornblower or Lucky Jack Aubrey decline going to their cabin when the winds get strong and the rain is pelting down, I know that they also are glad to be alive and on deck. The elements beckon to them to meet the challenge.