How To Find Mass on the Road

Inside Stella Maris, Goose Island, Texas

I still am getting used to the idea of using my smartphone instead of paper maps, telephone books and a cell phone. Everything evolves around here, especially with rving full-time and relying heavily on modern technology to navigate and assist in finding what we need during our slow travels. The travel tip I'll share today is from my smartphone, it sure makes simple work of finding Sunday Mass.

yp on google play

We have previously used various websites to locate Catholic churches and Mass times while adventuring. Currently, with our smartphones, on this most recent road trip to parts previously unknown, we have made good use of the YP (yellow pages) app and the pre-loaded maps app on the iPhone4. Although, in a couple of instances we have been steered wrong, these two apps have helped us find churches, post offices, homes of friends and relatives, rv parks, campgrounds, grocery stores, and more.

maps from apple

I shudder to recall the days when Google maps always had to be backed up with a paper street map and a cell phone to call and get directions. I still laugh about my friend's couchsurfers, who never did find the Grand Canyon, because their smartphones sent them off on a more direct route - as the crow flies, rather than as the car drives. I now laugh at myself, when I get frustrated at the phone for leading me to an empty warehouse instead of the post office, but I am learning to pull over, re-calibrate and enter different info when that happens. It also helps to drive around a bit and have a young'un who's pretty good with reading maps and navigating. And smartphones.

We haven't gotten lost yet, but I can tell you, we have unintentionally taken some scenic drives and did arrive late for Mass once. We haven't missed Mass on Sunday, though. I usually check YP on Friday, map out the route to the church, then call the number provided to check Mass times. 

Our Lady of the Valley, La Jara, Colorado

I still carry a road atlas and some state maps for general route planning and reference, but to find local stuff along the way, the YP app and the maps app have been invaluable and saved an enormous amount of time and frustration. I highly recommend checking your smartphone or tablet and trying out similar apps which may be available to you, as you plan your next pilgrimage.

Big Church Little Church

I have to admit, I am partial to little churches and missions. My "home" congregation consists of about 60 families. I like the intimacy, the colorful characters, even the feuding. To me, it is so much more like a family. Yes, we have our differences, we frequently do not get along, but we pull together in times of crisis and need. It is our Catholic life.

In a big church, I feel lost. There seem to be so many people and so much to do. I lose focus. I get complacent. There are too many choices. The children are sent out during Mass, not taught to sit quietly, participate fully and honor the Sacrament. The music is modernized to entertain and attract an audience. Just my take on things.

Inside tiny Stella Maris, Lamar, TX

I walk in to a big, modern Catholic church and I can't find the holy water. I want to bless myself with it when I walk in and when I walk out. It is a sacramental reminder of my devotion. Now, there is usually one large font, instead of the small ones at each door. I feel funny walking up to that big baptismal pond to use the holy water, then find my way out.

St. Anne's, Deming, NM

I still want to genuflect when I enter the pew where I am going to sit. I am here for Mass and I want to honor my Host. I want to put the kneeler down and spend some quiet time in prayer and thanksgiving before and after Mass.  Most often, now, the Blessed Sacrament is not even kept in the main part of the church, but in an attached adoration chapel. I guess that's okay for big churches.

View from Lake Lodge rec room, Yellowstone NP, Wyoming

On this pilgrimage of slow travel, I have attended Mass in churches in California, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming and Texas. It is always an adventure, come Saturday, to find out where we will be attending Mass on Sunday. The Holy Eucharist is always nourishing and enriching. Small churches just ensnare my heart. St. Anne's in Ash Fork and St. Francis in Seligman, Arizona, where I had the honor of leading the music for 15 years. The rec room of the Lake Lodge in Yellowstone NP, Wyoming, where we attended when we were there for my daughter's wedding. St. Anne's in Deming, NM, where we worshiped after a long night of trying to find a campsite in the dark. Stella Maris, outside of Goose Island SP, Texas, where we shivered on top of an AC vent, until someone realized it was cold outside and in and turned it off. The pastor there had recently been healed of stage 4 cancer and spoke confidently about God's merciful love and healing. 

This week of our full-time rving life, this awesome road trip, we will be celebrating Ash Wednesday in a big church in Texas and we will be grateful to have found another spiritual home on the road.

Mass In Yellowstone NP, Wyoming

From the windows of the rec room, there is a panoramic view of the mists still rising off of Yellowstone Lake. (Okay, not in this picture.) Mass is about to begin and the young celebrant is scurrying around, arranging the altar, consulting with the pianist and greeting tourists - some in their Sunday best, some in hiking apparel.

It is interesting to note that the murmur of voices is at a far lower level than in many Catholic churches these days. Is it because we naturally respect the sacred ground we are visiting? I know that my own awe and humility are greatly increased by the wonders of Yellowstone. 

The altar is a card table, the lectern a music stand, but somehow it feels as if we are in an ancient cathedral. We are. Sometimes it is difficult to find Mass while traveling. Many National Parks, through the diligent efforts of the local Catholic communities, and even sometimes through the efforts of the local diocese, will have Sunday Mass scheduled. This may not be posted in the guide books or newsletters, but a query at one of the lodges in the park is likely to turn up a schedule of Sunday services for several denominations. Even if a regularly scheduled Mass is not available, I have found that sometimes a visiting priest is kind enough to ask for a place to celebrate Mass and pass the word as to location and time.

Yellowstone Lake Lodge is such an ethereal setting for Mass. I have to wonder if this might not be a little taste of heaven.

Check out these posts, too:

Oregon's Best For Last - Mt. Hood

Great Sand Dunes NP and Preserve, CO

Grand Canyon Pilgrimage

Grand Canyon Caverns

El Santuario de Chimayo, New Mexico

Nearly 10 years ago, when I came to El Santuario Chimayo on pilgrimage, it was undergoing major restoration, inside and out. When I returned this past spring, I was impressed with sweet smelling, flowering trees lining spacious courtyards. Restored signage clearly indicates Mass times and Historic information.

    

Original window gratings and adobe bricks are left exposed in areas, to show the original building style.

A walk through the visitor’s center tells the story of how the Santuario de Nuestro Senor de Esquipulas came to be, the story of the penitente brotherhood and the early church in New Mexico. I reflect upon how much of that early spirituality still pervades the local and surrounding areas, even into Southern Colorado.

Today we are just in time for Mass. Father Casimiro Roca who has spent so much of his life devoted to the preservation of the Santuario is there with us. He now walks across the uneven flagstones with the assistance of a cane and a caregiver.

Outside, cattle graze in the valley below. Their gentle lowing makes me homesick for my little ranch. But I have given up my livestock for this life on the road. I smile at sweet memories and new adventures. From the upper courtyard, I can see the amphitheater below, in front of the shrine to Our Lady. The Stations of the Cross still meander along the river bank.

Today we are more inclined to check out the surrounding area. Tamales and hot drinks are sounding good, but alas, Leona’s concession stand is closed today. We continue up the road to see if we can patronize some of the local businesses that thrive during the tourist season. Maybe we’ll get some chile powder made from the famous New Mexico chiles, or blue atole – blue cornmeal which is  cooked into a delicious cereal or drink.

You might also enjoy:

Memorial To The Unborn

Prelude To The Pacific Northwest

Grand Canyon Pilgrimage - August 2011

Pilgrim Virgin of Guadalupe

Oops! God, Have Mercy, I Goofed Again

Sunday's gospel (Luke 18:9-14) was all about humility. The pharisee proudly reminds God how well he has kept His commandments. The tax collector, in shame, hides in a corner and begs God's mercy. Fr. K's homily began with a reminder that once we think we have humility, we've lost it. His hint couldn't have come at a better time. More than one of us had goofed up that very day.

After Mass, several of us were discussing our humbling experiences during our monthly community meal. I had started things out by jumping into the Gloria, before the Kyrie was chanted.  My guitar player pointed out my mistake and I stealthily retrieved my chapel veil from my bag and covered my humbled head. Next, our second reader forgot "The Word of the Lord", at the end of his reading, because it ended in "Amen". I had to smile. I was no longer alone in my shame. The final humiliation was that sticky key on my flute, which naturally decided to stick in the middle of a solo. I guess I'd better get that fixed. At least the organ didn't blare out of tune like it did last Sunday...

We make plenty of little mistakes all the time. Usually we play through them and nobody notices. Sometimes they are very obvious and amplified by the presence of a microphone and a large group of people in front of us. As my friend Joan commented, "God must have needed a good laugh today". Always happy to oblige.

If you liked this post, you might enjoy:

Simple Music Guidelines

   

The Sunday There Was No Mass

Come Aside and Rest Awhile

Just A Little Bit

A Catholic Traveling

Oatman burro gets friendly outside of town

It occurs to me that I have not mentioned about our plans to get back on the road. When I first started the Catholic Traveller blog and website, the plan was to travel frequently and visit missions, shrines and other holy places, take lots of pictures and video, and share impressions, recommendations and interesting facts. Then my children became interested in horses and - nuff said. That batch of children is now grown and on their own. Now comes an opportunity to lighten up again and travel full time with my trailer for awhile. We will be traveling slow and enjoying the journey.

The new home: 1975 MeToo; bumper to bumper inspection before starting renovation

While the coming year is planned for the Western U.S., there will also be a few weeks in Wyoming, with a possible trip to New York and North Carolina, depending on finances and family situations. We are renovating a 28 foot RV and a 14 foot travel trailer - if you are interested in that process, you can follow it on Mrs. D's Homestead, my other site, where we will also post more about full-time RV living, homeschooling on the road and minimalist, homestead-spirited living on the road.

Miner's "cabins", Calico Ghost Town, Yermo, CA

Catholic Traveller will continue to focus more on the places we visit and on our spiritual journey, as well as the challenges of finding Mass, confession and fellowship opportunities on the road.

Until next time, Happy Trails!

Wild Horses of Route 66

Route 66, or more appropriate for this blog post, Will Rogers Highway, passes through miles of open range, BLM land and private ranch land in Arizona. The longest existing stretch of Will Rogers Highway is between Ash Fork, Arizona and Kingman, Arizona. This is where you can see herds of wild horses grazing alongside range cattle. If you're lucky, you might even see a fast freight train on the Burlington Northern Santa Fe line, bringing goodies to Los Angeles from all points east, while you're stopped to admire the horses.

Talk about a Sunday drive! I get to see this herd on my way back to Ash Fork from Seligman, after playing for Sunday Mass there at St. Francis Catholic Church. Sometimes I even see them from Interstate 40 on my way there from St. Anne's Catholic Church in Ash Fork.

This curious little fellow spies me and wants to know what I'm up to. The others studiously ignore me. I don't believe that this is a BLM herd, so my guess is that they are owned by whomever holds the grazing lease on this particular stretch of land. I have come to think of them as "my herd" and look for them whenever I come this way. There is a certain water hole near a blocked off bridge where my youngest son and I have spent many a Sunday hour watching the trains and the horses while picnicking on sandwiches and fruit. 

Every year it is exciting to see the new foals and watch them grow. This year, with all of our wonderful rain, the horses had plenty of water to frolic and cool off in. I tried hard to get some good shots of them playing in the water, but they came out too blurry or too late. I'll sure miss these guys when we head out on the road full-time. One more item on the list of heartbreaking choices I've had to make. I look forward, however, to discovering new herds in new places and especially to having some new adventures to share with you as we travel the Western United States and wherever else God in His good humor decides to take us on our pilgrimage of life.

Phoenix in July? Why?!

Cooling off after a toasty time in Phoenix, AZ

Yet another mid-July trip to Phoenix, AZ. I am always opposed to the timing of these mid-summer fiascos and as events seemed to reinforce my objections, I didn't say, "I told you so". Didn't even give him "the look". I comforted myself with visions of sitting by our family member's pool in the early mornings and late evenings, reading, and taking in a movie in a nice, air-conditioned theater. That didn't exactly work out, either, but more about that later.

After we arrived at our relatives' home, our first order of business was dinner at the local Chinese buffet.  This lost its luster when a cockroach make an appearance on one of the plates.  We had planned to take in a movie next, but there were none we wanted to see that were playing at a convenient time. We wanted the matinee, of course. We decided to go the next day. Instead we went to Bass Pro shop, where we made several purchases. One was an open reel that was supposed to be $29 and the charge was $59. Wow. Is it a full moon? Yes, as a matter of fact, it was. The mistake was corrected (we were purchasing the display model and the salesperson had put it in the wrong box, which caused the error in pricing) and we went back to the condo and called it quits for the night.

Saturday dawned, hot and muggy. No sitting outside enjoying the sunrise. In addition, the pool was quite filthy, so we passed on the swimming, as well. Later, we got cabin fever and went looking for a Sprouts Market and a tea shop. This Sprouts didn't have the raw milk I've been drinking, but we picked up fresh, organic veggies for dinner and fruit for smoothies. I decided to settle for kefir, since I couldn't get my raw milk.

On the way to the tea shop, we stumbled upon a nice little Greek restaurant where we decided to stop for lunch. After I got my missing olives and feta, my Greek salad was delicious. The lemon soup was awesome and the gyro dinner was so tasty and tender, I think I am now addicted to Greek cooking.

The tea shop, on the other hand, was less impressive. Stocked full of ayurvedics, essential oils and loose teas and spices, it was a disappointment. All the teas were old, stale and dusty. From the looks of the tinctures behind the counter, I didn't think they were very potent anymore either. The real kicker was, the annexed vegetarian restaurant was packed! I hope the quality of the food there was better than the quality of the teas adjoining. We never did get to the movies, but our visit with the family was most pleasant, as usual. Thankfully, we enjoy each other's company, whether or not the outside forces cooperate.

Although Sunday Mass is easy to locate nearly any time from Saturday evening to Sunday evening in Phoenix, the advice from this pilgrim is: do not go in July! The optimum time to enjoy Phoenix, as well as most of Arizona, is winter and spring!

Case In Point

http://www.facebook.com/pages/SUPPORT-THE-PRIESTS-AND-THE-CATHOLIC-CHURCH/111925638831879

How timely of this to appear on Facebook after my latest post.  So, what do you think?  Sacrilegious because it's not in the proper building, with the proper vestments, furniture, etc?  I think not.  I think it is even more sacred, due to the circumstances.

Form and Substance

Outdoor altar at the Memorial to the Unborn, St. Germaine's Catholic Church, Prescott Valley, AZ

There is a lot of contention these days about the particular form of things.  What words should be used in the prayers of the Mass.  What gestures should be made.  How we should place the furniture (ie., altar, tabernacle, pews, etc.).  These are all superficialities.  I would gladly attend Mass out in a parking lot, with a tailgate for an altar, and the priest wearing makeshift vestments.  I am more concerned about the substance of my faith. The Holy Eucharist.  The Word of God.  The Homily that touches my heart and gives me new insight, inspiration, or at least food for thought.

The only things I want to concern myself with are - am I ready to receive Jesus into my heart?  Am I trying to live the kind of life He would have me live?  Am I too attached to property, prestige and power in my life? Just give me the Mass, Holy Communion and the Word.  I hate having my faith chopped up by fellow believers who want to nitpick over fluff and stuff.  Who buy into slanders against and focus on the imperfections of our leaders.  Who want to feel superior because they use a certain form of practice which will get them into heaven, while the rest of us roast, simply because we do not subscribe to their "form".  I could well be wrong, but I believe that God will judge on more of what is in our hearts and how we treat others.

I certainly don't mean that form is not at all important.  I am simply of the opinion that there is a committee of guys in red hats who get paid the big bucks to worry about all that stuff.  Whatever they decide for the moment on format, is not going to impact whether I stay or leave the church.  The substance of our faith is, has and always will be the Word of God, and the Body and Blood of Christ.  As long as that continues, we're good.  Don't get distracted by the side show.

The Atheist Inquisition

By Tribunal del Santo Oficio de la Inquisición (Enciclopedia Española) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

So Happy 4th of July!  Before I even left for 6:30a.m. Mass yesterday, I saw the ad headline in the Los Angeles Times:   "Quit The Catholic Church". I was miffed, but it had to wait until after Mass.  In fact, I made it wait until after breakfast, when I read the whole ad.  Then I just rolled my eyes. 

Somehow, a group that has only been able to amass (pun intended) 18,000 members since its founding in 1978, is running this full page ad as they are able to raise funds.  It appeared in the New York Times way back in March, so obviously, they don't have a lot of support. Still, they are launching the same tired arguments about why the Catholic Church is such a bad guy. I say "tired", because they are calling women, like me, who are loyal to the church "ignorant", while they apparently refuse to acknowledge scientific evidence contrary to their primary argument, which is women's "reproductive rights".  I'm sorry, but as a mother of 4 children, I vote for the right of every woman to practice abstinence if she does not want to conceive, acquire an STD, or be a slave to her hormones.  To lower a woman's dignity so far that you have to call it "reproductive rights", is to say that she does not have the choice not to engage in sexual activity.  It is to say that she is too stupid to realize how babies are made.  That it is better for her to pump herself full of chemicals or extra hormones which will raise her risk of cancer, than it is for her to abstain from sex, or to have a baby. How can a woman possibly be happy and fulfilled if she is not having sex? Personally, that is more of a Dark Ages mentality than what the ad is accusing the church of.

Their other argument is that US healthcare reform is being held hostage by the Catholic Church. Not so. The church has worked hard towards affordable health care for all for years. The current health care law, in fact, coerces a faction of society, Catholics and Catholic Institutions, to pay for what they regard as murder, female oppression and religious persecution. In fact, if a non-Catholic, working at a Catholic Institution, wants free or low cost contraceptives, there are hundreds of family planning clinics they can get them from.

As for the sex-scandal issue, sex scandals and pedophilia, complicity, collusion and cover-ups are not exclusive to the Catholic Church. They are rampant at every level of society and in every institution in the United States.  Pointing the finger at the Catholic Church is just a smokescreen, using the currently popular bad guy, to cover up the fact that this is just an organization, like any other, trying to get more money to promote their agenda, which according to their own website is to educate the public on matters of non-theism.

We Catholics stopped murdering folks that refused to convert to our religion over a century ago. Don't shove your atheism down our throats just because you don't want to have kids to pass it on to.

They say "humanity above dogma".

I say "the truth shall set you free"!

Judgement Calls

This morning's sermon was about making judgements.  The gospel passage today was from Matthew 7:1-5. "Do not judge and you will not be judged..."  The pastor of my dad's church talked about the judgments he had experienced and had made on his recent holiday.  I could totally relate.

Afterwards, another early mass goer was telling Fr. T about one of the masses this past Sunday, which had lacked a priest, so a deacon in attendance had stepped forward to lead a communion service.  I quipped about how that was commonplace where I live, that we were lucky to have a priest.  Fr. T was surprised, as he thought I lived nearby.  So much for my ego, in assuming he knew that I was the "daughter visiting from Arizona".  So, after explaining that I was just staying with dad for a few months, I went on with a brief synopsis of our mission situation in Northern Arizona.

At breakfast, I lamented the situation again.  Didn't the pastor recognize whom he saw regularly and whom he didn't?  Of course, I thought, how busy Fr. T must be, with the responsibilities of a parish of nearly 1,000 people.  How could he possibly keep track of one visitor?  Another judgement.

So, Miss Important, here, next realized how little I know about some of those in my own parish.  I want to be known to a certain extent, yet do I take the time to really know and care about others?  Am I so busy, running here and there, that I don't have time to chat now and then, for a few minutes after Mass, or when I see someone in town?  Surely, that's one of the reasons to live in a small town.

I'm also learning to translate it into some of my experiences during my soujourn here in the Big City.  After hockey practice the other day, my son and I walked through a street fair that was taking place next to the ice rink.  All kinds of wonderful antiques were on display,  but I thought that some were a bit pricey.  I took the opportunity to ask one vendor about a piece that I didn't recognize.  He went on the tell me about the wall-mount coffee grinder, with a large glass jar for the beans, "they used to buy them in big bulk bags, because they didn't have 'em all ground up in cans like we do now".  (Yes, I knew that, it's how I buy mine, but I held my tongue, wanting to hear more of his story.)  "Then they used to put up their extra produce in jars and so they'd have an empty jar that would fit right here", pointing to a bracket under the grinder, "to catch the grindings".  He went on to explain how they boiled their coffee and poured it through a cheesecloth, etc.  Really a wonderful story.  It also made me realize something else.  I asked his wife if they had gotten most of their inventory from the midwest and she confirmed that they did buy from sales on the other side of the country.  Suddenly the price seemed more reasonable, and I noticed that most of their items were also very clean and in good condition, which was also rare in my experience with antiques here in the west.

So by curbing my initial judgement to bypass their table as just another overpriced junk pile, I not only acquired valuable new information to add to my homesteading knowledge, I also had a pleasant conversation with a couple whom I would never otherwise have known to be interesting and wonderful.

Still Bucking the New Translation - Really??

Thanks to Dr. Jerry Galipeau's excellent blog, Gotta Sing, Gotta Pray, I actually have a "keep it simple" topic  for today;)  Due to all the uproar about the New Translation, and also due to my continuing efforts to be a passable music director for my parishes, I try to follow Dr. Jerry's blog.  He has been involved with publishing liturgical music for years, and his posts are usually informative and entertaining.  For several months now, he has been posting on issues with the New Translation of the Roman Missal, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I take a look every once in awhile.  The New Translation was mandated for use beginning in Advent of last year.  Six months later, people are still arguing its pros and cons.  Personally, though I like the New Translation, it would really make no difference to me if we went back to the old.

Okay, so I'm an oddball.  Part of me is traditional.  I wear the chapel veil.  I think the music for Mass should be dignified hymns or soft, inspirational melodies and chant, not "praise and worship, rock my world" stuff.  I prefer the tabernacle to be behind the altar, and the church to be dark and quiet, respectful, prayerful.  So I don't always get my way.  I like to hear Mass in my primary language, but I want to share the joy with my friends who don't speak or understand English so well, so I embrace the bi-lingual Mass, and can even muddle through a bit of Spanish.  Luckily I can play the flute and the organ in both Spanish and English. (yeah, some dumb humor;)  As a returned-fallen-away Catholic, I'm there for Mass.  Mass is the sacrifice of Jesus Body and Blood for my salvation.  Holy Communion is the common union with my fellow Mass-goers, and by extension the whole church, and hopefully one day the whole world, as the Body of Christ.

I go to Mass to hear the Word of God proclaimed and taught.  I want to learn how to be a better person.  I go to Mass to receive Holy Communion, Jesus entering into union with me to strengthen and transform me.  To remind me of my connection with that guy over there whose manners I find repulsive (hmm...is pride any better?).  And the lady whose dress is too short and too low cut (didn't I used to dress like that myself?)  And the family who only shows up on Palm Sunday (there were a few years when I didn't show up at all).  I don't go to bicker over this word here or that word there.  I'll let the pope and the cardinals and the bishops and their committees worry about all that stuff.  Life is too complicated.  For this simple-minded Catholic, I'll take Dr. Jerry's advice - gotta sing, gotta pray.  Nuff said.

The Many Details of Death

 

So here I am in sunny Southern California, where the temperatures are rising, the smog is settling in and the humidity is finally down to 59% (from 72% a few days ago).  I am just grateful that I can still breathe and haven't had to use the inhaler yet.  Ah, for the clear, blue skies and dry air of my Northern Arizona home.  I do love my morning walks to and from daily Mass, here.  That's something I do not get to do at home.  There, church is seven miles away and we only have "daily" Mass on Thursdays (and,of course, Sunday Mass).

Grief is an odd creature.  Mom and I finally came to accept and even respect many of our differences in the last few years.  We had begun a new direction in our relationship, I am sad that is over.  I find myself flooded with some of my happiest memories of her and am comforted.

I feel sluggish, sorting through her things.  Having to decide what to dispose of and what to keep is a burdensome task.  Many of her things, mom allocated while she was still alive.  But there are the clothes and shoes and books.  Miscellaneous and sundry.  Helping dad carry on and get back into a routine.  Helping him to take over those dozens of little things that mom always took care of.  And always just wanting to run away and sit on top of a mountain, with my back against a tree, eyes closed, listening to a stream of snow melt trickle softly down to a roaring river in a valley below.  Letting all my grief, frustration, anger and fear melt away with it.  Letting God refill me.  Sigh.  The meditation on it will have to do for now.  Back to work.

Glory to God in the Highest and...um...The Feast of the Annunciation

One of the few things I enjoy when I'm in the Big City is being able to attend daily Mass.  I usually go early, and the nuns and postulants are among the regulars, as well as several working, retired and possibly 1 or 2 homeless persons.  Today, the Feast of the Annunciation was celebrated, which means we said the Gloria and the Creed.  Now, on Sundays, many of us hold onto the missal so we have the new wording in front of us and our "autopilot" memorization of the old prayers is less likely to kick in.  Today, however, just as on the Feast of St. Joseph last Monday, I found myself scrambling for the right page in the missal.  I was not alone.  It was a bit humorous, really, to hear everyone start out strong at the beginning of the Gloria, then stumble, fumble with their missals, and join back in.  Perhaps another 10 years and we will have all the new wording programmed into our memories.

Today's readings struck me in regards to the interfaith debate about the "Virgin" birth.  I could not help but wonder why there should be any doubt, after careful study of the verses in Isaiah and Luke. 

Isaiah 7:14 - "...the virgin shall be with child and bear a son..."

Luke 1:26-38 - read the whole passage of the angel Gabriel's conversation with Mary.  In particular, verses 34-35:  "But Mary said to the angel, 'How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?' And the angel said to her in reply, 'The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.'"  That does not sound to me like she is going to get pregnant in the usual way.  And why not?  Cannot the all powerful God, who can do all things, cause a virgin to conceive and bear His son?  If He can create the world out of nothing, create a man out of dust, He can surely do that.   

I thought maybe it might have to do with our different translations.  I looked in the King James version.  It says fairly the same thing as I have quoted here, from my New American Bible, St. Joseph Edition.  King James also uses the word "virgin" in the verse from Isaiah.  The Revised Standard Version uses the words "young woman" instead, but the passage from Luke reads much the same as the Catholic translation, including calling Mary a virgin.  

In light of this, I find it hard to believe that anyone could think otherwise, when the Bible clearly states that the "virgin" Mary was "overshadowed by the power of the Most High" in order to conceive Jesus.  Perhaps one day we will reconcile more of our differences and become more truly "one body in Christ".  I hope so.

Oregon's Best for Last - Mt. Hood, Pendleton and its' Woolen Mills

Mt. Hood from back of Timberline Lodge - still has snow in August.

Our last day in Portland, we took a day trip to Mount Hood, our destination, the Historic Timberline Lodge.  Constructed by the Works Progress Administration, during the years 1936-37, the lodge is a masterpiece of old-time craftsmanship.  I highly recommend the free tour of the lodge.  Our Forest Service volunteer guide cheerfully imparted volumes of historical information about the building, as well as pointing out many unique features.  All the rocks and lumber used in the building were procured locally and hand cut and milled on site.  That's not where it ends.  While the men were laboring to build the gargantuan structure at Timberline, the women were ensconced in barracks a few miles away, spinning, weaving and sewing all the textiles to be used in the lodge's rugs, draperies and upholstery.  Men were also handcrafting furniture, light fixtures and other decor for the lodge.  Textiles were made from locally produced flax and wool; rugs hooked from used cotton fabrics; iron railings and lamp fixtures were made from scrap iron.  Mosaics were fashioned from scrap glass and tile.  The creative talents and pride in workmanship of the builders and crafters are still in evidence.

Wall Mosaic in lobby of Timberline Lodge

On our way out of Oregon, we spent the night in Pendleton. The following morning was Sunday, and we attended Mass at St. Mary's Catholic Church.  The service was memorable, in that it was one of the few I have ever attended outside of a Tridentine church, where the women nearly all wore chapel veils and modest dresses, the men mostly wore suits or trousers and button-down shirts, rather than sportswear.  There was liberal use of inscense, and all the music was chanted, as opposed to folksy performance.  The most touching part of the Mass came, appropriately, at communion time.  The Holy Eucharist was distributed, without exception, to those who came up and knelt at the communion rail, with the altar boy holding the paten under the Eucharist, as it was placed on the tongue.  My 8 year old son, having just received his First Holy Communion a few months before, was visibly taken aback, having never experienced this before.  The priest looked at me and I had to nod that yes, he can receive.  It was such a beautiful and sacred experience, that I wondered why it was ever necessary to change the way we receive Holy Communion.

After Mass, though I don't like to encourage businesses that stay open on Sundays, we went to the Pendleton Woolen Mills.  As we would not be back this way for who knows how long, it was now or never.  I got my first Pendleton from my mom when I was in high school.  The quality of workmanship is so fine that they last forever, so I could not pass up this opportunity to visit the factory in person.  We entered the gift shop, and though we could not take an actual tour of the mills, we were able to watch a video about the production of Pendleton's legendary woolen fabrics, and to browse their selection of fine clothing, accessories and yardage.   As much as I would have liked to have brought home a couple of bolts of fabric, the $40-$80 per yard price made me a happy window shopper instead.  From Pendleton it is just a few miles to Washington, but those adventures will take up an entire post of their own.