[Autosaved] Advent -ures

I'm attempting to write this blog with an electronic pen - a cheap knockoff from China. Its a bit hit and miss, but is on the whole, coping well with my erratic handwriting. The reason for resorting to high tech is that I have chronic pain in my neck and shoulders, because I think I slept awkwardly A few nights ago, and am suffering the consequences. This is making Advent rather more adventurous than expected, but, hey! At my age a little discomfort is to be expected. I'm propped up in bed, head fixed facing forwards, tablet On my knees,  scribbling away. As A fan of all things electronic, I am rather enjoying myself. The eccentricities are a random refusal to print a lower-case a, and  a tendency for the pen to switch off at inconvenient moments. 

I’m  a fan of Advent , a time of quiet reflection, at least in theory,and take measures to keep frenzy to a minimum. There is only one gift to buy, as "secret Santa“ allocates one family for the receipt of my seasonal generosity- I haven’t known what to buy anyone since they passed the soft toy phase, so the purchase of a mini-waffle maker for one branch of the clan sorts out much rumination, and saves a lot of money. I recommend this to all grandparents. 

Ray sends out the electronic Christmas cards about now, so if you’re reading this, you probably got one. If didn’t, leave your email in the comments below.

Sitting Tight

    I wonder how my mother felt back in the summer of 1945? She’s 18 years old, and war is already raging on the Continenet due to the meglomania of a fascist  madman, determined to fashion the world in his own twisted image. I think I know.

There is an unforgettable beauty in this Spring day. I will treasure it, as perfect. It’s warm, and I am serenaded by a chorus of a splendid clutch of songbirds. Violets, primulas, primroses and daises are scattered willy-nilly at my feet. Above my head, the mock orange, and  Pacific dogwood are waiting in the wings. A few more weeks and they will shower me with blossoms.

I hesitate to spoil the mood. So maybe I won’t. Maybe, like my mother, eighty years ago, I’ll enjoy this day, and let tomorrow be. 

Obit

I’m reading,” A God of Surprises,” recommended by Sarah, the Catechist on the “Lay Pastoral Ministry,” course I’ve recently embarked on. Sarah promises that its an  adventure, sometimes terrifying, which I can assure you, dear Reader, is true when embarking on an interior journey.

So. “God of Surprises.” There’s this wonderful mechanism when as a Catholic, you venture an original and radical thought: someone has certainly thought it before, and if that someone is a Saint - you’re in! 

This unoriginal thought occupying me at the moment, is, “Christ in you the hope of glory.” St Paul. That’s OK, then,  Christ lives in me, probably undergoes a bit of a struggle to get out and about, but that’s another blog. 

Years ago I put in a mench for Catherine of Genoa, who ran through the streets of .. Genoa, shouting, “The deepest Me is God!” Now that would get you locked up today, but then, it was the bottom rung of the ladder of canonisation. 

Gerard W Hughes (“God of Surprises” ) added another string to this unlikely bow with a quote from Augustine of Hippo ( Saint) “”When the priest holds up the host and says, “The Body of Christ,” reply, “I AM”. Wow. Chewing on that one a while.

But I digress. Gerard ends each chapter with a spiritual exercise, and at the end of Ch 1 it’s, “Write Your Own Obituary.” ( I once offered to video  one to be played at the appropriate point in the Requim Mass, an idea which my near and dear, flatly refused to comply with. Check out my YouTube Channel. It will be there …Though not yet.) 

This was easy. I decided long ago that chiselled on my tombstone will be,”She made herself laugh!” Or as St Paul would have it: “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say, rejoice!” 

So. Not only did he get there first - he said it twice. 

End Times?

Wiser heads have reasoned we’ve been in the End Times since the day of Pentecost, and the second coming of Christ is yours for the asking with the baptism of the Holy Spirit.

As timing, that’s  as good at it gets, especially since it’s made clear in the handbook, that no one knows the Day or the Hour. Fair enough. 

I have been mildly diverted by the insta posts of the excited deluded posting how they’ve prepared for the Rapture, a twelth century invention BTW, by selling homes and cars, going to prominent places with hands raised, and … waiting. 

How would that work exactly? Would the Rapture be at 0000am GMT all over? Or would there be like a rolling tide of Raptees, heading up as the magic hour hits their time zone? As it happens, such speculation must await another Moment, as diddly-squat happened. As the Big Day drew to an inevitable close, I wonder what the duped were thinking? Would it come as something of a relief, shortly after coming to terms with their rather awkward, “left-behind” status, to discover NOBODY went up with a shout of triumph, so at least there wasn’t the embarrassment of not making the cut … 

I shouldn’t mock, but I will. If Christians spent as much time feeding the poor and loving their enemies as they do obsessing over dodgy prophecies, the world would be much better off.