Blood and Water

A diary entry from Saturday, September 24, 2022

So much has happened again in the past week.

I ran into Kimberly Hahn and Matt Fradd at church… what a special blessing, VatiGod*.

I met up with my new friend J. and told her about Father N., my new spiritual director. She exclaimed, “Wow, I can’t believe he agreed to that so quickly! He is such a busy man.”

After having been weighed and found wanting, my attempts to find a new home for Sammy took on a frantic note. No success, though. Nobody wants a dog who is already on death’s door and incontinent to boot. I even breached the subject of putting him to sleep with K., which may be the kindest solution, but he’s not ready to entertain that idea. Winston the cat is still missing too—who knows what might have happened to him.

On top of everything else—and what an irony!—I’m experiencing what seems to be a flea infestation in the house… without any pets to cause it. I view it as my penalty from God, a stark reminder of my shortcomings.

Unlike many of my liberal friends, I’ve never considered my pets—and I’ve had many over the years—my children. Having grown up in farm country, there was always a clear distinction between animals and humans in my mind. Nonetheless, treating them kindly and taking good care of them is imperative.

On Monday, I finally dragged myself to Confession with Father A. and broke down crying as I talked about my selfishness. He sweetly said that my great concern and remorse showed that I indeed loved my pets, and he actually had a good belly laugh about the absurd flea infestation.

After the absolution, my great sorrow and the frenzy to do something lifted completely; the unexpected relief felt near-miraculous to me. Now I’ll be able to move on with a clearer head. As an interesting aside, the last couple of days I haven’t seen any more fleas.

This evening, I attend a benefit dinner of the Franciscan Sisters TOR together with my favorite neighbors—two sets of them. The sisters’ convent is situated in a beautiful, rural area just 20 minutes from Steubenville. Everything is lush and green. It reminds me very much of my home in Vermont.

The chapel is nothing short of stunning. Above the altar, there’s Jesus on the cross, looking very 3D, with streams of blood and water spilling from his side over the rocks below, and Mary is kneeling at the foot of the cross. Above this scene, a round stained-glass window depicts the strong hands of God the Father reaching down and releasing the Holy Spirit into the world.

I love that VatiGod is being referenced here; you almost never see that in a church. Due to the fact that the chapel is on top of a hill, the tall, clear windows to the left and right of the altar show only blue sky and puffy clouds. The visual effect is incredible: It looks and feels like we’re already in Heaven.

Father J. from Pittsburgh—a lively, middle-aged priest with a great sense of humor—is giving one of the best homilies I’ve ever heard. He talks about the rich man and Lazarus the beggar, and how we become too comfortable in our sin.

To illustrate his point, he tells the story how after having served as a priest for maybe a decade, he went to Confession one day and his confessor, after being quiet for a long time, said only three words, “Bury the bachelor.”

He says that simple sentence shocked him to the core and transformed his life. Until then, he explains, he had kind of lived the life of a happy bachelor. Suddenly, he had to come to grips with the fact that “I was still making it all about myself instead of Jesus.”

It really drives home the point how we can become “okay” with what you could call a baseline of sin… especially if we never commit any grave infractions. Thank you for this lesson, VatiGod. Another important thing to think about.

[* The word “VatiGod” is a term of endearment I came up with. “Vati” (pronounced “fuh-tee”) is German for “Daddy.”]