Southern Catholic: 2004

11/03/2004

Grandma's Pinch

It was the nonverbal equivalent of a stern statement..."Pay attention!"

Election Day

Election Day...the reverend tore open his shirt to bear the scar of the letter he had branded into his chest...

11/01/2004

Walker Percy...a writer with Spirit

I have to believe that the Holy Spirit is also present in/on the internet. A while back, I was looking for some literary references to things I was preparing for one of my religion classes. One hit led to another and I found myself looking at material written by the man I had heard so many things about in my youth, a man of the old south who grew up learning about life from his uncle and spending early days along the levees of the Mississippi River. He ended up living down here in Lousisiana and saw many of the things that I see.

Something for Cameron

Yesterday we watched "Wide Awake," a movie about a young boy searching for God.

Grandma's Cast Iron Pot

her hands were upon the pot...she nurtured us with her loving skill at the stove

10/30/2004

Write, Even the Little Things

I told my 10th grade group that they should write even the small stuff (in their journals).

Elijah looked for God on the mountaintop.
God was not in the roaring wind.
God was not in the raging rain.
God wasn’t in the thunder.
God was in the quiet of the evening.

Just like at Little Hole, or Flaming Gorge Overlook, or Sheep Creek Canyon.

Ah Nee Mah

The Holy Spirit doesn't need to shout.

10/29/2004

Creed

There was an old radio show..."This, I believe." Don't remember hearing it, read about it in some of Walker Percy's works.

My creed, our creed, is what we believe. Set down in writing like someone's long ago sonnet. Not a sonnet of love to wife or spouse, but a statement of love to the one that is the reason for all love.

Apostles' Creed.
Nicene Creed.
Slightly different, but mostly the same...rearrange words but the beliefs are the same and the credo is our ism.

What am I?
Exactly what me creed says I am.

10/26/2004

Capital Punishment

There have been times when I said I would volunteer to pull the switch. There were some people that I thought were a waste of good air.

I have seen many good people die. I wondered why someone that is so good, so full of goodness, so loved by others, could die so quickly, so violently, so unnecessarily, and at the same time, see walking around people who are so evil, so full of terror and hate.

The switch has become my feelings about capital punishment. I see little reason for continuing the practice. My change has not come so much from feelings for the criminal, but for the families of the victims. To see good people who are in so much obvious grief, cry for the death of another, as if that will bring relief. I don't want to see a good family asking for the death of anyone. If the option is not there, they will not beg for relief by dinging their souls.

I don't know what I would hope for if it was my family that was injured. Make me put on my seatbelt and spare me from hurting myself more. Tell me that I need to grieve in my own heart and my own way. Let some other take up the ax of punishment. Tell me to look for answers that will bring me peace.

"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace"

Huckleberry Finn

Huck, Jim and me. Each of us journeyed down the river. Each of us found adventure. Each of us found a new place. Each of us found ourselves.

 2004 by Ancil3

9/25/2004

Meet Me at The River

The whole congregation was walking toward the river. They crossed the levee and marched down to the water. The elders had roped off part of the water for the ceremony. The First Ebinezer Full Holy Gospel Church was having a baptism.
Me and Bubba rode our bikes up to the front to watch the goings on. They were gonna have a baptism and me and Bubba were going to have some entertainment.
Most of the congregation and all of the communicants were dressed in white robes and carrying crosses. The preacher took them by the back of the neck and placed his other hand over their mouth and nose. He tilted them backwards and held them under until they saw the Holy Ghost.
I swam in that muddy water before. The Mississippi River is as thick as Friday night gumbo and I could never see anything in that water. They waded in with fear on their faces. They walked out withe the Holy Spirit in the hearts and souls, and peace on their faces. Something happened below those waters.