News
God
Faith
Nature
The diaconate retreat this past weekend was incredible! It took place at an abbey built by Benedictine monks back in the 1950's. You can see a full video tour here so I didn't bother taking pictures of things they do much better on their website.
But nonetheless, here was my room! Click on any of the pictures in this post for full-sized originals:
The whole place still had a lot of original, or very old, fixtures and things which I loved. Even the little fan in my room was clearly from the 1970s based on its style. The showers were communal, and had this very old looking pale green floor tile. Each stall had two shower curtains, so you could get undressed without anyone seeing you.
The first morning, I struggled to get warm water out of the shower head. I looked at the brand, and it was literally the original fixture from the 1950s. It said: Hydapipe "64". And yes, the "64" was in quotes, haha, boy did I get a good laugh out of that. Was it an N64 game, or a Phantasy Star reference, or both? And why was it "hyding" the warm water from me?
Lining the hallway were some amazing paintings. The first one below is, subjectively, probably the coolest painting I've ever seen-- but the others are neat as well:
A video game like Streets of Rage 2 transcends the medium, because while it has amazing art, music, and gameplay, put together it's also making an expression which is even greater than the sum of its parts. That's what I think about those paintings above. They aren't just well done, like "Gee that's a really nice mountain you've got there"; while that's undoubtedly true, the works as wholes go way beyond that.
The third and final shot below shows outdoor Stations of the Cross via these trails they cut through a nearby copse of trees. One of a million significant moments of this retreat for me came from the deacon who led us through this path: he put so much emotion into the prayers that at the thirteenth station, when Mary holds Jesus's body in her arms, he was completely moved to tears and had to frequently pause to collect himself.
Liturgy of the Hours provides such a nice cadence to communal life, now I understand why monastic communities use it: off on our own, waking up, but then gathering together as what felt like a brotherhood for morning prayer; then off on our own, but coming together again to pray and eat breakfast, or lunch; then off on our own, but all together again for evening prayer; and so forth.
From the minute we new guys walked in the door until the minute we left, all the other men had taken us under our wings. I had so many special interactions, so many beautiful conversations, I was telling Ellyn last night that I didn't even know where to start in explaining all of it.
But one I do want to mention here specifically for the people at my church who read this blog: I've received such an unbelievable amount of support, joy, and affirmation from all of you; God bless you all for that! Part of the reason for the excitement is because we are all one big family, and as family we celebrate each other's blessings.
An equally if not even larger aspect of the excitement though has nothing to do with me specifically: rather, it has to do with the legacy of who I suppose one could call my predecessor!
Our church hasn't had a "regular", "here every single weekend" permanent deacon in many years-- so people are hoping and praying that I can help bring that aspect back! We have had my wonderful deacon mentor, Tony, there to help bridge that gap which is a real blessing-- but like many deacons, he is very much divided between our multiple churchs. Mathematically, we simply need more deacons to go around.
But back to the story: there was a deacon at this retreat who looked so familiar-- I kept looking at him, and I felt like I'd seen him a hundred times before; I was right on the cusp, but couldn't quite grasp how I knew him. Finally, on the second day of the retreat, it dawned on me. In excitement, I sent an SMS message to my good friend Dennis, who knows just about everything about the history of our church:
"Dennis, what was the name of the last permanent deacon we had?" Within minutes Dennis replied, with pictures. And then I remembered: "the picture of Fr. Mark's first Mass, in the basement." The deacon was in that photograph.
This particular man had to partially retire early due to the onset of a significant health disability, so I wasn't sure when I would see him next at the retreat. I prayed to the Lord: "Please let me come into contact with him, I want to talk to him." I left my room, went down the stairs-- and within seconds there he was, right on cue; Deacon Stan.
I immediately followed him into the church for morning prayer, sat down next to him, and had a wonderful conversation with him. He affirmed to me how beautiful his time was there, how wonderful you all are, and that he misses you!
But nonetheless, here was my room! Click on any of the pictures in this post for full-sized originals:
The whole place still had a lot of original, or very old, fixtures and things which I loved. Even the little fan in my room was clearly from the 1970s based on its style. The showers were communal, and had this very old looking pale green floor tile. Each stall had two shower curtains, so you could get undressed without anyone seeing you.
The first morning, I struggled to get warm water out of the shower head. I looked at the brand, and it was literally the original fixture from the 1950s. It said: Hydapipe "64". And yes, the "64" was in quotes, haha, boy did I get a good laugh out of that. Was it an N64 game, or a Phantasy Star reference, or both? And why was it "hyding" the warm water from me?
Lining the hallway were some amazing paintings. The first one below is, subjectively, probably the coolest painting I've ever seen-- but the others are neat as well:
A video game like Streets of Rage 2 transcends the medium, because while it has amazing art, music, and gameplay, put together it's also making an expression which is even greater than the sum of its parts. That's what I think about those paintings above. They aren't just well done, like "Gee that's a really nice mountain you've got there"; while that's undoubtedly true, the works as wholes go way beyond that.
The third and final shot below shows outdoor Stations of the Cross via these trails they cut through a nearby copse of trees. One of a million significant moments of this retreat for me came from the deacon who led us through this path: he put so much emotion into the prayers that at the thirteenth station, when Mary holds Jesus's body in her arms, he was completely moved to tears and had to frequently pause to collect himself.
Liturgy of the Hours provides such a nice cadence to communal life, now I understand why monastic communities use it: off on our own, waking up, but then gathering together as what felt like a brotherhood for morning prayer; then off on our own, but coming together again to pray and eat breakfast, or lunch; then off on our own, but all together again for evening prayer; and so forth.
From the minute we new guys walked in the door until the minute we left, all the other men had taken us under our wings. I had so many special interactions, so many beautiful conversations, I was telling Ellyn last night that I didn't even know where to start in explaining all of it.
But one I do want to mention here specifically for the people at my church who read this blog: I've received such an unbelievable amount of support, joy, and affirmation from all of you; God bless you all for that! Part of the reason for the excitement is because we are all one big family, and as family we celebrate each other's blessings.
An equally if not even larger aspect of the excitement though has nothing to do with me specifically: rather, it has to do with the legacy of who I suppose one could call my predecessor!
Our church hasn't had a "regular", "here every single weekend" permanent deacon in many years-- so people are hoping and praying that I can help bring that aspect back! We have had my wonderful deacon mentor, Tony, there to help bridge that gap which is a real blessing-- but like many deacons, he is very much divided between our multiple churchs. Mathematically, we simply need more deacons to go around.
But back to the story: there was a deacon at this retreat who looked so familiar-- I kept looking at him, and I felt like I'd seen him a hundred times before; I was right on the cusp, but couldn't quite grasp how I knew him. Finally, on the second day of the retreat, it dawned on me. In excitement, I sent an SMS message to my good friend Dennis, who knows just about everything about the history of our church:
"Dennis, what was the name of the last permanent deacon we had?" Within minutes Dennis replied, with pictures. And then I remembered: "the picture of Fr. Mark's first Mass, in the basement." The deacon was in that photograph.
This particular man had to partially retire early due to the onset of a significant health disability, so I wasn't sure when I would see him next at the retreat. I prayed to the Lord: "Please let me come into contact with him, I want to talk to him." I left my room, went down the stairs-- and within seconds there he was, right on cue; Deacon Stan.
I immediately followed him into the church for morning prayer, sat down next to him, and had a wonderful conversation with him. He affirmed to me how beautiful his time was there, how wonderful you all are, and that he misses you!