I wonder if this happens to other folks. It doesn't happen all the time, but it happens enough for me to take notice. Sometimes, when I pray/meditate the Rosary, I get sudden flashes of insight.
Now perhaps there's a psychological explanation for all this; or maybe a spiritual one. I want to be clear that I make no claims as to the source of the inspirations. It could be my genius showing through (hee hee, yeah, right), or maybe a deposit of the Holy Spirit (oh sweet vanity), or might just mean I'm due for a nice padded room with a warm straitjacket.
I've forgotten most of them, and I'm sure I've had a few repeats, although I've been just as tickled as if each time were the first.
A few months ago, I told someone that I've a long commute to and from work (an hour each way). She suggested that I pray the Rosary while driving. I really wasn't warm to the idea, since it seemed to be a distraction. But a little thought reminded me that it's the day dreaming that would be distracted (yep, I largely drive on automatic, except when the traffic is bad, at which point an hour commute becomes extremely tiring). And a little desperation creeped in. As I've already admitted in the previous post, I had bitten off a little more than I could chew. I needed to make up time. So I began, hesitantly, to pray while driving. But after about a week, it became second nature. As time progressed, I found it easier to meditate on the mysteries while driving. I was pretty impressed with the amount of tasks I could accomplish at once: pray, meditate, drive, check the rear view, change lanes, think about the grocery list and solve a problem at work. Multitasking computers?! Pfft!
Today while driving, and meditating on the mystery of the wedding at Cana, it came to me that the transformation of water into wine, the miracle of the loaves and all those other miracles, impressive though they may be, aren't as impressive as Jesus's transformation of souls, the liberation from the slavery of sin. Of course, the thought was immediately followed by "Hey the mystery of the institution of the Eucharist is coming up." And yes, the transformation of the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of our Lord, is pretty impressive, but somehow to me, it seems that this last is really in a class of its own.
Other little epiphany of the Rosary is a nugget of evidence that St. Luke interviewed the Blessed Virgin Mary for his Gospel. The late Father Raymond Brown seemed to have thought that Luke made up the Magnificat by borrowing from the Old Testament. It's another reason why I immediately viewed the work of Father Brown with suspicion. I'd like to explore and develop this idea of St. Luke's interview of Mary someday. Maybe, I'll take on Father Brown.
Well, these are the sorts of things that just pop into my mind.
And then there's the little epiphany of the Rosary which is the reason why I dared to publish this post. It has to do with The Passion of the Christ, there is one scene which came to convince me that Mel Gibson understood. He gets It. It's the scene the Blessed Virgin and Mary Magdalene are mopping up the Blood of Jesus after the scourging at the pillar. Mary Magdalene has the flashback as the woman that the Pharisees caught in adultery (Gibson apparently took some artistic license playing off of the legend of Magdalene as prostitute). It is there, that I saw that Mel understood.
But the explanation of Mel's interpretation of John 8 will have to wait. It will appear in another post. Soon. I promise.
Well, I was supposed to keep blogging during this past Lent, but I seem to have this failing "of biting off more than I can chew." I got more not done, than items accomplished. Let's just say things did not go according to my plans. It was a great success. So in the grand tradition of essays assigned to high school students returning from summer vacation, I shall attempt to explain what I did during Lent.
I spent some time attending Bible study. That is, I attended until a priest tried to explain, contrary to the reports in the synoptic Gospels, that Jesus didn't actually make any statement about blasphemy against the Holy Spirit as determined by the leading biblical scholars of our times. I complained. It was tense, but it remained civil (he did apologize). It was during this time that I became acquainted with the late Father Raymond Brown. I'm not a fan of his, to put it kindly, and perhaps I will someday post an essay describing the limitations of biblical scholarship and its ability to inform the faith.
I joined Birthright. I'm told that I'm the first male to join the local chapter. It's really too early to for me to make any comments other than: it's a David against the Planned Parenthood Goliath. Here's to hope that the stories turn out the same.
I read quite a few books: two by Chesterton (The Man Who Was Thursday and The Napoleon of Notting Hill), one by Dave Armstrong (A Biblical Defense of Catholicism), one by Pope John Paul II (Gift and Mystery), and one by Bishop Fulton Sheen (Lift Up Your Hearts). It's been quite a while since I've read at that pace.
I made a point of attending daily Mass during Lent. Because one of the altar servers was having hip problems (and the flu), I found myself volunteering to fill in. As a 43 year-old, I substantially lowered the age of altar servers in the daily Mass rotation (hint: I'm a young rookie). While I was doing that, an intelligent coordinator of the lector schedule decided to strike while I was in a volunteering mood. I found myself pulling a few extra readings for Mass (and including a reading during the Triduum, when I also got my feet washed).
And it snowed. A lot. Well too much for me at least. It was during the battle over biblical scholarship that as I was walking to church on Sunday for Eucharistic adoration during an exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, I noted two snowflakes swirling down together from gray skies. It was a lone pair dancing in the wind. And with a gust of wind, one of the snowflakes landed on the tip of my nose. I snickered. God has a sense of humor. An hour later, as I was walking back, the flurries had increased, with the snow coming down in great spirals. I felt like a kid. I loved it.
And during this Lenten season, I largely turned off the distractions of television and the Internet. I fasted. My prayers increased. I found an increased devotion to the Blessed Virgin through the Rosary, and in parallel, I found an increased attachment to her Son. I was motivated by the colorful preaching of Father Corapi (about 25 hours worth of DVD, and another 40 to go).
And Easter finally came. I rejoiced. I attended the early morning Mass with my parents, and after Mass I returned to my parents' house where I enjoyed pancakes with homemade maple syrup, made from the two maple trees in the front yard. My sister and her family came later for Easter dinner.
Late that afternoon, after I returned to my apartment, before a much needed nap, I thought, "Now, what?" In what might seem to be paradox, while still feeling the joy of Easter, I felt a tinge of regret that Lent was over. That's my measure of success.
Peace be with you.