I’m a practicing Catholic. As I write this we are in the middle of Lent. Last week at the church in the country, the gospel revolved around the Samaritan Woman at the well. How she went into town and asked her town folk to come listen to Jesus. I’m rather familiar with the story since Peter, Paul, and Mary had a song Jesus Met The Woman. They are a favorite of mine. The pastor at the church in the country reminds me of the way our religion was practiced in times gone by. Saying the rosary, fasting, set prayers, preparing for Easter were all mentioned.
Today’s gospel revolved around the restoring of sight to the blind man. Today I was at our church in the city. The focus was on the upcoming Parish Mission and Stations of the Cross. The gospel homily reflected modern times. The contrast in the styles of the different homilies caught my attention. Now you are probably wondering why I’m spending time and energy writing about this. If you have read my last thought ramble titled OLDER, you might remember that I wrote about being confused — wondering just what I am supposed to do. Knowing that a message is out there, I just haven’t been able to decipher it. I had surmised that part of it concerns Angels as Playmates, another part concerns the importance of my family. I’m often at the right place, at the right time to share a story: Pap and The Pancake Turner: my father let me know that he was fine when he passed. Or the story of Shanae’s spirit running through our house. Recently I gave a copy of my book Journey With Me to a woman who had lost her only son and was trapped in grief.
My morning reading often refers to being chosen — the question is often asked “Who can I send?” So I’m wondering if I’m the woman at the well. If my thought rambles are meant to share information of life after death with anyone who wanders onto my page. This morning’s gospel: “blind but now I see” is interesting. I know that many years ago I crossed a bridge. I have a better understanding — I know that I’m never alone. I was blind, but now I see. I like that knowledge. My father passed over more than 25 years ago. I’m sure that he is often around. It is interesting how often I meet someone who is dealing with Alzheimer’s in their family. My mother was able to hide the fact that she “helped” me. Looking back, I can see times when I received “help”, especially when my father’s Alzheimer’s intensified. Since I neither see nor hear “my friends in high places” — my experiences might help you to recognize the “help” that you receive.