Corpus Christi. Mystery. Corpus Christi.

     Corpus Christi Sunday is celebrated in the Catholic Church today--the body and blood of Christ.
     I feel truly blessed by the faith community I celebrate Mass with each Sunday.  We are more than a physical structure....more than a scheduled time each week.....more than rote recitation of words....more than obedient people...more than repeated rituals shared each week....
     We are faith-filled.  We do celebrate.  We do celebrate.  We do celebrate Mass.  We do gather each Sunday. We do have a physical structure where we meet each week.  We do recite words we have heard many times.  We strive to obey--our prayerful, communal conscience, if not always that which other deem worthy of obedience.
     I confess.  I am drawn most to the Word when I enter the experience of Mass.  Throughout all aspects of my life, since I was a child, I felt most drawn to words.  Today's celebration of Corpus Christi drew me beyond the words into the experience of the celebration.  Words were the invitation to which I responded today.
    "Lent is a time when we empty our guilt, so as to enter into the fullness of the celebration of Easter."  Those were the homilist's words that spoke to my ears.  Quickly, I grabbed my pen to capture that essence.  All too familiar with the tipping of my mental wheelbarrow of short-term memory, my pen was the savior I sought.  My pen is the tool I grasp hold of to nail moments of grace to my long-term memory.
     Yet, in that moment, I was struck by the sin of squashing grace, or being so arrogant as to think I could preserve that moment for posterity.  Putting my pen away, trusting that what I need to remember I will remember, freed me to be graced by so much more.
    The four music ministers led us in singing liturgical music of celebration.  Guitar.  Piano.  Drums.  Four-part harmony.  Many times, I have seen the faces, heard the words, and the music.  Yet, this morning, I was graced with mystery.  Hearing--truly hearing--the four different parts--soprano, alto, tenor, and bass--of the musicians led me to mystery of wonderment.
     How is it that four individuals open their mouths and produce four different notes that produce such harmony?  Science may explain it, yet, it does not explain the wonder of the moment--the mystery of the experience.
    Spontaneous signing of Mass music by a woman, who lives with Asperger's Syndrome, was shown to my eyes.  No hearing impairment.  No rote recitation of words.  A simple expression of the words coming to her ears.  A personal response in tune with the singing voices of others.
    I have served as a minister of Word--as a lector.  I have served as a music minister,  though both were many years ago.  I have never served as a Eucharistic minister.
    This morning, the choreography of the Eucharist--the celebration of our human tapestry of gifts--was given to me.  I emptied myself of the words, and my eyes were opened to the diverse gifts of our faith community.  Our individual gifts stream to the front of the sanctuary to the hands of our priest, and his ministers of bread and wine.
    Corpus Christi.  Mystery.  Faith.  Body.  Blood.  Grace.  Word.  Music.  Corpus Christi.

Grasping Gabrielle Giffords' Memory

     I, as many, have been drawn to the shooting of twenty individuals--the killing of six.  Others are well-equipped to address the motives, proper criminal adjudication, appropriate legislation to enact.  I am responsible to communicate my beliefs to my Senators, and Representative.
     Yet, for now, my attention is stuck on the brain injury of Gabrielle Giffords.  As I understand it, the bullet went through the left hemisphere of her brain, and came out the other side.  My interest is not academic.  No, I have never been struck in the head by a bullet.  No, I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on television.
      My interest in Gabrielle Giffords' current condition, and the future impact of her brain injury, rests in my experience being born with cerebral palsy.  My umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck five times at birth, which caused the oxygen supply to the left part of my brain to be cut off for several seconds.  I remember those facts better than any fact entrusted to me in my 50 years of living.
     Speech loss, and difficulty regurgitating what has been spoken to you, has been mentioned a number of times.  Though feared at my birth--rarely, not always, but rarely--am I at a loss for words.  Yet, when it comes to retaining what has been spoken to me, that is another story.  I do not have a proclivity for the sciences, but, I do have a deep fascination with--appreciation of--the interworkings of the brain.  They are truly miraculous.
     I remember an imbalance of anticonvulsants left me coherent in my written communication, and understanding, yet, wholly without short-term memory for three weeks.   I was an outsider to the human thought process.  I recognized people I knew, I remembered their names.
    Yet, spoken words, and instructions were beyond my grasp--they floated by as a kite on a March day.  I was frightened that my short-term memory would never be returned to me, as if it was My Possession to keep.
    My short-term memory never has been my best of friends.  Yet, she and I are coming to an understanding. If I listen, she will tell me when she may no longer serve me.  She and Intuition have formed a partnership.  Both commit themselves to serve me--to serve the sharing of my person each day.
    May Gabrielle Giffords be given the service of her brain--her speech, her short-term memory, all of the amazing gifts of her brain.  May no pressure be added to her brain as to what her future may be--may allow.  Only God knows what she--what any of us--may do a moment from now, much less a day, week, month, year or more from now.  An accident, or an injury deceives us into thinking that anticipating the future is possible to accomplish.
       May we live each day, not for what it might be, but, for what it is.  May we find some appreciation of the "is" that is beneath what we hope it "might be," as if it were ours to dictate.  May we be given the hope, and the strength to seek what "might be" without being embittered to what "is."
      God grant me hope.  God grant me strength.  God grant me laughter.  Thank God for the Written Word.

The Velcro Principle

     Before today I have not had the courage to express a long-held curiosity.  Are brain damage, short-term memory loss, intuition, and trust connected?  May intuition and trust be nurtured as agents to mitigate short-term memory loss caused by brain damage?
     I preface my reflections with a caveat.  First, at birth--my umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck five times.  Oxygen was deprived from the left side of my brain, which controls the right side of my body--my right hand, arm, and leg.  That brain damage manifests itself in cerebral palsy, and epilepsy.
     I have known no other way of living.  I pray my questions are not excuses for my actions.
     With that said, I have a responsibility to express questions that may not arise as the result of clinical research, the practice of  medicine, or of auxiliary sciences.  I respect the contributions of all three.  Yet, these are not--may not be--the sole arbiters to living more fully.
     Short-term memory.  The Velcro Principle applies.  If there is any hope of saving what soon will be lost, I must stick to the Velcro Principle.
     The Velcro Principle?  The process of writing down the information is vital.  Participating in the adherence of information to my brain is essential.  Reading the information in writing is the next best solution.
     These two solutions are not mine alone, not by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, they are my starting points.
    Intuition.  Trust.
    Intuition?  That unspoken warning that screams out to my ears alone, "This information will be lost to you soon.  Act.  Act now.  Capture this information--act--before it floats beyond your memory's grasp."
    Trust?  "Should I act?  I should be able to remember this information longer.  Others do."
    Trust?  "I know that this information will float away as clearly as a kite in the springtime sky."
    The kiss of death?  "Don't worry about writing this down.  I will give this to you in writing," others tell me.
    The kiss of death.  I hear my voice, "If I do not write now, this information will be lost to me.  I must attach it to my brain with a secure piece of Velcro.  I must adhere to the Velcro Principle."
    "OK," I say obediently to the others.  My voice whispers, "It is OK to stop listening.  But, you know, you are doomed to forgetting, if you stop listening.  Yet, I must obey the others."
     By misplacing my trust from me to others, am I damaging the treasure of intuition that has been given to me?  If I displace my trust of others and replace it into my own hands, could I retrieve the short-term memory lost to me?  Am I disabling myself  by not making use of what has been given to me?  How do I reclaim my gifts without being defensive--without repelling other individuals, who have been given to me in my life?  How do I explain the Velcro Principle?  How do I adhere to the Velcro Principle?