Your Light Found My Bottle In The Night; Gave Me Second Life. You Found Me Once And For All; I Laid It Down In The Sinking Ground

You woke the morning up
Running off my darkest night
The longest fight I've seen
Here goes a chance I know
Cashing in on all my chips
Let all my ships come fly

These days, a little bit longer than the last
And all of His ways, a little bit stronger than the past
And Your light, found my bottle in the night
Gave me second life, kept me in this fight

And I won't back down
I won't turn around and around
And I won't back down
Doesn't matter what comes crashing down
I'm still gonna stand on solid ground

You found me once and for all
I laid it down in the sinking ground
The hopeless undertow
Singing out the gentle sound
Rattling through my smoking screens
My broken dreams last night

These days, a little bit longer than the last
And all of Your ways, a little bit stronger than the past
And all of Your light, found my bottle in the night
Kept me in this fight and gave me second life

And I won't back down
And I won't turn around and around
And I won't back down
Doesn't matter what comes crashing down
I'm still gonna stand my solid ground 

Hallelujah ripped through my veins
I heard the hammer drop
My blood in the rain
Hallelujah came like a train
When all is lost
All is left to gain

I won't back down

And I won't turn around and around 

And I won't back down

Doesn't matter what comes crashing down

I'm still going to stand my solid

Hallelujah, Hallelujah...

Finding the Peace of Passive Penance by Father Roger J. Scheckel

To understand mortification in...practical terms and how it might be incorporated into the spiritual life of [the faithful] begins with [a] two-fold manifestation: 

suffering that happens to us, what is known as passive mortification, and suffering we allow to happen, known as active mortification. 

Passive mortifications come in various forms, but they are not the sufferings we experience from having sinned, e.g., suffering a hangover after being intoxicated. Rather, they come to us unsolicited, the consequence of living in a world that has fallen from the grace of God. Passive mortifications can be grave, for example, sickness or injury, the death of a loved one, losing one’s employment. For the most part, passive mortifications come to us in smaller and less severe versions such as a difficult boss or co-worker, a spouse who from time to time is insensitive and uncaring or children who are demanding and unappreciative. 

St. Jose Marie Escriva, the founder of the Opus Dei Prelature often pointed out that our daily life and work provide significant opportunities to experience passive mortifications, primarily through petty annoyances like an unexpected change in plans, instruments or tools that fail us, the discomfort caused us by the weather being to hot or cold. When these small crosses are embraced generously and courageously they help us to grow in holiness. 

Pope Paul VI spoke eloquently about carrying these kinds of daily crosses in his March 24, 1967Address: “To carry one’s cross is something great. Great….It means facing up to life courageously, without weakness or meanness. It means that we turn into moral energy those difficulties which will never be lacking in our existence; it means understanding human sorrow; and finally, it means knowing really how to love.” 

To avoid the many crosses that come unsolicited to our lives each day is to avoid the possibility that God makes available to us to become saints.

Ever Ancient Ever New: A Gothic Intellectual's Encounter With The Catholic Church

My friend Rae was gracious enough to share her story with me and I found it to be very beautiful. She has given me permission to post it here and share it with whomever might stumble across it: 

I have always been quite a counterculturalist. Celebrating life off the beaten path, finding my own trends and rejecting the dominant, materialist, fame-obsessed lifestyle. This is the story of a nerdy goth girl who is Catholic...or how I managed to incorporate Catholic into being nerdy goth. Whatever way you want to see it.

I mustn’t get preachy; Lord knows I suck as much as the next person. Yet, I’ve noticed my generation’s preoccupation with money, popularity and gratuitous sexual acts. I never considered sex until I was in college, daring as it sounds, and had dated the guy for a year. After getting my heart smashed into pieces and meeting despair head-on, I experienced my wild phase. Physical satisfaction brought nothing but misery at the end. Regardless of how sexy or powerful I seemed, I was still alone. No matter which boyfriend I had, I still cried myself to sleep. It would be my scholarly interests that rescued me.

In life, I desired to learn many languages. I failed at teaching myself Japanese, aced high-school Spanish then forgot it by lack of use, then vowed one winter in college to learn Latin- because it sounds cool. If one wants to hear Japanese, they head to Beni Hana, if it’s Spanish, drive to southwest Chicago, but to hear Latin, ye shall go to church!
This is where encountering the past helps to realize the future. In a drafty cathedral unable to understand anything the minister said, I found God. He was there, hidden in …hoc est corpus meum and laid bare by those very words. I don’t mean to get weird, but it was amazing. My disdain for mainstream culture, unhappiness with hedonism and ancient longing finally found balance! And anyone who thinks goth and Catholic don’t mix ask yourself: Where does death find such beauty and light engage the darkness more than in the spilt blood of One Saving Victim?

I had always been open to supernatural experiences. I was one of those people who practiced witchcraft and could tell a house was haunted by standing outside of it. Church had never been an experience for me. I grew up going to this church called Christian Hills in a wealthy part of town. No one there related to me and I had no friends not to mention a relationship with God was far from my mind. 

I had only been to two Catholic services before the "awsome Latin Mass" in college. I thought it was kind of strange...all that ritualism and pomp. For some reason it took me a foreign language- or a certain supernatural openess to get it. Masses were boring until I had its meaning explained to me. Like always, I sought to understand..

I knew who Jesus was, I knew he died for our sins but I did not know he came down to be present in every Eucharist!
When I saw that priest lift the wafer and say "hoc est corpus meum" I felt something special was going on. There was a "shininess" to the air. That was the first time I felt...Him!

After leaving the mass I asked my Catholic friend if I could be "half Catholic" and it all was just beginning there.
I am a sensible person, always been. Before I commit myself to anything, I investigate it. I needed knowledge and before I decided to attend any RCIA (Rite of Catholic Initiation for Adults- say it ten times fast) classes, I needed reassurance this was what God wanted me to do. I know you're not supposed to but I asked Him for a sign. He gave me two:

One night, I had a dream about these people singing. They sang about something called "the black hat of the Holy Spirit." That is strange to say the least. I told my Catholic friend (Brad) about this and he was insistent it had some deep meaning. Whatever... The next day, he asked me to go to the church and pray a rosary with him- this would be the third or fourth rosary I've ever said. I knew he liked company so I went. On the way back from the church, walking through an alley, we saw a black hat to the right of us. Not kidding. Brad cried out "The black hat of the Holy Spirit!" It was just too perfect to be a coincidence.

The next Sunday, I went to a night mass with him kind of hoping for a repeat of the Godly feeling. During the opening hymn, watching the procession down the aisle, I suddenly wanted to cry. I had a feeling this was where I would finally be accepted, where I finally belonged. It was an overwhelming, heat and weepiness that came over me and I knew it wasn't normal. Especially for someone like me who barely ever cried. So to RCIA I'd go.

The people there were very inviting (I supposed maybe-coverts got special treatment). I felt so discouraged though because they seemed to have their lives so together...while mine stayed in five hundred pieces. These people were sinners like me, they were struggling, maybe not as bad but still struggling. Some people are very unsure as to switch over religions. I was the type who jumped in remaining ever suspicious that someone would do something wrong...that God would break my heart.

Strange thing was, I couldn't remain that way forever. It was the liturgical season of Lent and for some reason I loved it, going along, not eating meat on Fridays...acting like I was Catholic already. My logical conclusion is that nothing helps more than practice, I wanted to make sure I could handle this commitment and all that came with it. Many times I wanted to tell Brad and the Catholics to leave me alone, not that they bothered me- I bothered me. I thought I'd be too selfish, too impious, too smutty to be a Catholic then reminded myself that a relationship with the Lord required work. That work I would have to do....but with the help of someone greater. 


Easter.

Tall spires,unshakable and made of grey stone.Gilded blue and silver against the setting sun.

Gold and white,the curtains of God’s palace. 

His table made immaculate in order to invite the filthy.

Easter-tide alleluia,lost amongst ecstasy.Parting the darkness with long notes of the Gloria.

Colorless,sanctified water and fragrant chrism.They douse the head in order to give knowledge. 

Knowledge,O happy fault, which makes us saved- and me savable.
Faith, fidelity,be one and the same. Unsurpassed by time.

Cloak my frail humanity in strength.
Divine light,revelation of that, which is greater.Drips and pours over my frame