A new version of an old standby, Nella Fantasia, by Ennio Morricone from the movie, The Mission.
Lyrics in Italian and English available here.
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A 10-year-old boy decided to study judo despite the fact that he had lost his left arm in a devastating car accident.
The boy began lessons with an old Japanese judo master. The boy was doing well, so he couldn’t understand why, after three months of training the master had taught him only one move.
“Sensei,” (Teacher in Japanese) the boy finally said, “Shouldn’t I be learning more moves?” “This is the only move you know, but this is the only move you’ll ever need to know,” the sensei replied.
Not quite understanding, but believing in his teacher, the boy kept training. Several months later, the sensei took the boy to his first tournament.
Surprising himself, the boy easily won his first two matches. The third match proved to be more difficult, but after some time, his opponent became impatient and charged; the boy deftly used his one move to win the match. Still amazed by his success, the boy was now in the finals.
This time, his opponent was bigger, stronger, and more experienced. For a while, the boy appeared to be overmatched. Concerned that the boy might get hurt, the referee called a time-out.
He was about to stop the match when the sensei intervened. “No,” the sensei insisted, “Let him continue.” Soon after the match resumed, his opponent made a critical mistake: he dropped his guard. Instantly, the boy used his move to pin him. The boy had won the match and the tournament.
He was the champion. On the way home, the boy and sensei reviewed every move in each and every match. Then the boy summoned the courage to ask what was really on his mind.
“Sensei, how did I win the tournament with only one move?”
“You won for two reasons,” the sensei answered. “First, you’ve almost mastered one of the most difficult throws in all of judo. And second, the only known defense for that move is for your opponent to grab your left arm.”
The boy’s biggest weakness had become his biggest strength.
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Ignatian Spirituality wants us to be grateful and, in our gratitude, to become “people for others.”
I recently read an article about Scientology which pointed out that it is largely about “self help.” The work adherents do to get “clear” seems to be all about the self. Ignatian Spirituality couldn’t be more different.
Ignatian Spirituality is built upon a “virtuous circle.” We reflect on all the things we’re grateful for and that reflection which leads us to gratitude hopefully also leads us to service.
When we volunteer or serve in some way, we find ourselves reflecting on the situation. The reflection leads us back to gratitude and again to service and we have our “virtuous circle.”
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This is the opening from a marvelous piece by Tom McGrath in our Seasons magazine:
“I can’t remember how the topic came up. ‘Now you’ve done it,’ my mother joked with one of her four grown children, ‘you’re out of the will.’ We laughed with Mom and Dad about how that probably meant another forty-three bucks for the rest of us to split.
Then my sister, Peg, got serious for a moment and said, ‘The only thing I want when Mom and Dad die is the Prayer of St. Francis print.’ Without missing a beat, my two brothers and I blurted out, ‘No, that’s MINE!’
The most valuable thing in our home growing up (and later in Mom and Dad’s downsized condo) was a nicely framed calligraphic print of the prayer attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, ‘Lord, make me an instrument of your peace…’ And, apparently, it meant a lot to all of us. But after a brief tense moment, we softened. We realized that the inheritance had already been given, that the legacy was already ours. We already had that prayer written in our hearts.
Is there anything like that in your home? Is there any evidence of your most deeply held beliefs displayed on your walls or on a bookshelf? If a stranger visited your home, would he or she know you were a follower of Jesus?”
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In Recipe for Joy, Robin Davis has written a candid and unsparing memoir about her transition from glamorous San Francisco-based restaurant critic to an Ohio-based stepmother of three.
In this extract, Robin recounts how she told her children about her “major depressive episode”:
There was one more thing I had to do. “You need to tell Ben, Molly, and Sarah,” she said.
“Tell them I’m depressed?”
“Be honest with them,” she said. “Ken was always honest with them about their mother’s illness. You’ve both been honest with them about your relationship. Now it’s time to be honest with them about you.”
After dinner one night, I asked them to stay around the table. “I want to tell you something.” I took a deep breath and started on the part I had practiced. “When Josh was a baby, I used to tell him all the time when I watched him, when I changed his diaper, ‘Be nice to me, Josh. Your Aunt Robin doesn’t really know what she’s doing.’”
I looked around at my three stepchildren. “I don’t really know what I’m doing with you guys, either,” I said. “I’ve been trying hard to be perfect—whatever that means—and I haven’t been doing a very good job. I’ve become really sad. So I’ve been seeing a kind of doctor. The doctor says I’m depressed. Have you heard that word before?”
They nodded. “Is that why you cry?” Sarah asked.
“It is. And I want you to know that it’s not you, none of you. I just haven’t been really sure what it is I’m supposed to be doing, and I became convinced I wasn’t doing it right. But I’m working on it, OK? And I believe I’ll get better.”
Ben looked relieved. He smiled at me. “What can we do?”
Tears welled up in my eyes. Such a big heart, this boy. “Nothing,” I told him. “Just be you. And pray for me.”
The kids went off to do their homework, and I sat at the table and looked at Ken. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“About a hundred pounds lighter.”
“They don’t expect you to be perfect. They love you just the way you are.”
And I knew, maybe for the first time, that it was true. But it wasn’t just a flip of a switch: click, I was better. I still struggled often with my role, sometimes losing sight of who I was trying to be and who I actually was. [pp.91-92]
I love Robin’s honesty and willingness to be vulnerable.
Today, Recipe for Joy is featured on Grace Before Meals, a website dedicated to bringing families back to the dinner table. Visit their site to get Robin’s roasted beef tenderloin recipe. Bon Appetit!
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I was recently introduced to this song by a dear friend who is, in turn, a close friend of the Irish singer, Eamon Keane.
It is sad and very beautiful.
The following is from his website:
Eamon wrote Hang The Moon after his father died suddenly. They hadn’t spoken for a year, prompting a song about regret and things left unsaid. It also, though, about the unspoken love that lays underneath:
“I know the tears you keep inside,
I see the scars you try to hide,
And just because I don’t call your name,
Doesn’t mean that I don’t know your pain”
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This parable is told of a farmer who owned an old mule. The mule fell into the farmer’s well. The farmer heard the mule praying or whatever mules do when they fall into wells.
After carefully assessing the situation, the farmer sympathized with the mule, but decided that neither the mule nor the well was worth the trouble of saving. Instead, he called his neighbors together, told them what had happened, and enlisted them to help haul dirt to bury the old mule in the well and put him out of his misery.
Initially the old mule was hysterical! But as the farmer and his neighbors continued shoveling and the dirt hit his back, a thought struck him. It suddenly dawned on him that every time a shovel load of dirt landed on his back, he would shake it off and step up!
This he did, blow after blow. “Shake it off and step up…shake it off and step up…shake it off and step up!” He repeated to encourage himself. No matter how painful the blows, or how distressing the situation seemed, the old mule fought panic and just kept right on shaking it off and stepping up!
It wasn’t long before the old mule, battered and exhausted, stepped triumphantly over the wall of that well! What seemed like it would bury him actually helped him . . . all because of the manner in which he handled his adversity.
Source [Slightly adapted]
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Ignatian Spirituality profoundly reverences each person as she or he is.
Ignatian Spirituality honors and sustains the desire for a deeper friendship with God. It encourages; it gives witness; it cares about your friendship with God.
It respects each person as she or he is doesn’t expect people to be already sorted out. Famously “going in their door,” it reverences each person and accepts people wherever they are on their spiritual journeys.
It encourages people to acknowledge that God loves them, wants to be close to them, has dreams for them and desires to work with and through them.
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As we enter the month of May when Catholics traditionally give special honor to Our Lady, I want to tell you about how I finally (in my late ’50s) came to understand what intercession is all about.
I got a phone call one morning telling me that a member of my community was seriously ill in the hospital. I rushed to his bedside and there found his mother (a retired nurse) and his father (a retired surgeon) at his bedside. As we waited for my friend to go into surgery, his mother explained to me that her son (who had been staying with his parents) was so sick by 4:00 in the morning that they had to bring him to the hospital.
His mother said, “I was so worried. I wanted to talk to an expert and I knew Dr. XX was the man to talk to. But it was 4:00a.m. and I knew he wouldn’t answer his phone… so I called his mother and asked her to have him phone me because I knew he’d answer her call. And he did. And he got back to me at once!”
And, all of a sudden, I understood why it is good to pray to Our Lady and the Saints to intercede for us…
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Let me be clear. I am not going to try any kind of objectivity. Even if he wasn’t a colleague and a friend, I would still rave about this book.
His A Simple Life-Changing Prayer about the Examen is, I believe, going to be a classic of Ignatian Spirituality. Now, he has written another gem, God Finds Us, about his experiences making the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. It’s Jim Manney’s down-to-earth and, frankly, humble approach to the subject that makes him so readable and relevant.
Here’s how he concludes his Preface:
I’m an unabashed fan of the Spiritual Exercises. I think they are very “modern.” They fit the temper of our times well. But they don’t fit the times perfectly; if they did, they wouldn’t be worth the trouble. In fact, they appeal to people who don’t feel completely at home in the world as it is, people who aren’t satisfied with the conventional wisdom, people who are looking for something different. If that’s you, read on.
I do hope you choose to read on…
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