by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on September 29, 2010 · 9 comments
. . . The feast was originally called Michaelmas meaning, “The Mass of St. Michael.” The great prayer to Saint Michael, however, is
relatively new. It was penned on October 13, 1884, by Pope
Leo XIII after a terrifying vision of Saint Michael’s battle
with Satan. . . It’s an important prayer for the Church, especially now. I asked Suzanne to place a permanent image of Saint Michael on These Stone Walls as well.
I know the enemies of
the Church lurk here, too. There are some who come here not
for understanding, or the truth, but for ammunition. . . . I once scoffed at the notion
that evil surrounds us, but I have seen it. I think every
person falsely accused has seen it. . . .
. . . Remember when I wrote last week that I don’t swear unless I’m quoting someone? I’m not exactly sure who I was quoting, but out it came! Ninety-nine percent of every day in here is so filled with noise that I can’t hear myself think. It was just my luck that my single moment of foul outburst occurred during the sole moment of silence of the entire day in this cavernous place. Over the next hour, I heard a litany of “Fifty cents!” “Fifty cents!” as prisoners came by to gloat. My confessor is planning a visit next week. Good timing! Father Fred is retired in New York City, and drives ten hours round trip every couple of months to touch base with me and hear of my flaws. Fred has been driving up here for over fifteen years. He spends most of his time in retirement writing to priests in prison. I hate losing patience, but it’s what I seem to do best. I’m trying hard not to add to the list between now and Fred’s visit. The Sacrament of Reconciliation has always been painful and humbling for me, but very necessary. For that reason I have always been sympathetic to how painful and humbling it is for others, and always tried to make it less so. . . .
by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on February 17, 2010 · 13 comments
. . . I am not at all spared anxiety in prison, and the place where it most manifests itself is in dreams. I have very vivid dreams since I have been in prison, and they have not abated over the years. I have two recurring dreams that are haunting and clear displays of my own anxiety. They make some nights more… well … Lenten than others. I have had each of them in one form or another many, many times.
In one of the dreams, I am about to celebrate Mass in a church. As I begin the Mass, the people in the congregation become hostile. They brandish newspapers and begin to shout as I start the Eucharistic Prayer. Sometimes they are just a crowd of silent, angry, condemning eyes. Sometimes they stand en masse and turn their backs on me. Every version is painful, but I must proceed with the Mass. When the time comes, no one will take the Body of Christ from my hands. . . .
