Holy Week and Easter: A Time of Conversions.



Thoughts on Passion Sunday.
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When I returned to the Church in 1972, it was during the Easter season - But I can't recall at what point - sometime between Easter and Pentecost. My actual conversion took place earlier - again, I cannot recall the dates. It was a momentous event however.
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The very first thing I did was throw out the drugs. I flushed speed, acid, mescaline and marijuana down the toilet - and I never went through any type of withdrawal - which in itself was a miracle since I practically lived on speed.
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Just as soon as Our Lord revealed to me his real presence in the Eucharist, I began to attend daily Mass and spend as much time as possible before the Blessed Sacrament. In a very short time - one or two days at the most, the Holy Spirit tangibly convicted me and forcibly compelled me to go to confession. The convicting was terrible and fearful, and the grace of confession awesome - in the most sublime sense of that word. The graces were so intense the only explanation a spiritual director was ever able to come up with was that, "Our Lord probably wanted to reveal himself in a manner greater than any experience I ever had on drugs."
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In those early days of my conversion - maybe for the first couple of years - I think I was entirely focused upon Jesus. I didn't care what friends thought of my conversion or devotion; I hid nothing, I read a little Bible and Imitation of Christ, which I carried everywhere. I stopped going to the bar, and eventually my former acquaintances distanced themselves from me because I was no longer using or nightclubbing. I didn't think I had changed that much. I kept my long hair, lived in my jeans, rode my bike, continued to play my music, smoked my cigarettes, drank some beer, and so on.


I'd go to Mass, unconscious that I still looked like a hippie, and before and after Mass, I spent a lot of time praying the rosary or reading my two books. I never paid much attention that the Mass was in English - I was focused upon Jesus, happy to understand the prayers. I could barely contain myself when we were permitted to receive Communion in the hand, and drink from the cup of his Precious Blood. I never once felt out of place or self-conscious because of my long hair, patched jeans, t-shirts and dark glasses. In fact, I rarely noticed other people, much less what they were wearing at Mass. Neither did I pay much attention to the priest, unless he happened to be a gifted preacher - especially if he spoke about the interior life and prayer. For sure I never cared if he wore a collar or was dressed casually outside of Mass.
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Nothing really mattered to me except Jesus present in the Eucharist. Somehow, I had become very simple, uncomplicated, and unsophisticated; perhaps like the poor and simple who greeted Jesus as he entered Jerusalem, riding on an ass... the humble welcoming the Humble.
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I need to go back to that. I need to return to my early love. I need to return to him, outside the camp, bearing the insult which he bore.


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Art: St. Thomas. Why did he consider his work to be straw, compared to what he learned from the Book of Jesus Crucified? The highest theology, the full revelation of the Divinity is accessible in the Book of Jesus Crucified.
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Photo: Me watching my friend sip from a fountain, the summer of my conversion - I wore sandals to be "discalced" like the Carmelites. LOL!



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