When Czech and German immigrants came to Texas in the 1800s, many settled in the central part of the state and named their towns after the places theyโd leftโPraha, Schulenburg, Dubina, Fredericksburg. These thriving communities prospered by working hard, helping one another, and praying together.
In an effort to make their new churches feel more like the ancient Gothic structures of their homelands, these early settlers painted the walls, altars, and arches of their simple wooden sanctuaries in colorful patterns and clever tromp lโoeil images. These buildings came to be known as the Painted Churches of Texas. Thankfully, they have been preserved and stand today in honor of those whose artistry and devotion created them. (Source)
St. Maryโs is considered the Queen of the Painted Churches located in High Hill
St. John the Baptist in Ammannsville (aka: the pink one)
Today, I had the opportunity to take a small group to Oklahoma City to visit the Blessed Stanley Rother Shrine. Blessed Stanley is the first American Martyr in the Roman Catholic Church and an Oklahoman. Below is a history taken from the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City’s website. (Source) The pictures are ones I took.
Stanley Francis Rother was born March 27, 1935, in Okarche, Oklahoma. The oldest of the children born to Franz and Gertrude Rother, he grew up on a farm and attended Holy Trinity Catholic Church and School. He worked hard doing required chores, attended school, played sports, was an altar server and enjoyed the activities associated with growing up in a small town.
While in high school, he began to discern the possibility of a vocation to the priesthood. He was accepted as a seminarian and was sent to Assumption Seminary in San Antonio, Texas. He completed his studies at Mount Saint Maryโs Seminary in Emmitsburg, Maryland, and was ordained a priest on May 25, 1963. Father Rother served as an associate pastor for five years in Oklahoma.
He sought and received permission to join the staff at the Oklahoma diocese’s mission in Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala. He served the native tribe of the Tzโutujil, who are decedents of the Mayans. Although he struggled with Latin in the seminary, Father Rother learned Spanish and the Tzโutujil language in Guatemala. He celebrated Mass in their language and helped translate the New Testament.
Father Rother was surrounded by extreme poverty among the Tzโutujil, who were living in one-room huts growing what they could on their small plots of land. He ministered to his parishioners in their homes; eating with them, visiting the sick and aiding them with medical issues. He even put his farming skills to use by helping them in the fields, bringing in different crops, and building an irrigation system.
While he served in Guatemala, a civil war raged between the militarist government forces and the guerrillas. The Catholic Church was caught in the middle due to its insistence on catechizing and educating the people. During this conflict, thousands of Catholics were killed. Eventually, Father Rotherโs name appeared on a death list. For his safety and that of his associate, Father Rother returned home to Oklahoma. He didnโt stay long, though, as he was determined to give his life completely to his people, stating that โthe shepherd cannot run.โ He returned to Santiago Atitlan to continue the work of the mission.
Within a few months, three men entered the rectory around 1 a.m. on July 28, 1981, fought with Father Rother and then executed him. His death shocked the Catholic world. No one was ever held responsible. The people of Santiago Atitlan mourned the loss of their leader and friend. They requested that Father Rotherโs heart be kept in Guatemala where it remains enshrined today.
In 2007, his Cause for Canonization was opened. In June 2015, the Vatican in Rome voted to formally recognize Oklahomaโs Father Stanley Rother a martyr. The determination of martyrdom was a critical step in the Archdiocese of Oklahoma Cityโs Cause to have Father Rother beatified, the final stage before canonization as a saint.
On Dec. 1, 2016, Pope Francis officially recognized Father Rother as a martyr for the faith. He is the first martyr from the United States and the first U.S.-born priest to be beatified. The Rite of Beatification was held on Sept. 23, 2017, in downtown Oklahoma City โ an event attended by more than 20,000 people from around the world.
Prayer for the Canonization of Blessed Stanley Rother
O God, fount of all holiness, make us each walk worthily in our vocation, through the intercession of your Saints, on whom you bestowed a great variety of graces on earth. Having graced your Church with the life of your priest and martyr, Blessed Stanley Rother, grant that by his intercession this humble flock may reach where the brave shepherd has gone. Grant that your Church may proclaim him a saint living in your presence and interceding for us. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
And God created Dog….
The floor tiles were made in Guatemala and dried outside. Throughout the building, you can see the tracks of the animals that passed by before the tiles were set.
Mark Twain wrote, โI have found out that there ainโt no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.โ I think this is probably true and, as most of you know, the day after Christmas, I went traveling again, but this time I went by myself and discovered that Iโm not a bad travel companion.
I went to Portugal on this trip and spent most of my time in Lisbon. However, I was able to travel to several nearby locations, including Fatima, the site of perhaps the most significant Marian apparitions.
I left Monday morning and arrived in Lisbon three flights and roughly twenty-six hours later. I want to be able to sleep on planes, especially flights that long, but that is not the case. In addition, the host of the VRBO that I would be staying in gave me a great restaurant to have lunch in when I arrived, so I passed on the last meal offered on the flight. Bottom line: when I got to Lisbon, I hadnโt slept or had anything to eat in quite some time. From there, the situation began to decline.
I had purchased an international data plan for my phone so that I would have access to Google maps and the like, yet, when I arrived, it would not connect, even after I spent half an hour on the phone with the provider. It was at this point that no sleep and no food gave me my first stupid idea: โI can do this. No problem.โ
My host told me the subway to take and what stop to get off at. How hard could that be? The only piece of information I forgot was that, at one point, I needed to switch trains. I rode that train and rode that train, and when it finally came to a stop, and everyone was getting off, a little older lady leaned down to meโand I must have been looking baffled at this pointโand said, โThis is the end of the line.โ I said, โThank you,โ but what I thought was, โNoโฆ. kidding.โ I then proceeded to make my second mistake: I got off the subway and rode the elevator to street level, the entire time thinking, โSurely Iโll be able to recognize something.โ The problem: no Google maps or any map for that matter. In The Fellowship of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, Gandalf writes a letter to Frodo and the letter includes a poem. A line from that poem reads, โAll that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.โ I got off that train, and I was one who was not only wandering but also terribly lost andโno sleep, no foodโdid not have the sense to figure it out, so I found a spot in the shade and just stood there, staring blankly into a city I knew nothing about.
A wristwatch used to have only one function: tell the time. After a while, they added the date, then Seiko and the others added calculators, etc., and now, we have the Apple Watch and other similar devices that have more computing power than the first rocket to the moon. This little watch can do all sorts of things, but for the most, it is tied to your phone, so if your phone has no signal, your watch isnโt going to do much. If it is connected, then youโll be able to get notifications on your watch.
As I stood there in the shade, staring blankly into that unknown city, my watch vibrated and dinged, and I was suddenly elated. That notification could mean only one thing: I had data services and could find my way out of this mess. However, specific functions on the watch work without data, one of which is the healthcare monitoring functions. Specifically, in this case, it was the heart rate monitor.
I raised my wrist, hoping to have a data-related message, but what I read was this: โHigh Heart Rate: your heart rate rose above 120 BPM while you seemed to be inactive for ten minutes.โ You know youโre a little stressed when your watch tells you to chill out.
I took a deep breath and slowly walked around until I spotted a police officer. He didnโt speak a lick of English, but we were able to mime communicate enough that I could tell him where I was trying to get; when he realized where it was, I didnโt understand what he said, but it meant, โHow in blue blazes did you get all the way over here?โ
I asked, โHow do I get there? Can I walk?โ โNo,โ he said, wide-eyed. He then indicated he would get me to the train station; I said, โNo. Taxi.โ He then gently took me by the arm and led me to the street. Standing there with me, he flagged me a cab. He had a conversation with the taxi driver and told him where I needed to go. There was more to the conversation than this, but I didnโt understand any of it other than the grin, and the eye roll exchanged between them.
I donโt know either of these two individualsโ names, but the police officer I named Angel because, following a fifteen-minute taxi ride, I was deposited in the exact spot I needed to be.
For the duration of the trip, when I was out and about, I had no data services, but Andrรฉ, my VRBO host, was brilliant and helped me learn how to get around. After a thirteen-hour nap and some tasty food the following day, I set off into that remarkable city and had a brilliant time. I got lost a few more times and occasionally missed a train stop, but I really had no problem getting around after that first day.
St. Augustine of Hippo (d.430) was one of the greatest theologians the Church has known. One of his books is the City of God. In it, he writes of the City of Man and the City of God, where โthe earthly city glories in itself, the Heavenly City glories in the Lord.โ There are many other comparisons: โThe earthly city was created by self-love reaching the point of contempt of God, the Heavenly City by the love of God carried as far contempt of self.โ Although there are two cities, they are intertwined, just as in the parable of the wheat and the weeds that grow in the field together.
Augustine says that it is in this intertwined city that we live, and it is a place where, for the most part, โthe strongest oppress the others because all follow after their own interests and lusts.โ It is a city where it is easy to become lost, bouncing from one thing to another, never settled, anxious, and not truly knowing where you are going.
It was in such a city, such a time, that Jesus was born and lived. People wandered in the city, lost with no means of finding their way. Anxious, with no knowledge of how to calm their hearts and their souls. But then, like my angel in Lisbon, along came John the Baptist, who took them by the arm and directed them to the oneโฆ the only one, who could bring peace to their souls and get them to where they needed to be: โHere is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!โ So, coming to Jesus, they asked, โRabbiโteacherโwhere are you staying?โ โWhere are you staying? We are lost. How do we get there?โ And Jesus responds, โCome and see.โ Jesus says, โCome with me, and I will show you the way through this city. I will show you the path that leads to God, for not only can I show you the way, but I Am The Way.โ
If you are anxious and lost in the city, there are many here who can help show you to the one who is the Way. If you know of someone who is lost, be a John the Baptist to them, be an Angel to them, and point them to the Lamb of God, who will give them safe passage through this City of Man to the Eternal City, the City of Our God.
While in Portugal, I had the opportunity to visit Fatima, the site of the great Marian Apparition. During one of the apparitions, the Virgin Mary gave the children a prayer she asked to be prayed at the end of each decade of the Rosary. It is brief but addresses our most profound need while we walk the streets of this City of Man. Let us pray: โO my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, lead all souls to Heaven, especially those most in need of Thy mercy. Amen.โ
It was going to be a lot of walking and train time if it turned out to be closed again, but I made my way back to Belรฉm because I wanted to have a proper visit to St. Jerรณnimos Monastery. I was not disappointed.
As is the case with most of my train rides, I missed my stop. [insert eyeroll] Most trains have either a scrolling sign or announce the stops; Iโm guessing the one on my train was out of service. I told myself when I got on, โItโs the third stop. Get off there.โ But it did not look right, so I remained on the train andโฆ yep. It was the right stop. Got off at the next made my way to the other side of the track to catch the returning train. After ten minutes of waiting and no sign, I stepped off the platform and said, โTaxi!โ Four minutes and 6โฌ later I was deposited at the front door of the monastery. It was worth it.
By the time I arrived, most of the other tourists were at supper. I didnโt have it to myself, but when you can capture a photo like thisโฆ
There are two self-guided tours: one through the church and another through the cloisters. I began with the church.
Construction began in 1502 and was one of the reasons why the church in Batalha was not completed: there is only so much stone and so many stonecutters. The king decided that after 129 years of construction at Batalha, they had had enough time to complete.
None of the churches are brightly lit, but this was by far the darkest, between fewer windows and electrical lights.
The last entry into the monastery side is 5:30 p.m., and I timed it perfectly.
St. Jerome is most often pictured with a lion. This painting greets you at the top of the stairs leading to the second story, and the proud lion sits at the corner of the inner courtyard.
The Golden Legend saysโฆ
One day toward evening, when he was seated with the brethren to hear the sacred lessons read, a lion suddenly limped into the monastery. The other monks fled at the sight of the beast, but Jerome greeted him as a guest. The lion showed him his wounded foot, and Jerome called the brothers and ordered them to wash the animalโs feet and to dress the wound carefully. When they set about doing this, they found that the paw had been scratched and torn by thorns. They did what was necessary, and the lion recovered, lost all his wildness, and lived among the monks like a house pet.
I posted the legend elsewhere, and someone commented that the legend of the lion is based on Jeromeโs temper which he had a difficult time containing. It is easy to see that in the story as well: his life of prayer, cloistered with the other monks, tamed his temper and his soul.
Today is my last day in Portugal and Iโve no plan. I still havenโt ridden one of the trolleys, but with such long flights coming up tomorrow, Iโm not too interested in spending the day sitting. Maybe Iโll just walk out the door and see where my feet take me.
I forgot to make a New Yearโs resolution. I think it will be to travel at every opportunity I can.
Today, I spent a good bit of my time simply roaming the streets, watching people, and enjoying vacation time without rushing about. It was good, but I did have one place on my list that I was not going to miss: the ruins of the Convent of Santa Maria do Carmo (founded in 1389).
Most churches are well preserved, even if they have been struck by earthquakes/fire; however, some have reached a stage where nothing more can be done except stabilize the remaining structure and save whatever else is possible. Carmo is such a place.
โThe Great Lisbon Earthquakeโ struck on November 1, 1755, at 9:40 a.m. In Lisbon, it is estimated that 30,000-40,000 people were killed in the quake and tsunami that followed. 85% of the city was destroyed. The royal libraryโsome 70,000 volumesโwas lost. Countless works of art were buried under tons of rubble or consumed by the fires that followed and have not been seen since. A loss on many levels, thenโฆ you pick up the pieces.
Since the earthquake and through the years, the church has stood as a minder of the tragedy the city experineced, and has also become a museum for treasures that were recovered. And lets face it, every museum should have a couple of mummies sitting around.
Afterward, I stopped for a while in Rossio Square, and after the influencers moved aside to let the rest of us in, I was able to capture a few images of the fountain.
I finally came across one of the funiculars. This is the Elevado da Glรณria, and it climbs a hill that is a 17.7% slope. You donโt want to walk it!
And, of course, I had to stop and eat: Pinรณquio. My timing was perfect. When I arrived, there were several tables free, but for the next hour, there was a line of at least 20 individuals waiting to get in (I did not know that it was a popular place when I arrived. I was just hungry.)
I enjoyed the Prawn Cocktail, Seafood Pasta (lobsterโI donโt think there was much, clams, shrimp, and pasta in a thin broth. Very good! This was served with 1/2 bottle of Maria Joaquina red wine and some sparkling water. I finished up with a very yummy cafรฉ and Creme Catalรฃoโthink creme brulรฉ on crack. It was a delicious meal.
Every inch is used for floor space and more tables, so you are essentially having your meal with the people sitting next to you. In this case, I was sitting next to two young Russian men. Well, they were speaking Russian, so Iโm assuming here, and for whatever reason, I got it in my pointy little head that these were some of the fortunate young Russian men who were able to escape and avoid military service in Ukraine. I didnโt ask.
Following such decadence, I decided it was time to stop for prayer, so on the way back to the apartment, I stopped once again at St. Dominicโs (the church that was gutted by fire) and prayed a rosary.
Like Rome, being in these places where the saints have prayed for centuries is a truly remarkable feeling.
After doing a bit of complicated math, I discovered tonight was the night that I once again needed to do laundry. It is not that Iโm out of clean clothes, but you have to figure in drying time, and I wasnโt up for hair-drying my clothes again or packing a bunch of wet clothes home, so here I am.
Tomorrowโฆ tomorrow is a very full day. Iโm finally headed to Fatima, and there are three other stops on the tour. The weather is perfect. Itโll be a remarkable trip.
If, while in Portugal, you need to tell someone to โGet lost!โ You say to them, โVai pentear Macacos!โ โGo comb monkeys!โ That may work in a sermon someday.
I had no plans on getting out today and I didnโt get very far, maybe about 60 steps to a delightful restaurant: Tandoor – A Taste of Punjab.
I enjoyed a bright yellowed Garnele Korma. I looked that up before I went because I know that sometimes Indian food can get more than a little spicy. The korma is a mild dish; despite the look of the picture, it was lightly curried, and the shrimp were perfectly cooked. It was served over a very long grain white rice. The Cobra beer was also a first. I can recommend it and Iโm not a big beer person.
Iโm having a great time trying new foods while I am here.
I left you last night anticipating the outcome of my adventures in laundry. I must report a slight failure in this endeavor. It turns out that hanging clothes on a rack in an apartment that dips to the high 50s at night and in a damp climate is not conducive to the drying of clothes. (My Dear Mr. Watson, Is this why weโve seen peoplesโ clothes hanging out for several days? Sherlock, your mind never ceases to amaze me!) So, this morning, I woke up to cold, wet clothes, which left me with a number of options 1) go out in the shirt I slept in and hear my grandmotherโs voice all day, โYou look like you slept in that shirt.โ 2) go out in a wet shirt and hear my grandmother’s voice all day, โYouโll catch your death of cold running around in that wet shirt!โ Or 3) find a way to dry the shirt. Option number 3) was the clear winner, but how?
I first hauled out the trusty space heater and had plans to lay the shirt across it and was, in fact, doing so (Sherlock was screaming in the back of my head the entire time) when I read the small print on top of said heater, โNฤO COBRIR.โ Iโm not sure if that is Portuguese or not, but Google Translate kicked that back as โNot Cover.โ Plan Bโฆ
Rooting through a bathroom cabinet, I found an industrial hairdryer, so for the last fifteen minutesโhad you been looking for meโyou would have found me in the bathroom with a hairdryer in one hand and an espresso in the other, patiently drying my clothes. I, at first, felt somewhat guilty about using the electricity in such a way. Still, seeing as Iโve had no use whatsoever for a hairdryer in the last fifteen yearsโฆ yeah, my carbon footprint in the hairdryer department remains small.
For the record, there was one other point when my grandmother spoke inside my head; it was when I set the hairdryer down in the wet sink (please remember that Iโve been lacking in the hairdryer doโs/donโts for several years). My grandmother said, โWho are you? Thomas Merton!โ I donโt actually know whether my grandmother knew who Thomas Merton was nor the suspicious circumstances of his untimely death, but I got the point and quickly removed the hairdryer from the sink.
My dear friends, I am caffeinated, have dry clothes, am eating a tasty breakfast, drinking one more espresso, and am about to head out on todayโs grand adventure. Iโll be back unless I run into that bearโฆ. hmmmmโฆ. maybe the hairdryer in the sink was todayโs bear? Sneaky bear.
Things I want to remember: my dream from last night.
I started early today in search of a church, but they were all closed (I started too early, or they pray later in the day in Lisbon), so I made my way to the ferry that crosses the River Tagus to Cacilhas. It took less than ten minutes to cross.
Initially, I thought I would walk up to the Santuรกrio de Cristo Rei, but when I could not spot it, I opted for a taxi. That was a smart move. It is much further than it looks. When you come out from behind the buildings that line the streets, the statue suddenly looms in front of you.
My first reaction was, โWow!โ My first thought was, โI hope thereโs an elevator! (There is, except for the last four flights.)
I spent an hour wandering around the grounds, looking up, and seeing the various other works of art, then went for a cafรฉ and a pastel de nataโa small custard pieโbefore heading to the top.
It took about an hour in line, but I enjoyed the bronze art (The Ten Commandments on either side of the door) and the main doors (St. John the Baptist holding the lamb, which I had to touch on my way in.) Eu sou a porta is printed above the doorโโI am the Door.โ Several other pieces of art adorned the walls on the inside, and one, in particular, caught my eye when I realized it was Pope John Paul II.
Up we went in the elevator, the short climb, andโฆ the first thing youโll notice is the wind! It blows quite strong at the top. Then, you look up. From the ground, the statue appears large, and standing on the platform at the base is not disappointing. The platform is 269 feet, and the figure of Christ is an additional 92 feet.
Images painted on the ceramic tiles at the base of the statueโฆ
And the viewโฆ
Just below the statue, a few flights down, is a gift shop and the Chapel of those who trusted in the Heart of Jesus. I stopped for a few minutes to pray before taking the elevator back down.
Pope Benedict XVI offered a Perpetual Plenary Indulgence to all who visited, and I can use all the help I can get!
The Pilgrim’s Prayer:
After another taxi and ferry ride, I was back on the north side of the river. A bit of research last night told me that if I walked a few blocks north, I would come to the Rua Nova do Carvalho (The Pink Street!) Voila! Found it. (This is a complete 180ยฐ turn from the Cristo Rei, as this area of town was formally the red light district.) The street will definitely put a smile on your face, as will all the silly, wannabe social influencers (?) posing for pictures.
It was close to 3 p.m., and I had not eaten since an early breakfast, which led to a minor mistake: eating at a restaurant on The Pink Street. I wonโt name them (if you donโt have something nice to sayโฆ), but donโt make the mistake. So many people are going through that it is impossible to maintain good quality, although, at the end of the meal, the waiter provided me with a glass of a 10-year-old port wine that made me forget about the rest of the meal.
As I was making my way back to the apartment, I saw everyone facing me and taking pictures, so I turned, and there was one of the iconic Lisbon buildings: Elevador de Santa Justa. Too many things I read said, โDonโt waste your time or money riding the elevator to the top,โ but it was still fun to see.
Iโm back at the apartment, and this evening’s festivities are a bit more domestic: laundry.
Tomorrow is New Yearโs Eve. During the day, I plan to take a train to Belรฉm, about 30 minutes west, and tomorrow nightโif Iโm up for the crowdsโfireworks on the river. Keep you posted.
Candle in a Cave 