What is a Cursillo - The Cursillo is a three-day Christian retreat. The Cursillo movement began in Majorca, Spain in the 1940s and has made its way around the globe. It arrived in the United States in the 1960s. The Spanish word “Cursillo” actually means “a little course” and the Cursillo is a little course in Christianity and an opportunity to deepen one’s relationship with Christ. At the time of my Cursillo, I knew almost nothing about the history or what to expect at this retreat. I was content to stay ignorant and let it unfold. I had gone on many retreats in my life, and I cannot think of even one that wasn’t worthwhile in one way or another. My story starts on a drizzly Thursday night in October, 1999. Jim, my Cursillo sponsor and a long-time member of the LaSalette Faith Community, picked me up in his Honda Civic hatchback and drove through the back roads to St. Basil’s Salvatorian Center in Methuen, where I would spend the weekend with about 50 other men I did not know. The only two requirements for the Cursillo were that I be sponsored by someone in a Christian / Catholic community, and that I was baptized. My prior baptism story was sketchy at best. I had been brought up Jewish and began exploring other traditions in my late teens and early twenties. When I was 22, a dear Catholic friend and mentor baptized me in a personal ceremony and explained that it was “legal” within the Catholic tradition. Jim strongly suggested that I not go into details about my baptism because some at the Cursillo might not recognize it. I agreed. Even when I was young, I have always had a deep sense of the sacred and a personal encounter with Christ seemed somewhat superfluous to me. And yet, here I was on the way to this retreat. Over the three-day retreat, there were fifteen talks on various Christian topics. We were arranged at tables of 8-10 men with a leader who was part of the Cursillo team. We listened and then shared our understanding including what inspired, challenged or bothered us. The first talk was about the history of life from a literal biblical point of view. The fixed position, the lack of modern or even ancient science, and the arrogance of the patriarchal “one true way” did not work for me at all. In fact, it was a clear reflection of all the reasons I did not and still do not connect with fundamentalism in any religion. “Oh no, this is awful,” I thought to myself. “This may be a very long weekend.” Most of the men at my table came from very difficult circumstances, including prison, alcohol, drugs or lousy relationships. Some felt coerced by their parole officers, wives or girlfriends to attend. In fact, the Cursillo is intentionally set up so that there is no easy “escape.” I was at a different point in my life and spiritual journey. I was 52 years old, happily married for 23 years and had a wonderful daughter in the Peace Corps in Paraguay. Catherine and I lived on a lovely little farm with horses, dogs, cats, chickens and ducks and all sorts of wildlife. I had a good job, friends and, all in all, a very lucky and fulfilling life. I was not particularly clear on what I was doing at this retreat. One of the surprises (there were many) was that we received heart-felt handwritten letters from the community members that supported us. These letters were called “Palanca”, a Spanish word literally meaning “lever”. In these letters, people detailed the prayers and sacrifices they would make for me so that I might be lifted in my spiritual life. Whether it was these letters or not, something changed “in me” on Friday (the first full day). I realized in a direct and emotional way, that this was my Cursillo, my life, and I was totally responsible for my experience. Without any “effort” on my own part, I was able to separate from my thoughts about the stupidity and rigidity of some of the presentations. It wasn’t that I had to give up rationality or good common sense, quite the contrary. Something in me shifted just enough so I could let the thoughts be. I was more present and receiving everything more emotionally. What a subtle but remarkable liberation. As I now looked around the table, I saw the men in a different way. My wish was to accompany them as we all worked through our issues together. I had already received this wonderful gift and wanting anything else for myself felt a bit greedy. I had the rest of the weekend to do my best to be there for others, as they began to drop their armor and open their hearts. One of my brothers at the table, Peter, around 40 years old with a life situation more similar to my own. He was married with children, had a good job and seemed quite functional. In our free time, we enjoyed chatting with other. Early Saturday morning, as we were all singing our way down a corridor heading for a prayer service, Peter grabbed my arm and also corralled one of the more enlightened priests, whom I had met the night before in my first “confession”. Peter dragged both of us into a little room for a private talk. This was so out of character for the Cursillo that something in me instantly perked up. Peter was distressed and explained to the priest that the evening before at his confession, he was told (by a different priest) that he should leave the Cursillo. The reason for this odd request was that Peter had been baptized in the Unitarian church and the priest did not consider that to be adequate. The enlightened priest then said, “For the purpose of this Cursillo, you are fully baptized. You do not have to leave and are invited to fully participate in all aspects of everything that goes on here.” I could see Peter relax as he took all this in. “However, if you feel that your baptism is not complete, then perhaps someday you may want to look at that.” I had not said one word, just observed. Obviously if Peter’s baptism was suspect, mine was almost non-existent. I wondered if the advice of the priest might apply to me. I filed that thought away. Next Blog – Catherine’s Cursillo .
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Massachusetts Audubon This part of the story is perhaps the most improbable and yet the most significant. In March, 1999, Catherine and I were at a volunteer appreciation supper at the Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary of the Massachusetts Audubon. The wondrous 2,000+ acre property is located ten minutes from our home, and we had been volunteers for more than ten years. The supper is set up by connecting folding tables in the barn so it looks like a long French picnic. There are actually two of these long tables and about 75 people were there. Everyone gets something from the buffet and chooses their own seat randomly. Sitting across from us was one of our friends, Beverly, a woman in her 70s. Beverly felt herself connected to the spirit world and believed that two spirits resided on her shoulders. She had entire histories for these two beings. She did not always share this information with others but she trusted Catherine and me not to judge her. The conversation of the people near us was about the connectedness of all life, a very appropriate topic in that setting. All of a sudden, Beverly looked at Catherine and me and emphatically stated that we should go to Easter Mass at the LaSalette Faith Community. “What is that?”, I asked. She said it is a faith community in the Catholic tradition that would appeal to both of us. The conversation then went on to something else. In truth, I completely forgot about her suggestion by the next day. We were not looking for a community and the idea of a Catholic community was not terribly appealing to me. For Easter, we usually visited Catherine’s parents but they were in Florida and would not be around this year. We had made plans to go to a Mass with a priest we knew and liked (actually from Camp Fatima), but that fell through right before Easter. The day before Easter, Beverly called to remind us about LaSalette. As we had no better offer, we decided to go. Elizabeth was home from college and we went as family. LaSalette Faith Community The LaSalettes are an order in the Catholic Church, like the Jesuits or Franciscans, each with their own story and history. In 1945, they purchased a large estate on 312 acres and started a seminary and shrine, located five minutes from our home. In the 1970s / 1980s, due to diminishing number of seminarians, the seminary was closed. The Shrine remained open and a group of lay parishioners as well as some LaSalette priests and brothers stayed on and formed a very supportive and loving community. The entire property was sold in the 1990s to a developer. The community that had been there since the 1970s wished to stay together, and they searched for a place to call home. They found a highly creative solution by renting the 4H building at the Topsfield fairgrounds for Sunday Mass. When Catherine, Liz and I arrived at the 4H building, we were welcomed by a friendly greeter and given a song sheet. We entered and took a seat to the side. The building itself was a cinderblock structure with no frills at all. The community had transformed the building into an inviting space with many flowers, Easter lilies and an folding table altar with a simple altar cloth. A community member came over to welcome us. She gave us the lay of the land (where the bathrooms were located) and thanked us for coming to join them on Easter. As the more than 200 people came in, it felt like a family wedding with lots of hugs and kisses. The risers at the front of the space were already populated with the choir dressed in formal black and white. A small procession of people walked down an aisle leading to the altar. The air was filled with expectancy. The Mass began and the entire congregation sang out loudly with the choir. I had been to other churches and this degree of enthusiastic singing was not always the case. We joined in with our song sheets. The Mass progressed in its usual manner which, by now, was familiar. At communion, several members of the community as well as the priest gave bread and wine. The priest announced that there were two types of “wine” offered – one with alcohol, one without. It occurred to me as a thoughtful gesture for those who, for one reason or another, could not drink alcohol. For communion, the choir sang a beautiful song, accompanied by several musicians including piano, flute, trumpet and violin. The communion song finished and all were in their seats, quiet. The choir then began to sing a Capello – no musical accompaniment. The words “I love you Lord and I lift my voice” were joined by the whole congregation. There was no such song on the sheet. For the first verse everyone sang the melody. Then, as the song continued, beautiful harmonies were added spontaneously. This, in itself, was surely lovely. However, the true magic was what I saw when people were singing. One after the next entered a state of trance, or better, a state of presence. They went inside themselves and it showed. Even the air felt electrified. I received this gift emotionally and drank it in. I saw that many had their eyes closed and the ones with open eyes were soft. I did not know what they were connecting to, but clearly, they did. I looked at Catherine. Both of us saw clearly what was going on. The song finished. The Mass continued till the final blessing. As we all filed out, people wished each other and us a good Easter. Then, as a final surprise gift, lovely yellow daffodils were given to all. Liz went back to college to finish her senior year. The following Sunday. I asked Catherine if she would like to go again. She agreed. This time, there were half as many people but still over 100. I liked it even more. It was more intimate, and at the end of the Mass, there was food and hanging out together. We went the following Sunday and every Sunday throughout the entire summer. We started to get to know the people in the community. I can’t remember if it was on Easter Sunday or the next Sunday when a lady named Vicky, who was a member of the LaSalette community and also the mother of one of Elizabeth’s friends from Bishop Fenwick High School, came over to us and said, “You both should do your Cursillo. “What’s a Cursillo?”, I asked. And that will be the subject of the next blog. After our initial encounter visiting Liz at Camp Fatima in the summer of 1995, Catherine and I volunteered at Camp Fatima for the next 10 years (1996-2005). EC week is an overnight co-ed weeklong camp for children and adults ages 9+ with physical and or mental challenges. Many campers would not qualify for other camps. It is free of charge for all campers. As the third week of August approached each year, we found ourselves getting excited and happy to re-connect with the Fatima community, some of whom became life-long friends. I have selected only three of the many experiences we had. Hopefully, it will provide a taste of what made this place so special for us. For more info on EC week, see www.ecweek.org. The Horse Program This was our primary responsibility for all ten years. There were always at least six volunteers in the horse program. A few, Mike, a Boston mounted police officer, and Chris, a horse woman, came back every year and became good friends. Most of the volunteers at camp were city-folk, think South Boston, and the world of horses was completely foreign to them. Even though they did remarkable things with the campers, they were glad that someone else care for the horses, muck the paddocks and make sure everything was safe and enjoyable for the campers. In this way, we were quickly accepted as valued members of the EC family. Every morning around 6AM, Catherine and I would meet for our walk down to the paddocks together. It was like a “date” and I would wait at her cabin. There were women’s cabins, men’s cabins and camper / counselor cabins. On the way, as a surprise bonus for getting up early, we had “first breakfast” at the wood shop. One of the volunteers decided to make egg sandwiches and coffee for all the early risers. It always felt like being around a campfire, just hanging out with friends. Catherine and I then walked together on a beautiful trail through the pine trees, gave the horses their grain in buckets, spread some hay bales throughout the paddock usually shared by six horses, and shoveled up the manure while the horses had their breakfast. When horses eat, they settle in and all is quiet. It was a beautiful way to start a day. The first activity period started around 10am. By this time, the “horse crew” had saddled up the horses so we were ready for campers. We had decided that all campers regardless of disability could ride if they wished. Just one story -There was a very heavy camper with both of her legs amputated to the hip. She was clear that she wanted to ride and we were clear that we were going to make that happen for her. Her intellectual abilities were quite functional and she told us that “this was her chance.” Between the horse crew, her counselor and her willingness, up she went. Two of us were on each side of the horse and held her up. As with all the rides, one of us led the horse around the paddock. The joy she expressed still reverberates in my memory and heart. Over the years, we refined our methods and the maintenance crew built a sturdy ramp that wheelchairs could climb. Some campers just liked to look at horses, others fed carrots and felt “tickled” by the horse’s soft mouth. However, most campers, with our assistance, rode the horses. Very few campers had ever been near a horse, and certainly did not imagine they would actually ride one. It was stirring and joyful to see their happiness. My experiences over the years with “exceptional citizens” changed me profoundly in my understanding and relationship with those with “special needs.” I now find myself saying hello to almost all children in wheelchairs, especially those with cerebral palsy whose speech ability is challenged. In almost all cases, the parent is also very appreciative that someone has acknowledged and engaged her child who is often unseen. Special Programs Each year, EC Week selects a theme, including a nightly play. Themes are from musicals like Mary Poppins, Beauty and the Beast and the Lion King. Due to our love and experience with theater, Catherine and I volunteered to be “extras” in this group whenever they needed us. When, for example, the theme was The Sound of Music, we played the roles of nuns and Nazis in a single night, with a quick costume change. Many of the people in this group had been coming to Fatima for decades. During the year, they made costumes, sets and props, wrote dialogue and rehearsed the songs. Over the years, we sometimes got the opportunity, in the months before camp, to help with this preparation. Masses The singers in Special Programs were also the “folk choir” for the masses. We joined and learned quite a few new songs throughout the years. Campers also spontaneously joined the choir whenever they wished. All the Masses had one basic theme: LOVE. Sometimes four campers would each be given a letter, L_O_ V_ E and at some moment they would spell it out in front of the altar. It is really important to mention that at Fatima nothing worked precisely. For example, love might be spelled starting with the V. But after a little adjustment, all was well. EC week made it abundantly clear that what really matters is kindness, not the results or performance. This is remarkably liberating when an entire group for a week adopts this attitude. We lived in “camp time”, and as an example, meals started when they did. In the world of exceptional citizens, “things always happen” and if the response is kindness, all is well and many felt that they have tasted a bit of heaven. We certainly did. The experiences I described and many more that remain to be shared some other time could certainly have happened at any camp with exceptional citizens. The campers bring the magic. That EC week has now been running for more than 60 years would probably not have happened had it not been for the Church’s support. I did not think about this at the time. It just filtered in on my way to becoming Catholic. 12/27/2020 0 Comments Becoming Catholic - Part 21976 – When Catherine and I married in 1976, I was under the pleasant delusion that I was simply marrying Catherine. I did not realize that I would become part of Catherine’s very large and welcoming Polish / Catholic family. Ah well, I was young. I would not actually get to know them well until 11 years later when Catherine and I finished our commitment to the Magic Company, and could spend more time with them. However, there is one person who plays a subtle but significant role in my voyage to becoming Catholic, Catherine’s mom, my mother-in-law. Her name was Frances, but we all called her Babci (Grandma in Polish), after her first grandchild Elizabeth, our daughter was born. Babci followed the wisdom of St. Francis (her namesake), “Preach the Gospel at all times. When necessary use words.” Babci taught by example, simply by the way she lived her life. I loved Babci from the start. She was surely my second mother. I would sometimes say to her “You are my favorite mother-in-law”. “But David”, she would respond, “I am your only mother-in law”. I would counter, “But that doesn’t mean that you are my favorite. She would laugh and sometimes say, “Well, you are my favorite son-in- law”. I would remind her that I was her only son-in-law. Then we would both laugh. How sweet is that! Babci’s parents both came from Poland and had eleven (11) children. Babci also had five children of her own in eight years, Catherine being the oldest. Babci functioned very well in “orderly chaos”. She worked all her life as a hairdresser whose shop was in her house. Catherine had over 30 first cousins, many of whom lived nearby and visited frequently. Babci and her large family were Polish and Catholic, and going to church was simply baked in. God was in the flowers, the compost and especially the FOOD. For Babci, food was love. She was a marvelous cook both of Polish food and what we now call “healthy” food – vegetables, grains, minimal sugar, yogurt, etc. She was highly influenced by Adele Davis, perhaps the most famous nutritionist in Babci’s era. But as for religious, theological or even Catholic dogma, I do not ever remember even hearing a conversation in all the years I knew her. What I saw was a person who found good in almost everything and spent her life caring for others. More to come on her in future blogs. 1982 – By this time. Catherine worked at the Theatre full time, and we lived about 20 minutes away. Our town had a good school system but it would not be convenient for Catherine to leave the Theater every day, pick Elizabeth up, and then go back to the Theatre. There was a small Catholic School, St. Mary’s, within walking distance of the Theatre. Catherine had gone to a parochial elementary school and was familiar with the type of education offered. We both thought it would offer good basics, not only academically but also as a caring place focused on service to others. Elizabeth had not been baptized as an infant. After we decided that she would go to St. Mary’s, it seemed sensible to us that Elizabeth be baptized to get the “full Catholic package.” All her relatives who lived nearby were Catholic and this would become part of her upbringing. We made an appointment to meet with Father Johnson, the head Priest whom we already knew and liked. In fact, six years earlier when we purchased the Theatre, our group attended a Mass that he said as our “welcoming” moment to the town. Our conversation with Father Johnson was rolling along discussing details of Elizabeth’s baptism and some of the logistics involved. I innocently mentioned that we had been married by a justice of the peace. Father Johnson’s face turned somewhat ashen and he looked directly at Catherine. “Even if David does not know what this means, I am sure that you do.” She nodded in agreement. He explained to me that in the Church’s eyes, we are NOT married. I was feeling a bit jaunty and blurted out “So, are we living in sin? It is quite pleasant.” He took it in stride and said that although it was not required, he would strongly recommend a church blessing of our marriage which would rectify this “indiscretion”. He said it would be better for Elizabeth as she progressed through her Catholic education and all the attending rituals. He explained that the blessing would come after some “pre-cana” (pre-marriage) counseling. I enjoyed our few “pre-cana” sessions. He asked earnest and reaching questions about the type of marriage and the type of parents we wished to be. We were still in the very early stages of our marriage and there really was a lot to consider. We picked a date for both the blessing of our marriage on the altar of the church and Elizabeth’s baptism at the baptismal font in a private section behind the altar. The witnesses for the blessing were two good friends from the Theatre who also became Elizabeth’s godparents. And so it was that another detail of my Becoming Catholic fell into place. |
David FeldmanDog walker, Dog Mediator, Father, Husband, Categories |