"I am Lucy, one of the young nuns raped by the Serbian soldiers. I am writing to you, Mother, after what happened to my sisters Tatiana, Sandria, and me.

Allow me not to go into the details of the act. There are some experiences in life so atrocious that you cannot tell them to anyone but God, in whose service I had consecrated my life nearly a year ago.

My drama is not so much the humiliation that I suffered as a woman, not the incurable offense committed against my vocation as a religious, but the difficulty of having to incorporate into my faith an event that certainly forms part of the mysterious will of Him whom I have always considered my Divine Spouse.

Only a few days before, I had read "Dialogues of Carmelites" and spontaneously I asked our Lord to grant me the grace of joining the ranks of those who died a martyr of Him. God took me at my word, but in such a horrid way! Now I find myself lost in the anguish of internal darkness. He has destroyed the plans of my life, which I considered definitive and uplifting for me, and He has set me all of a sudden in this design of His that I feel incapable of grasping.

When I was a teenager, I wrote in my Diary: Nothing is mine, I belong to no one, and no one belongs to me. Someone, instead grabbed me one night, a night I wish never to remember, tore me off from myself, and tried to make me his own . . .

It was already daytime when I awoke and my first thought was the agony of Christ in the Garden. Inside of me a terrible battle unleashed. I asked myself why God had permitted me to be rent, destroyed precisely in what had been the meaning of my life, but also I asked to what new vocation He was calling me.

I strained to get up, and helped by Sister Josefina, I managed to straighten myself out. Then the sound of the bell of the Augustinian convent, which was right next to ours, reached my ears. It was time for nine o'clock matins.

I made the sign of the cross and began reciting in my head the liturgical hymn. At this hour upon Golgotha's heights,/ Christ, the true Pascal Lamb,/ paid the price of our salvation.

What is my suffering, Mother, and the offense I received compared to the suffering and the offense of the One for whom I had a thousand times sworn to give my life. I spoke these words slowly, very slowly: May your will be done, above all now that 1 have no where to go and that I can only be sure of one thing: You are with me.

Mother, I am writing not in search of consolation, but so that you can help me give thanks to God for having associated me with the thousands of my fellow compatriots whose honor has been violated, and who are compelled to accept a maternity not wanted. My humiliation is added to theirs, and since I have nothing else to offer in expiation for the sin committed by those unnamed violators and for the reconciliation of the two embittered peoples, I accept this dishonor that I suffered and I entrust it to the mercy of God.

Do not be surprised, Mother, when I ask you to share with me my "thank you" that can seem absurd.

In these last months I have been crying a sea of tears for my two brothers who were assassinated by the same aggressors who go around terrorizing our towns, and I was thinking that it was not possible for me to suffer anything worse, so far from my imagination had been what was about to take place.

Every day hundreds of hungering creatures used to knock at the doors of our convent, shivering from the cold, with despair in their eyes. Some weeks ago, a young boy about eighteen years old said to me: How lucky you are to have chosen a refuge where no evil can reach you. The boy carried in his hands a rosary of praises for the Prophet. Then he added: You will never know what it means to be dishonored.

I pondered his words at length and convinced myself that there had been a hidden element to the sufferings of my people that had escaped me as I was almost ashamed to be so excluded. Now I am one of them, one of the many unknown women of my people, whose bodies have been devastated and hearts seared. The Lord had admitted me into his mystery of shame. What is more, for me, a religious, He has accorded me the privilege of being acquainted with evil in the depths of its diabolical force.

I know that from now on the words of encouragement and consolation that I can offer from my poor heart will be all the more credible, because my story is their story, and my resignation, sustained in faith, at least a reference, if not example for their moral and emotional responses.

All it takes is a sign, a little voice, a fraternal gesture to set in motion the hopes of so many undiscovered creatures.

God has chosen me-may He forgive my presumption-to guide the most humble of my people towards the dawn of redemption and freedom. They can no longer doubt the sincerity of my words, because I come, as they do, from the outskirts of revilement and profanation.

I remember the time when I used to attend the university at Rome in order to get my masters in Literature, an ancient Slavic woman, the professor of Literature, used to recite to me these verses from the poet Alexej Mislovic: You must not die/because you have been chosen/ to be a part of the day.

That night, in which I was terrorized by the Serbs for hours and hours, I repeated to myself these verses, which I felt as balm for my soul, nearly mad with despair.

And now, with everything having passed and looking back, I get the impression of having been made to swallow a terrible pill.

Everything has passed, Mother, but everything begins. In your telephone call, after your words of encouragement, for which I am grateful with all my life, you posed me a very direct question: What will you do with the life that has been forced into your womb? I heard your voice tremble as you asked me the question, a question I felt needed no immediate response; not because I had not yet considered the road I would have to follow, but so as not to disturb the plans you would eventually have to unveil before me. I had already decided. I will be a mother. The child will be mine and no one else's. I know that I could entrust him to other people, but he-though I neither asked for him nor expected him-he has a right to my love as his mother. A plant should never be torn from its roots. The grain of wheat fallen in the furrow has to grow there, where the mysterious, though iniquitous sower threw it.

I will fulfill my religious vocation in another way. I will ask nothing of my congregation, which has already given me everything. I am very grateful for the fraternal solidarity of the Sisters, who in these times have treated me with the utmost delicacy and kindness, especially for never having asked any uncareful questions.

I will go with my child. I do not know where, but God, who broke all of a sudden my greatest joy, will indicate the path I must tread in order to do His will.

I will be poor again, I will return to the old aprons and the wooden shoes that the women in the country use for working, and I will accompany my mother into the forest to collect the resin from the slits in the trees.

Someone has to begin to break the chain of hatred that has always destroyed our countries. And so, I will teach my child only one thing: love. This child, born of violence, will be a witness along with me that the only greatness that gives honor to a human being is forgiveness.

Through the Kingdom of Christ for the Glory of God.

You and I must be bold to say,
it is not living for Jesus Christ that is wrong;
it is our culture that is wrong--it is sick, and dying.

More and more couples live together before marriage.
If they are intimate and using contraception,
that will likely continue in their marriage.
No wonder what the Church teaches about
keeping that intimacy open to the gift of life
seems such a impossible ideal.

Yet studies show that couples living together
before marriage are more likely to get divorced.
That is also the case for those using contraception.

One of the many things couples practicing
Natural Family Planning discover
is something new and powerful in their intimacy.
They report it is better, fresher, more enduring,
because it's less about self-fulfillment,
and more about giving oneself away.

At long last! This entry is 1 in a set of 4 that I was inspired to write during our May trip to Peoria, IL for our friend Robert’s Ordination to the Priesthood. All four entries will appear over the course of this coming week.

Funny story from our trip to Peoria for Father Robert’s Ordination:

At his first Mass on Sunday morning (the day after the Ordination) at St. Mark Church in Peoria, we were just gathering when something uniquely Catholic happened: Old met New in a very real and tangible way.

The congregation had been gathering for close to an hour in the church, and the priests, deacons, acolytes, et al were making final preparations and moving to the back of the church to prepare to begin.

Being very “by the book” new priests (Alleluia!), Father Robert and the others had of course a thurible - loaded, nonetheless - and, as a result, a LOT of smoke from the incense.

It resembled the times at camp when a new scout would try to start a fire with a bunch of large logs by loading it with a pile of leaves.

Yes, there was that much smoke.

It was glorious!

As I prayed, I found myself thankful for how gracefully and simply the smoke served to raise my thoughts and prayers and pull me from the temporal world into the reality of the Heavenly world that we would soon enter into in the Mass.

But that was quickly interrupted by The New.

Lights. Flashing lights. Loud beeping and sirens. Alternating. Lights. Beeps. Sirens. Lights. Beeps. Sirens.

For a moment, I was taken back to the last time I had been pulled over by a policeman.

But I immediately snapped out of it and started looking for the fire, the exit route, Suzanne and the boys and my parents.

And quickly noticed that no one else was moving. Except for the pastor and another man from the congregation who were hurriedly darting from the front of the church to the back - and again, and again, and again.

It seemed that someone had neglected to turn off the smoke alarm system that was obviously overly sensitive for a Catholic worship space.

Of course, the modern world has its imposing way of taking over even the most sacred of spaces and times. The sirens and lights continued for minutes - many minutes - until the sirens of the fire truck arrived and the firemen were able to verify the safety and disable the alarm system.

And Mass began and continued without a hitch.

But buried in these simple moments - and 20 minute delay to the start of Mass that really didn’t phase anyone - was a wonderful reminder of the reality of the Church in modernity.

In our Catholic faith, the oldest of the Tradition and the unwritten teaching of the Apostles meets the newest of the realities of our world, science, technology, and culture. And at the synapse, despite the debates and arguments and finger-pointing that can sometimes result, is the reality of God’s Will meeting man’s humble working and re-working of the world that he was given.

In a sense, what we saw that morning was a symbol of the reality of the Gospel brought into modernity. The message of a Law higher than all powers on earth. The message of a choice more important than any a man has made before. The message of a God of justice and compassion who gives much and anticipates much. The message of Love, of our highest calling as mankind, and of a world and a life beyond the present.

Old meets New every hour of every day as Christ continues to make Himself and His Sacrifice present on every altar of the world. As Christ enters this broken, troubled world. But which is Old and Which is New? Is Christ and the Church the “Old” and the world the “New”? No, I choose to think that we as Christians are called to see the world as the “Old” and Christ and His Church as the “New”, the goal, the normative end which we seek. Such it is in our New Life in Baptism. And are call is to carry that flame of Christ through our life here into the next.

As Jesus passed on from there,
he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the customs post.
He said to him, "Follow me."
And he got up and followed him.
While he was at table in his house,
many tax collectors and sinners came
and sat with Jesus and his disciples.
The Pharisees saw this and said to his disciples,
"Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?"
He heard this and said,
"Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do.
Go and learn the meaning of the words,
'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.'
I did not come to call the righteous but sinners."
(Matthew 9: 9-13)

Stress levels could be reduced simply by participating in some Gregorian chanting, researchers claimed today.

Dr Alan Watkins, a senior lecturer in neuroscience at Imperial College London, revealed that teaching people to control their breathing and applying the musical structure of chanting can help their emotional state.

He said: "We have recently carried out research that demonstrates that the regular breathing and musical structure of chanting can have a significant and positive physiological impact."

The research involved five monks having their heart rate and blood pressure measured throughout a 24-hour period.

Results showed their heart rate and blood pressure dipped to its lowest point in the day when they were chanting.

Dr Watkins pointed to previous studies that also demonstrated such practices have been shown to lower blood pressure, increase performance hormone levels as well as reduce anxiety and depression.

The lecturer also runs Cardiac Coherence Ltd, a company that helps executives perform under stressful conditions.

He said: "The control of the breathing, the feelings of wellbeing that communal singing bring, and the simplicity of the melodies, seem to have a powerful effect on reducing blood pressure and therefore stress."

"We have found that teaching individuals to control their breathing, generate more positive emotional states and connect better with those around them ? all key aspects of Gregorian chanting ? can significantly improve their mental state, reduce tension, and increase their efficiency in the workplace."

Record company Universal recently chose the monks of Stift Heiligenkreuz, Vienna to make an album after responding to a public interest in the genre.

The company also believes the Halo computer game series, available on PCs and Xbox consoles, sparked a resurgence in the music traditionally sung in male church choirs, as Gregorian chant-like melodies form the main soundtrack of the games.

The successor of Peter and Bishop of Rome lands on American soil for the first time as Benedict XVI.

The itinerary.  Some catechesis on the papacy.

If you're a liturgical geek (like me), you can see the whole Missal in PDF form here.