Catholicism – Jill Domschot

Roswell Weekend Journal

The weekend began with a storm. It was the first of Roswell Night Skies’* Movie in the Park; we were showing Lilo & Stitch, and when I arrived on scene, the crew that had been enlisted to set up the screen were battling heavy winds. They were determined, however, and the nonprofit board’s president did not want to cancel the first event of the season. We made it about halfway through before the wind and slanting rain drove our audience away. It was fun while it lasted. To the positive, the venue this year is Roswell’s Cielo Grande Events Area, which has a natural slope that is perfect for an audience. Hopefully, the weather will cooperate this Friday, when we will be showing The Iron Giant. Be there at dusk and bring a blanket or lawn chairs. There will be concessions.

After the storm, my weekend never lost its turbulence. I had numerous stacked events on my schedule, including the Corpus Christi procession on Sunday. Corpus Christi is generally at the start of June, which is the hottest month in Roswell. The internet says it’s July, but the average high is the same. In my experience, it can top 100 on multiple days in June, but what do I know? The point being the Corpus Christi procession is a hot one, done at fake high noon**.

There are much longer and more elaborate processions around the world than ours; we have four altars to place the monstrance on around the parish campus, each with its own Bible reading and prayer. The choir chants, and the various groups carry their banners and wear their matching uniforms, and the altar servers carry the cross and incense. The priest carries Christ’s eucharistic presence in the monstrance.

A typical monstrance. Attribution: Broederhugo

Gebruiker

As an Altar and Rosary member, I helped carry flowers from altar to altar. A few years ago, a priest that used to be with our parish asked us to scatter flower petals along the path; apparently that was what they did in his native land of Nigeria. The bookkeeper balked at the price of petals from the flowershop and asked why I didn’t pluck them from the rosebushes out front. For my part, I questioned if stripping the church roses of petals was part of my secretarial duties. Calling a flowershop, yes. I can pick up a phone. Making the elderly people cry over decimated rosebushes–not really part of my job description. Since then, we have carried red and white bouquets and skipped the petals.

How ever we decorate the altars, we have a fairly big campus and have never yet sought city approval to process up the street chanting, let alone scatrering petals–although, when I went to the grocery store near the a parish after this year’s procession, I could smell the incense that had drifted there on the wind. We didn’t get approval for that either!

My weekend ended with dessert and lemonade shared with a friend indoors, which was pleasant and cool. Thank God for these summer relief strategies.

Now that it’s Monday again, I’m wondering why life is so difficult. Not my job per se, although I do plan funerals as a regular course of events and sometimes step in to sing a capella in funerals, quinceañeras, or weddings when there are no musicians. Well, that is not quite true. Every time I’ve been asked to sing at these Masses a capella, I’ve found other people to sing with me. But, no, it’s not the difficulties of my job or the increasing busyness of the office that makes everything a tangle of problems, despite that I’m exhausted.

My friend was telling me yesterday, after we’d been talking for a few hours, that she had nothing to speak about except negative subjects. She’s experienced more than her fair share of trauma and recently went through a breakup, which has forced her to start life over.

Regarding having nothing else to speak about, I both agreed and disagreed with her. Trauma can put people in that position, where the nervous system is on edge. Talking through the negatives can help us heal. Sometimes, we need to talk through the negatives. Forcing positivity can be counterproductive to the nervous system just as ignoring clunking sounds in your car’s engine can cause further damage. There is no sense in whistling while your house is burning down, either. On the other hand, making small steps forward and acknowledging successes are also part of the process of healing, and there is always something to be proud of or grateful for, no matter how small. For my friend, she has a new place to live, a new job, and she loves artwork: creating it and looking at it. All positives.

My positives would include dragonflies and accordions, of course.

But no worries if your sight is clouded temporarily by how bad everything is. The storm we experienced while trying to run the movie on Friday seemed to dissipate after we’d packed up the equipment. We couldn’t see that while our screen was blowing down or the rain pelting the sound mixer. Nor was it wise to continue with the movie, not knowing what Roswell would throw at us next.

A last relevant point: in the Corpus Christi homily, our priest spoke about following Christ, how his presence has been given to us in the Eucharist–it is very real and personal. And the procession is an embodiment of this concept. When life gets difficult, sometimes all we have is the presence of Christ. That is no small thing. It is the biggest thing. It is vital.

*Roswell Night Skies is not a Catholic organization, despite that I talk about Catholicism in this post. I’m just writing about my life in Roswell.

**Under daylight savings time, high noon is actually 1 p.m. We’ve been distorted by a false sense of time!

Weekly Adventures in Roswell

I talk about my accordion adventures in this YouTube video: Adventures With the Accordion. If you want to learn about the accordions I’ve acquired over the years and hear the distinct sound each one has, you’ll want to listen to the video. I discuss how I came to purchase a piano accordion from Facebook Marketplace last week, even though I was only scrolling on Marketplace in search of the perfect classic truck. This is a regular habit of mine. Someday, I will have the classic truck of my dreams. Instead, I found an accordion and purchased it on a whim.

The part I wanted to focus on here is where I purchased it from. The seller on Facebook told me it was at the “music shop.” What did he mean? Roswell has a music store at the mall, but they do not sell vintage accordions. Rather, they sell standard new instruments like keyboards and guitars, along with equipment pertaining to playing and amplifying instruments. It turns out there’s a music store right next to Chero’s Boots.

Chero’s Boots in the old Payless building

It’s a consignment music store, and I believe the Facebook seller traded or outright purchased a different accordion from the shop and left the one I purchased there on consignment. But before you get excited about the possibility of finding an accordion for yourself, the shop, Neo Music Exchange, doesn’t regularly deal in accordions. It’s a rock music store with numerous guitars. It was still an adventure worth having, as I drove out there on my lunchbreak and had to drive really fast (going the exact speed limit, of course) to get back to work on time and in the process exchanged money for a heavy suitcase filled with musical delights. Adventures often involve going without the comforts of our usual tasty foods and cozy naps, which is what I normally enjoy on my lunch hour. Just as Bilbo had to leave his Hobbit hole and tankard of ale to fight a dragon, so I had to leave my cheeseburger and the dark shadowy reading room at the church to procure an old accordion that sounds like an organ.

My Three Accordions resembling Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear

On another day, I might have also popped in next door to gaze at the beautifully tooled boots I can’t afford. Have you been to Chero’s Boots? I have a couple of times. Once, to admire the goods, and another time to purchase tickets to see Los Huracanes at the fairgrounds.

For my weekend adventure, I went to the movie in the park that was put on by Main Street Roswell but operated by Roswell Night Skies. It was the first movie in the Park of the year — the official summer lineup will start the first Friday in June at Cielo Grande Park. Last summer, we played movies in Russ DeKay Soccer Complex, but the city no longer operates there and, therefore, we can’t get a permit to use it this year. Instead, NMMI (which owns the property) will now use it as their own soccer complex. Or whatever. I don’t know what their plans are.

Usually, it’s hot by May in Roswell. This last weekend was an exception. The movie in the park was as cold as the one we helped with during the Christmas Fair on Main Street. I had put on a jacket for the event and ended up running home for my coat, and I was still cold. While it only dipped to about 40 degrees that night and did not freeze, the temperature in the park was colder than the rest of town. This was owing to the heavy rain that saturated the earth and grass combined with the cold breeze. Nobody needs or wants a swamp cooler when temperatures are below sixty. The crowd was relatively small, about seventy-five people, but they stuck it out on their blankets, many wearing shorts and t-shirts.

My weekend adventures ended with Mass this morning. The songs were fun to sing today, and my priest gave a very important announcement: he will be leaving us to go to Illinois and have his own adventure at a Catholic parish and school. I will miss him, and it’s difficult not to cry. Actually, I have already cried. He is my boss and my spiritual mentor, and what if his replacement is lazy, passive-aggressive, or doesn’t want to have full-time staff? Priests are, after all, human beings with their own foibles and opinions. I guess that is an adventure not yet seen. This is why faith in God is paramount. I know God is with me and will take care of me, even as far as his kindnesses such as providing the means to purchase accordions and good health that allows me to be participate in nonprofits.

Oh, speaking of, another mini adventure was the Mass and Altar & Rosary Society meeting on Saturday morning. Yes, these are the types of adventures I have. Don’t judge my boring life. Anyway, I was voted in as secretary for the society. It is what it is. I will happily take the meeting notes starting in July.

May we all have adventures in the coming week. Blessings from Roswell!

At Long Last

When our sacristan and music director was hired on at the church, we promised him the church had a slow season. As time went on, he asked us with desperation filling his eyes, “When???!!!” The truth is, the Catholic church has something for every season, and constants such as baptisms, funerals, and the occasional wedding. There are youth groups and VBS programs and just when you think you’re going to get a break, the new religious education year starts once again.

But still, I’m breathing a big sigh at the moment (while doing my weekly laundry at the relaxing laundromat) because we just made it through the Confirmation Mass, which officially ends much of the stress for everyone in the office — not 100%, as we still have a couple more religious education classes, with an end-of-year Mass, and then will come May crownings. Crowning the Mary statues are happy events because they involve flowers, many pretty, colorful flowers.

Because I was a part-time catechist last year for the adult religious education program, I was invited to the catechist dinner last night. It was peaceful, the relief of the priest evident. We had this dinner at a nearby restaurant, Los Cerritos. Los Cerritos might be the first restaurant I went to in Roswell…unless you count visiting here when my now twenty-two-year-old daughter was a baby. Back then, we went to a local place called Farley’s, and I have zero recollection of the food eaten. Maybe pizza. These were the days before we’d discovered the kids had allergies to wheat — not gluten intolerance or celiac, but actual allergies in the old-fashioned sense. For example, I accidentally ingested a wheat host at the Confirmation Mass the other night and had an instant asthma attack and developed hives on my knees of all the places. It was ridiculous. I was only there to sing, and my priest had prepared a low-gluten host for me. But instead of my priest, the bishop was suddenly in front of me holding out a host– and what was I to do?

Anyway, that diversion aside, Los Cerritos was the first restaurant I experienced of Roswell in the more recent past ten or eleven years instead of twenty-plus. I know what to eat there that doesn’t bother me, and I order it every time, the camarones a la diabla. If you don’t like spicy food, I don’t recommend this dish, especially at this restaurant. I’m addicted to the thrill of endorphins produced by the heat. I also like that it’s served with rice and a simple salad.

Don’t take me wrong; life has a way of throwing multiple stressors your way just when you think you can relax with a cold drink and spicy shrimp. I already know of some of these that are coming my way. Others are unknown, and for good reason. Humans might want to give up if they knew what was headed their way. In fact, Roswell has had a series of deadly car accidents lately. When I was driving to the laundromat, I passed an accident involving a motorcycle that was crushed. That can’t be good. One accident in the past few months was caused by the sheer recklessness of someone I know, and he injured numerous people, killing one. Talk about stress.

God protect us when we drive or consider being aggressive or reckless on the road.

Another diversion aside, this is the post in which I encourage you not to take breaks for granted. Rest and relax when you can because you can’t look forward to a nebulous future that doesn’t exist, in which you will finally be caught up and can enjoy the joyous riot of flowers surrounding Mary. You have to take that moment now. There are no guarantees on life. In fact, evwn though I like to believe I will publish my next book soon, the Amazon empire could come crumbling down, leaving self-publishers lacking a good way to publish and get their works out there without spending even more money than they’ve already spent.

Peace out. Currently, I’m enjoying one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite singers: Concédeme by El Coyote. By the way, I’m pretty sure all my playlists on Spotify are public and accessible if you’re interested: My liked songs. Spotify called my list Banda as a default (which I did not change), but it is equal parts Norteño.

The Triduum in Roswell, NM

These are the Catholic services and Masses for Holy Week. Assumption is also offering a Reconciliation Service at 6 PM Monday evening. There will be ten priests available to hear confessions in Spanish or English.

I highly recommend going to all three services, beginning with the Thursday Mass of the Lord’s Supper. There is a footwashing portion of this special Mass. In my most recent YouTube video, I discuss how crucial it is to have a personal relationship with Jesus. That is what distinguishes rote, impotent religion from pure and good religion. The Catholic church has historically made that possible with traditions such as the Triduum and praying the Stations of the Cross. Through these traditions, we are brought right in the center of the life of Christ and shown how to be Christlike.

January News

The print of Delivering Hope is now available: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CQRNT46R. If you would like a free copy of the ebook, please let me know. I only ask one thing: if you like the book, tell someone. Word of mouth is the best marketing.

I’ve started the sequel, and it’s moving at my normal pace of 1000 words a day. Its official title is Delivering the Goods & the Bads.

The Christmas tree came down on Epiphany Sunday, after I’d written on the front door with blessed chalk: 20+C+M+B+24. Because I’m feeling particularly lazy, here is the screenshot of the snippet I wrote for the weekly bulletin I create at my job:

I continue to make YouTube videos, in which I blather about nonsense. I even developed my own theme song. It’s called El Vuelo de Las Libélulas. I know; surprising, right? I’m trying to get over my awkwardness at playing the accordion on camera.

My dogs are brats. Did I just openly admit that? They are adorable brats. But they give me love, which is hard to find in the world. God loves purely. Nobody else does. Except dogs. I mean, they love you extra if you give them bacon, so maybe that’s not pure, but at least it’s predictably simple. They also openly display their love, not to mention their joy at loving. Humans instead display their misery in love.

Maybe I should stop listening to the song Qué Agonía five times a day. It’s such a good song, though. I will post below.

Christian Marriage

There is a Trad Wife trend going on social media. I didn’t know it was a trend, albeit, I did see video shorts labeled as such filtering through my YouTube feed. It’s difficult for me to parse YouTube algorithms. I get dating advice, too, but I’ve never actually searched for such channels because I’ve been married for almost thirty years. Maybe dating advice is also on trend? Or maybe my actual searches add up to Trad Wife and dating advice? I primarily listen to Catholic and Protestant apologetics videos. Secondarily, I watch accordion tutorials and music videos. Thirdly, I still watch food budgeting and recipe videos, even though I’m at a point in my life where I do little cooking. Occasionally, I click on a video because it sounds intriguing or like a trainwreck I can’t turn away from. The Trad Wife trend might fall into “trainwreck.”

I learned this hashtag was a trend when one of the Protestant apologetics creators, Allie Beth Stuckey, made a video on it. My take on what I had seen was that it was based off of a lot of naivety. In one or two cases, there seemed to be a cosplay, sexual kink aspect to it, in which the wife primps like Marilyn Monroe and pretends to be a traditional wife, something which Marilyn Monroe was not. A sex kitten Hollywood starlet is not what any normal person would call a trad wife leading a trad life, though there perhaps is a parallel to the way in which she was owned and controlled by immoral men and the way in which these trad females wish to be owned and controlled by, hopefully, moral men.

Hopefully. I tend to make no theological arguments regarding marriage dynamics. We have no intact traditional culture; therefore, traditional Christian marriage roles end up being acted out artificially in our times. The most successful marriages I have witnessed in my years in very conservative Christian circles (I was a homeschool parent for years) were egalitarian marriages. The least successful I have witnessed were philosophically patriarchal with much talk about female submission and male leadership. The results have been so catastrophic in some cases that the children have left the faith altogether for agnostic or even deviant lifestyles. As someone who is a lifelong observer who doesn’t prefer to join movements, what I have witnessed is a sign that we’re doing “trad marriage” wrong, or maybe putting all our eggs in a one- or two-verse Scriptural basket without much thought to the examples put forth in the rest of the Bible.

I will add a caveat in here that, although complementarianism was a term invented by Baptists, the concept is held by the Catholic church, as well. There is no doubt that men and women are different in nature and that society requires both to function. But I do not see the hard and fast rules in Scripture that moderns preach. I see women such as Rebecca and Abigail defying their husband’s authority and unwittingly siding with God’s position. I use the term “unwittingly,” but I don’t really know this; maybe Rebecca’s deception was based off a God-given conviction that Jacob was the son God had chosen. That brings me to another point: God defies human wisdom and hierarchies regularly by raising up second-born sons. Getting back to Abigail and her siding with David instead of her husband at a time when no one yet knew he would be king — that man she sided with was a youngest sibling with many brothers ahead of him in the hierarchy. He was not even the second son! It is obvious, no matter what words you want to use to convince me otherwise, that God doesn’t think much of human hierarchies, and that includes women being on a rung below men. Go read the Old Testament, and you will find other examples of this phenomenon.

Modern-day marriage is a mess. Traditionally, people were married when they were too young* to really consider the consequences of being stuck with someone who might very well become loathsome after twenty or forty or even sixty years of marriage. But, thankfully, there was rarely a way out of the prison they’d placed themselves in. Yes, of course, there are stories of men divorcing their wives (historically, it didn’t generally work the other way around) or of men having their wives committed to asylums when their wives became annoying and asylums were a thing. Otherwise, though, the best hope was that a married couple would end up loving each other more as the years passed. I don’t think this was ever common, though. Am I being cynical? Maybe a little. Nowadays, I’m not even certain I would recommend people marry young because of the ease at which divorce is available. It’s probably better to wait until you aren’t a fool and know yourself a little better, so that you can marry someone you enjoy being around instead of filing for divorce once you’ve realized what a fool you were. I see so many divorces and subsequent remarriages where the husbands and wives are much more mentally balanced with partners chosen at mature ages. I even see this in my job. The Catholic church does try to prevent them by restricting annulments and remarriages, but they still happen all the time. The drawback, of course, is people aren’t even bothering to get married nowadays due to the fact that it’s a sham. Consequently, our reproduction rates have plummeted. None of this is good, despite those who are happier in second marriages.

Are men and women supposed to be happy together and to fulfill each other? To love and cherish each other? I would say yes, if this were a perfect world. It’s not, and, sadly, fulfillment is unlikely to happen. For traditional marriage to work, therefore, divorce must be made more difficult. Misery and long-suffering must be taught as good for the soul. God as our true soul fulfillment must also be instilled in us as Christian people. We have largely walked away from God as a culture. For that reason, I should be cheering for a trend such as #tradwife or #tradmarriage. But I can’t. I can’t find it in me to cheer for a binary worldview in which it’s believed that women need only love and men only respect. Love without respect is pity. Respect without love is a business relationship. I can’t cheer for that, not after seeing this type of marriage come apart at the seams and the children destroyed through it. Without an intact traditional culture, in which men and women have resources to aid them through loveless marriages, such as the old folks giving loving advice and friends offering hugs, this trend is simply not going to work. When one or the other partner realizes the raw deal they were dealt, they will go file for that easy divorce.

Is true love possible? Sure, but it’s a lot of work. I tend to view my parents as soulmates who just happened to find each other. Whether that’s true or an ideal is not up to me to say. However, when I review all that they’ve gone through together, how much they’ve sacrificed for each other, and how much they’ve compromised, I believe it was their intention to love each other, and so they loved as a vocation. They are still loving each other. By the way, they are one of the most egalitarian couples I’ve ever known. Over fifty years and still going. My parents give me hope that people can if they try, no matter what label they slap on. Living requires action rather than philosophy.

*Yes, I’m aware that people didn’t always historically have the luxury of choosing a spouse. This was especially the case for upper crust and royals who wanted to keep wealth and land in small circles of influence. But generally, if an average boy and girl favored each other, they could be married upon approval from their families.

The Absurdity of Misanthropy

The concept that humans are worthless is very popular in both Catholic and Protestant circles. I’ve been in Protestant services where the extended worship time focused on repeating mantras of self-immolation in song. I’m glad my husband stopped attending that church. To be fair, I stopped attending Protestant services with him entirely because I’m burned out on all of them.

But self depreciation certainly isn’t confined to Protestantism. Catholics have a long history of self hatred, which they have demonstrated through absurd physical means such as flagellation and the wearing of hair shirts. I don’t have a problem with self denial at all; fasting is biblical and can take our focus off the emphasis of meeting our physical needs and onto crying out to God to meet our spiritual needs. But the intentional acts of self hatred and proving our worthlessness to the world is 100% lost on me and, in my opinion, not consistent with either God or other Christian beliefs. Thankfully, these are private rather than corporate Catholic practices. In other words, the Mass is the Mass; there will never be a “led by the spirit” lengthy worship service in which Christians chant about how they need to disappear so that God’s glory can shine.

There is a viral Catholic prayer, The Unity Prayer by Elizabeth Kindelmann, that has caught fire in Catholic circles. The prayer itself is lovely (I will post it below) and the testimonies about it binding Satan’s influence over us probably true. That is the power of praying to Jesus. Being that these types of viral movements, in which numerous miracles are attributed to a specific prayer, fascinate me, I decided to read Kindelmann’s autobiography for more context. What a mistake that was! It wasn’t entirely a mistake. However, it is a tale of human suffering that can be very depressing to dwell on for any length of time. On the other hand, trust in God in the midst of suffering can be inspirational. There is both in the text, but unfortunately too much of the former for my mental health.

I stopped reading not too long after the words spoken to her by the Blessed Virgin Mary and Jesus turned the direction of “your priority is to remember that you are nothing.” Granted, this is a translation into English. In fact, it went from Hungarian to Spanish and then to English from the Spanish, so what I’m reading is twice removed from the original language. How difficult is that concept to translate from any language? I don’t know. I’m asking an honest question. Hungarian is a Uralic language and is therefore quite different from English or Spanish, but it still has a word that translates as “nothing.”

Why is this such a problem for me? On an emotional level, I struggle with nihilism. If there is no purpose to my or anyone else’s life on earth, I’d rather just off myself right now. Please don’t be alarmed by that, as I don’t believe my life is meaningless. I don’t buy that lie the evil one is selling. On a practical level, the pro-life movement, which is very important to the Catholic church, has as its core philosophy the value of all human life. Humans aren’t nothing. They matter. That’s why Catholic crusaders are willing to go to jail for protesting against abortion and euthanasia, as well as the maltreatment of humans. That’s why thousands of priests were killed by Nazis — they stood against the Nazi maltreatment of humans. How can they hold that philosophy while believing they themselves are nothing? Are they not as human and, therefore valuable, as the lives they’re fighting for? It’s a strange dichotomy you find all over the Christian world. I’m meaningless; I don’t have value, but I’m going to save the starving people in a refugee camp because somehow they have value despite being humans, too.

In a larger theological framework, there doesn’t seem much sense to God creating humans and sending his Son to die self-sacrificially for them if he regards them as nothing. What kind of capricious God would do that, and then advise these same humans when they are struggling through poverty and loneliness, as Kindelmann clearly was throughout her life, that their number one job was to remember that they are nothing? Her life as a poor woman and young widow had already taught her she didn’t have value. If she is writing that she is nothing, my guess is it’s coming from the worm in her brain implanted by maltreatment and not from God.

The Good Shepherd does not look pragmatically at his sheepfold and say, “Well, I have ninety-nine here. It would probably be better if I keep watch over these than go out and look for that one that left the fold. She left of her own free will. Her choice. She was warned about wolves. Besides, that’s one less mouth to feed, and who wants to give food to a poor female nobody loves? She’s nothing to us. Should we take a vote?” Those are not godly words. Jesus said he would leave the fold to find that one sheep that was lost. The sheep obviously being a metaphor for us, does the Good Shepherd strike you as a savior who would tell us we are nothing? That we don’t matter?

Humans want and need love. They want and need to know that they have value. They want to matter. It is no surprise to me that God built us chemically to produce pleasurable feelings when we do good for others. Doing good gives us a sense of purpose, a vocation. Yes, our chemical reactions can be tainted; there are sadists who instead feel pleasure when harming others. But we are appalled by that twisting of our God-given natures, condemning such people and their behavior, and rightfully so.

Maybe if I read the rest of her story, I would learn why it was important for her to remember she was nothing. I do not know because I’m not going to finish reading something that has already struck me as being false, closer to Zen Buddhism than Christianity. Instead, I’ll return to my fictional murder mysteries, where the sense of justice enacted in the end is predicated off human life mattering. If it didn’t, there would be little point to punishing murderers — which is, by the way, a biblical concept.