Baltimore, bishops, and bloggers. Oh my.

I'm leavin' on a jet plane...Heading to Baltimore for what's being billed as “An Encounter with Social Media: Bishops and Bloggers Dialogue,” and I'll be one of the panelists making a presentation before the bishops and bloggers in attendance. The event will be held Sunday, Nov. 11, and will precede the annual Fall General Assembly of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops.

Here's what the USCCB had to say about the bishops vs. bloggers smackdown. Okay, okay, I'm kidding. Don't get all freaked out about it. From the USCCB:

 “We hope this event yields fruitful discussion and a deeper understanding of how social media and the Church can enrich one another,” said Bishop John Wester of Salt Lake City, chairman of the USCCB Committee on Communications and moderator of the event.

The encounter will feature a new study by the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate (CARA), “Catholic New Media Use in the United States, 2012,” and responses to the study by a panel. Panelists include Bishop Christopher Coyne, auxiliary bishop and apostolic administrator of the Archdiocese of Indianapolis; Rocco Palmo, author of the blog Whispers in the Loggia; Mary DeTurris Poust, a Catholic journalist, author and blogger; and Terry Mattingly, author of the syndicated column On Religion and the blog Get Religion.

When, I ask you, will I ever get another chance to make U.S. bishops sit and listen to me for 10 whole minutes? Probably never. So I'm jumping on this chance and looking forward to hearing feedback from the bishops and my fellow bloggers, who cover a wide range of Catholic issues -- from politics to catechesis to spirituality and more -- on their popular blogs and websites.

Stay tuned for updates...mostly through Facebook and Twitter. If you don't follow me there, now's the time to come on along. Join my Facebook author "fan" page by clicking HERE, and follow me on Twitter at MaryDTP by clicking HERE.

Pitching a tent on sacred ground

My October "Life Lines" column, written more than a month ago but especially timely now given the fact that the canonization of Kateri Tekakwitha is this weekend:

I’m not much of a camper. I chalk it up to traumatic Girl Scout experiences as a kid -- think rain, mud, latrine duty, French toast cooked over a coffee can. But as I write this column, I am simultaneously washing my winter sleeping bag in anticipation of a weekend camping retreat at the Shrine of Our Lady of Martyrs in Auriesville, N.Y., with Noah’s Boy Scout troop. And I’m actually looking forward to it.

The Boy Scouts, and Auriesville in particular, have done for me what nothing else has been able to do since my first failed tent experience: They’ve made me want to become a camper, a hiker, an outdoorswoman. That last one might be pushing it a bit, but I can dream.

I’ve done the Auriesville retreat once before. It was my first camp experience since those early Girl Scout days. As I huddled in my little tent on the grounds where Kateri Tekakwitha was born and where Isaac Jogues, Rene Goupil, and John LaLande were martyred, I suddenly felt my camping angst recede, replaced by a powerful sense of what it means to be a pilgrim on sacred ground. I could feel the holy history all around me. Frost and dampness and sleeplessness were insignificant in this place where Catholics before me were willing to die for their faith.

So when this year’s retreat was announced, I threw my name in the ring immediately. How could I not during this monumental year, when Kateri Tekakwitha finally becomes a canonized saint? Imagine the special graces we Scout pilgrims will receive as we spend two days walking the ravine, going to the sacrament of reconciliation, attending Mass with our bishop, and soaking ourselves in the powerful stories of faith lived amid persecution just 40 minutes from our home.

Because of these camp experiences, Auriesville has become a special place for me. Every chance I get, I head in that direction. The ravine doesn’t lose its shine just because I’ve walked it a dozen times. The coliseum church doesn’t seem less impressive even though I’ve dusted statues and polished pews there with our parish youth group. The beautiful natural scenery hasn’t lost its awe factor because I’ve seen it through every season year after year. That’s because this isn’t just a campground, and it’s not just a historical site.

This shrine is a living, breathing piece of our faith, a place where we can feel the courage of the people who walked here before us and share the spiritual journey with those who walk with us today. So often we think we need to travel to Rome or the Holy Land or Lourdes to make a true pilgrimage, but the reality is that pilgrim moments, opportunities to experience God through the lives of holy men and woman, are close to home and around every turn.

Tomorrow night, when I join five Scouts and one other adult leader on the grounds of Auriesville (along with other troops from all over the region), I will sit by the flickering light of a campfire, just 50 yards from the ravine where the martyrs suffered, and I’ll imagine what it must have been like to be in this exact spot more than 350 years ago, what it must have been like to believe so fervently and know that those beliefs would come at a very high price. It’s sobering, powerful, inspiring.

Noah, who has done this retreat four times, has been so moved by the experience that he plans to take Isaac as his confirmation name this year. On the surface that choice will probably seem insignificant to others, but I know that his choice comes out of experiences gained in this holy place, which is so much more than a geographical destination in upstate New York. It’s a spiritual destination on the pilgrim path we are all called to walk, even if the farthest we ever travel is deep within our own hearts and souls.

Angels among us, messengers from heaven

In honor of today's Feast of the Guardian Angels, I thought I'd post an OSV story I did on angels and their role in our spiritual lives. I'll start you off here and send you there.

The photos at left and below were taken by me two years ago when I was crossing Ponte Sant'Angelo in Rome on my way to St. Peter's Basilica.

By Mary DeTurris Poust

Human beings over the centuries and across cultures have long been fascinated with and captivated by angels. We seek their protection and pray for their guidance. We both fear and crave their presence. We put them on necklaces, coffee mugs, mouse pads and more. When it comes to angels, our expressions of love run from the ridiculous to the sublime, inspiring everything from the wildly inappropriate Victoria’s Secret ad campaign to the strikingly beautiful film Wings of Desire.

Although Catholics often begin their prayer connection to angels in childhood, with the sing-song words of the Angel of God prayer --- “Ever this night, be at my side to light and guard, to rule and guide” – angels are by no means child’s play. They are complex spiritual beings, often misunderstood by us humans who try to give them features and attributes that are more akin to existence on earth than heaven. Chubby little baby-like cherubs sporting wings and harps cannot begin to do justice to the reality of angels in our midst.

So what exactly are we dealing with here, and what role do angels play in our personal prayer lives?....Continue reading HERE.

Life in My 50s: Pousts take Manhattan

Me in the Village

When my 50th birthday was approaching, Dennis suggested one of two trips -- Maine or Manhattan. I was torn. I've never been to Maine and would have loved to settle into a seaside hotel for some peace and quiet. But Manhattan was beckoning. Not just the usual Manhattan, where I run down for a work meeting or Girl Scout event or holiday dinner, but the Manhattan of my 20s and early 30s, the Manhattan that made this suburban girl fall in love with New York City.

So we set out with only one definite plan: dinner reservations at Morandi, a fabulous Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village. Other than that we had a whole weekend and nothing to do but wander. (Much to the kids' chagrin.) We checked into my in-laws' empty apartment (Thank you very much!) and started our visit with lunch at nearby Tal Bagel. Best. Bagels. Ever.

Tal is a place Dennis and I used to frequent when we both worked at Catholic New York newspaper. Pea soup and a sesame bagel was a favorite back then. When we walked in this weekend and our kids were staring up at the sandwich/soup board, we pulled them back from the line and explained that at Tal you do NOT get on line and then start deciding what you want. You do NOT ask questions. You order. Fast. Think Seinfeld's Soup Nazi but with bagels.

From there we headed to Fifth Avenue, where we popped into the Trump Tower. This may seem like an odd choice, but there's good reason. Trump Tower was my prime public restroom location when I was a reporter covering Cardinal O'Connor at St. Patrick's Cathedral on Sunday mornings. When your work requires you to be out on NYC streets at odd times, you quickly learn where all the nice public restrooms are located (Waldorf Astoria and Lord &Taylor ranked up there as well). We also wanted the kids to experience the gaudy 80s opulence of Trump Tower:

Me and the girls at Trump Tower

Because I knew this trip could not be completely devoid of kid-friendly stuff, we made a stop at FAO Schwartz. I ended up with a prize, so I guess it wasn't only the kids who wanted to go there. I got a cool carrying bag with a NYC subway map on it.

Chiara and Olivia in the Lego section at FAO Schwartz.

And, of course, we had to snap a photo of Dennis in front of the Apple store.

Dennis on pilgrimage.

Then off to the Central Park Zoo. I'd never seen real penguins before. Great penguin exhibit. Here are the girls with the sea lions:

And the polar bear:

 I also loved this bird, which I still haven't been able to identify.

We hopped on a very crowded 6 train to the Village and caught a very lengthy but very funny street show. And then on to The Strand. So many books, so little time. We wandered a bit more, hitting Bleecker Street and buying some trinkets before going to Morandi for dinner. It was delicious, and I finally got the order of Carciofi alla Guidea that I couldn't get in Rome (because artichokes were not in season). No photos of that or the focaccia with fresh mozzarella, tomatoes and basil. I went for the simple but fabulous hand-rolled spaghetti with lemon and parmesan sauce.

On Sunday we started off our day with more bagels from Tal (and picked up some bialys for breakfast at home the next day.) Then it was off to St. Patrick's Cathedral for Cardinal Dolan's weekly 10:15 a.m. Mass. Through our good friend Joe Z., we were able to get primo seats -- second pew, center. During the entrance procession, Cardinal Dolan came over to us to inquire about Dennis' broken arm and to wish me a happy 50th birthday. Super cool. Little did we know, it was about to get even better. After Mass, we were ushered behind the ropes where we could have our picture taken with the cardinal, but instead of just saying hello and snapping a photo, the cardinal invited us back to his residence. For coffee and cake. I've been at many Church events -- and I've even been in the cardinal's residence as a reporter back when Cardinal O'Connor would hold events there -- but this really topped everything.

Us with Cardinal Dolan in front of the Pope Chair

After posing for a photo in front of the "Pope Chair," used by Pope John Paul II and Bendict XVI, we sat in the living room and had coffee, juice, and cake with a few other guests, including a beautiful baby named Maria Isabella, who has spina bifida and many struggles ahead. Please pray for her and her lovely family. Here's Cardinal Dolan with Maria Isabella (a little blurry because he was in constant motion making guests feel at home).

He held her like this the entire time we were there, looking very grandfatherly as he chatted and moved chairs around and offered "pie in a bag" (apparently a Milwaukee specialty) while toting around this little baby. I think my kids were just dumbfounded by the way events played out that morning. It was definitely the highlight of the weekend.

To wrap up our visit, we went to the Museum of Modern Art. Originally we were going to opt for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is typically my favorite, but we decided at the last minute to hit MOMA so I could finally see van Gogh's Starry Night. When Dennis and I visited MOMA 19 years ago to see this favorite painting, it was on loan to another museum. I never got around to a return visit. Until this weekend. I actually had tears in my eyes as I stood in front of it. Standing that close to this van Gogh masterpiece was beyond words, as you can tell by my goofy, swooning smile.

A close second was the Monet Water Lilies room. I could have sat there for hours:

We also found some new favorites. Here's Chiara reading up on "White on White," one of her favorite finds right behind Jackson Pollock.

And we finally tracked down the one unusual piece of contemporary art that Dennis and I still remembered from all those years ago:

Someone, please, tell me what this means and why it's in a museum. (And not the Keith Haring stuff behind it. Just the basketballs in the fish tank.) I've read the artist's explanation. I'm not buying it. I think he must laugh and laugh that he managed to land this at MOMA.

On the way home, we made a stop at my grandmother's apartment to say hello and to give her an early (unproofed) version of my new book, "Cravings," which is dedicated to her. Here she is with Chiara:

Now that was a birthday weekend to remember. Turns out 50 isn't so bad. I think I'll turn 50 again next year.

To Rome, With Love

Two years ago at this time I was in the midst of a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Rome. Soon after, I wrote this travel story for the Albany Times Union. It is my love letter to Rome. (Be sure to click through my photos at the top of the TU link):

When in Rome...

By Mary DeTurris Poust

From the moment my plane touched down in Rome, I was in love.Visiting the country where my grandfather was born was the fulfillment of a promise I'd made to myself. I was awed by the prospect of standing in St. Peter's Square, walking through the Coliseum and soaking in the artwork of Michelangelo, Caravaggio and Bernini as I wandered through churches and piazzas.

I had 10 days to explore Rome on my first visit to the Eternal City, a trip that involved a weeklong university seminar for journalists who cover the Catholic Church. Armed with my favorite guide books, an Italian phrase book and an appetite for adventure, I set out to make the city my own. But I quickly learned that without a willingness to think outside the tourist box, my pilgrimage could deteriorate into a parade of indistinguishable ancient churches and artistic masterpieces.

So how to experience Rome like a Roman? When my wristwatch stopped working on the first day of my visit, I took it as a sign:....continue reading HERE.

A little holy cleaning at Auriesville

We spent this beautiful August day doing a little cleaning at the Shrine of Our Lady of Martyrs in Auriesville. Various youth groups are going to the shrine to do some minor maintenance work to help get ready for the canonization celebrations that will take place this fall when Blessed Kateri finally becomes a saint.

Auriesville is one of my favorite spots in upstate NY. Every time I go there, I feel peaceful and joyful. There's such a powerful sense of the sacred on this holy ground. Go there if you can find the time.

Coliseum Church

Chiara dusting the Jesuit saints

Olivia polishing pews

Chiara refilling holy water fonts for maintenance crew

This took some patience and a total lack of skipping

Outside the Coliseum

Looking over the Mohawk Valley

Down on the ravine trail

Two toads, who were dubbed Isaac and Rene

Total peace

Ravine bridge

Ice cream at a farm stand nearby

And the not-so-mindful Jersey Shore

While the mindful side of the Jersey Shore is something special and under appreciated, I would be remiss if I did not also mention the totally mindless side of Wildwood. It's like the yin and yang of shore vacations.

We're just back from our second trip to Morey's Piers. We braved it this afternoon in 95 degree heat in order to get two-for-one rides. Lots of waters and Polish Water Ices were had. 

Without further ado, here's the fun and noisy side of the Wildwood...

See that upside down, corkscrew coaster in the photo above? Dennis is smack dab in the middle of it, feet flying through the air.

 Yes, they truly will deep fry anything here. 

 We opted for fried Oreos. Insanely delicious.

 Noah is up there on the swings.

 Dennis and the kids ride the Doo Wop coaster.

No comment necessary.

 Kang A Bounce: The Sequel

 Dennis, Noah, and Liv splash down on the flume.

The kiddie section of Raging Waters. My mindful spot is at the very back.

Finding mindfulness at the Jersey Shore

Unfortunately, when people hear the words "Jersey Shore" these days, they more often than not think of that awful show of the same name. Although I've never seen even one minute of said show, I've been subjected to enough of the unavoidable supermarket rag headlines to know that it doesn't portray an especially positive, pretty, or peaceful view of what really is an incredibly beautiful place.

Summer doesn't feel complete if I don't get to the ocean at least once, not necessarily for the swimming but for the sound of the waves, the feel of the sand, the endless stretch of sky meeting water somewhere beyond my view. Even with its noisy boardwalk and deep-fried everything, smokers at every turn, and the occasional loud college kids waking up the beach complex at 1 a.m., the Jersey Shore can be a place for mindfulness, contemplation, solitude, and silence.

When I took Olivia for a walk down the crowded beach in search of pretty shells,  it took on the feel of a meditation as I focused my attention on the sand right in front of me. Step by step, wave by wave, everything else faded away and it was just me and my girl in a quiet and beautiful world. A similar thing happened when Chiara and I went tide-pooling, wading into the shallows left behind as the tide went out in search of hermit crabs and minnows looking for a way back to sea. There was something deeply spiritual about our mutual excitement over finding one small crab scurrying near our feet or one giant horseshoe crab moving slowly through the sand.

Even Raging Waters water park on the boardwalk became an opportunity for quiet contemplation as I sat facing the ocean with dozens of children splashing around behind me in the kiddie section. From my vantage point, all I could see was ocean and sand, a roller coaster in stillness in the distance, and an occasional parasailor quietly floating across the bright blue sky. The sight of parents and children carting coolers and sand buckets to the beach below filled my heart with joy as I thought about all the families around me just trying to create a few special memories here on the sands of the Atlantic coast.

We've got a few more days in sunny, sandy New Jersey, and I'm looking forward to discovering more stolen moments of mindfulness amid the shrieks and squeals of the real Jersey Shore.

Here are a few more photos from our trip so far:

 In the gardens at Hereford Lighthouse, just a short walk down the sea wall from our condo.

 A view of the Atlantic from the beginning of the boardwalk.

The entrance to the Wildwood boardwalk.

A new perspective on Christmas 'obligations'

As we started to map out the Christmas season, one thing became clear: There would be nothing remotely relaxing about this holy holiday. I'm not just talking about the shopping and wrapping and cooking. I'm talking about the driving from town to town and state to state, the weather worries, the hotel stay, the kids asking, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

For many of us, the holidays mean zigzagging the state or region or even the country in an effort to visit family members. I've done each of those variations at one time or another, and I can tell you first hand that it can take a little of the merriment out of Merry Christmas.

Earlier this week, after Dennis and I had declared that this would surely be a "lousy" Christmas because of all the driving and time spent in a frantic race from one place to the next rather than in front of our own tree with a glass of nog, I stopped and asked if maybe we should just bag the plans and stay put. If we are preemptively declaring our favorite holiday "lousy," maybe we need to rethink the plans.

So this is how I decided to evaluate the situation: If I knew this was going to be my last Christmas, how would I spend it? And I realized that if I had only this Christmas left, I wouldn't want to spend it in isolation up north but with family. Yes, I'd want to get in the car and drive to see my dad and step-mom, my grandmother and aunts, my cousins and in-laws. Because what fun is Christmas if it isn't shared? Do I wish my family lived closer so we could be together during the day and still return to our own beds at night? Absolutely. But that's not an option for those of us who no longer live in our hometowns or whose parents and siblings have moved on.

Although I'm still kind of dreading the time spent in the car tossing juice boxes and snack bags to the back rows as the kids stare zombie-like at the various screens playing different age-appropriate movies, I have to admit that contemplating Christmas from a somewhat dark place has actually made me more merry.

How are you spending your Christmas? Is it the way you would spend it if it were your last?

Advent awakening. Finally.

I felt a sense of panic last night as I realized we were already a few days into Advent and I had not been to this space to offer any words of encourage- ment or any observations or even any recipes.

The days leading up to Advent were packed to overflowing. Between the Thanksgiving holiday and my four-day trip with Noah to the National Catholic Youth Conference in Indiana (not to mention visits from family and friends and our first 5K race) things just felt totally out of hand. There was none of the quiet slowness that should herald the onset of this beautiful season.

Then this morning, as I felt the panic heighten due to a mounting number of work deadlines, I just stopped in my tracks. I closed the laptop, dumped the newspapers into recycling, cleared the table, made my oatmeal, and lit a candle. I sang "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" all by myself at my kitchen table as the steam from my breakfast cereal rose to the sky like incense. And suddenly Advent had begun.

I'd like to think that those few minutes of total silence and stillness are going to be more the norm than the rarity this Advent season, but I'm not that naive. December usually moves at full tilt, with shopping and planning and concerts and parties. I have no illusions of what's to come, especially since I am currently working on two books on tight deadlines. And yet, still, I feel a settling now where a few days ago I felt only unrest.

I think we often forget that the peace and calm that prayer brings to our lives doesn't come without some effort on our part. We can't move through life at breakneck speed, sending a shout out to God along the way, and expect to become centered and balanced and serene. That only comes from the occasional silence we actively create in our lives.

As I told a group of teens earlier this month during a talk on prayer, if we give God just five minutes of silence a day (which will feel like five hours the first few times you do it), we will begin to see subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in our lives in short order. Five minutes a day of total silence. That means turning off everything -- phones, computer speakers, Twitter feeds and Facebook accounts, TVs and stereos. Tune out every sound you possibly can. And then just sit and wait for God.

I experienced that kind of silent waiting, believe it or not, in a stadium of 23,000 teenagers a couple of weeks ago. One of the MCs at NCYC had the audacity to lead that giant, noisy group of excitable kids in lectio divina. When she started out, I thought she was nuts. By the time we were sitting in absolute silence, I was in awe. Imagine that many teenagers just sitting in silence, longing for a connection with God. If that don't get you some religion, I don't know what will. (I plan to write more about the NCYC experience in days to come. Sorry for the delay.)

Yesterday day, during Morning Prayer, this verse from the Book of Tobit jumped out at me:

"When you turn back to him with all your heart,
to do what is right before him,
then he will turn back to you,
and no longer hide his face from you."

So this Advent I plan to try to turn back to God with all my heart, not an easy task by any means. I know how quickly and easily I get thrown off course, but try I will. I'll have the added benefit of some intense spiritual time this weekend, when I head to Kripalu yoga center for a workshop with Paulist Father Tom Ryan, a certified yoga teacher, called "Pray All Ways."

In addition to the workshop, Father Tom will celebrate Mass late Saturday evening for those who want a Sunday Eucharistic celebration. He told me we would sit in a circle, chant, and have an interactive homily. I am beyond excited to experience all that is in store for me. (And my friend Michelle D., who bravely decided to join me for the workshop and share a room with me. Thank you, Michelle!)

I'll be back with tales from the journey. In the meantime, slow down, breathe, be silent, if only for five short minutes.