Frank and I both agree that Monday is a good day--clean slate, beginning of the work week, ready to go.

I have on my mind a family member (cousin by marriage) who finds herself in a horrible situation, and none of us knew. How can we help? I've written a note to her, but will have to talk to Frank before I send it. I hope she will be able to start clean, fresh, and start over. Part of me is appalled at the situation, and part of me is awe of her deceased husband's commitment to his convictions, and at her commitment to her family. And I can see that their actions could have been GREAT, in the way that true greatness sails above and ahead of the world. But he's gone, and what a mess.

I didn't go to the silo today. I stayed home to work at compiling a list of the Lenten antiphons for Morning and Evening Prayer. While I'm doing this, I write the translations in "Christian Prayer" and "Antiphonale Monasticum." I did this for Advent, and found the Latin Gregorian chants for almost all the morning and evening prayer antiphons. Many thanks to Whitaker's Words . This is a standalone (or web-based) Latin-to-English dictionary. By doing this transcribing, I'm starting to understand the Latin. Sometimes I can look at a text, and the corresponding English version comes to me. Sometimes.

Of course, I always try to translate any piece of chant before I sing it. I'm hoping that, somehow, this will be my seminary.

Fr. Pat Creed astounded me with his presence--his connection to a deeper meaning in scripture and liturgy--and over time, I think I've identified at least part of that connection. He attended seminary in the Pre-Vatican Catholic Church, in which the Latin phrases were sung and chanted, becoming nuggets of meaning stored in the psyche in ways that we don't use any more. I want to develop that part of myself and that connection with God, culture, and the universe.

One of the Lenten antiphons is "Tunc assumpsit eum diabolus in sanctam civitatem," (Antiphonale Monasticum p. 344). I notice that this Latin version of the story of the temptation of Christ (in which the devil takes Jesus to the citidel and invites him to throw himself down) could have an entirely different meaning than the one I've become accustomed to, if I'm reading the Latin right.

The devil says: "Si Filius Dei es, mitte te deorsum."

OK, the first part translates, "You're the Son of God."

"Mitte" means "throw;" "te" means "you";

Using Whittaker's Words, "deorsum" spits out "down, downwards, beneath, below; (motion/direction/order);in lower situation."

Well. Look at that: "In lower situation." Maybe we aren't talking about leaping physically off the top of a building. Maybe we're talking about the potential to be at the top of the heap in the big city, and considering letting ourselves go to a lower situation.

If we consider the last meaning--that the devil tempted Jesus with leaving all the social trappings of his ministry and his potential social power, perhaps becoming a simple person again--we have an entirely different concept to meditate upon as we sing this chant. Usually the devil's temptation is interpreted as the temptation to TAKE power. Today I see that the tempation being offered is to LEAVE power, forget the games and the gimmicks and the crap. This could be appealing, right?

It appeals to me. I'm stubbornly abandoning power within the social structure of church and parish and the professional world. And here is a text calling my decision a temptation to be resisted.

Time will tell, maybe. Cousin Ted took hold of all the trappings of social power, eliteness and legal prowess, grabbed it and rode that wave with all his might. He focused his effort, though, not on himself, but on the millions of aborted babies, whom he saw and felt being murdered, over and over, day in and day out. His powerful faith told him that his potential to combat this must be followed, and that, even if he had to gamble, all would be well in time.

I know he loved simple things, too--the Ohio river, and the stars that hang above it late at night. He loved his family. Was he tempted to let go of the mission?

Had cancer not struck him at such a young age, perhaps he would have ridden that wave, driving it to attain the potential good that he could see.

Perhaps he did, and we just don't know it yet.