always bother

sin. the failure to bother to love. 

on the radio. Oh Oh. on the radio. Oh Oh

during Fr. Thierry's week long visit to this, the newest home in the Heart's Home family, he was asked to do a radio interview with the young adult section (rmxpect) of the largest Catholic radio station in Austria, Radio Maria. He gave the interview in French, Fr. Jacques translated it into German...if I had the time I'd translate it into English for you, but alas...I don't currently, but I'll try to get to that. 

anyways, if you just happen to know French or German...give it a listen!! 

Here's how:

(1) go to this link: www.rmxpect.com

(2) click on the tab "radiothek"

(3) scroll down until you find the link entitled: "VAMOS AMIGOS: Interview mit dem Gründer von Points-Coeur (17. Mai)"

although Im hesitant to let you all know, I also did an hour and a half segment on the same radio station back in February. They asked me questions about America (most of which I had to look up before the on-air interview), how I grew up, the school system, my university experience, and then I got to talk all about Heart's Home and how I got here. The first hour is in english, and the last 1/2 hour segment was in some kind of awful german. 

I cringed the first and, Gott sei dank, only time I had to listen to it (in fact, I only could bear to listen to it halfway through...). 

I was so nervous during the interview that by the first break, Julia had to go get me a glass of water and open the windows because I was breaking out in hives (why am I so weird and anxious when I have to speak in front of people I can't even see??) 

Although I hope you don't find the time to listen to it :) you can listen to it, just like Fr. Thierry's interview...except for step three, find the link entitled: 

"Neuland: U.S.A."

*note: ugh...of course on the air for everyone to hear, I called Chicago the capitol of Illinois because I'm dumb and forgot about Springfield. For anyone who was offended, I am deeply sorry. 

note 2: I have never listened to the second half of the interview so I am sorry for any utterly embarrassing mistakes/misrepresentations of America I made then as well :) What's a girl to do...I'm here to love people, not talk on radios. 

you gotta see this

For the last several months, Fr. Paul has been heading up the project to make a new video about what Heart's Home is up to amidst the hustle and bustle of New York City.

Finally finished, I just received an e-mail with the link and wanted to share it with you. They did a magnificent job putting it together...special props to Fr. Paul for the long hours in front of the computer, and immense patience the film required. 

(p.s. did you spot me? we were celebrating Wendy's birthday!)

iran?

on a way lighter note. 

i just can't get over this "world audience viewer" that tells you from where in the world people are viewing my blog. 

i have no idea who is doing the viewing...but my blog has been viewed by a computer in  IRAN...NINE TIMES

seriously? 

bursting

so my heart is bursting. 

i just met my Austrian grandmother for the first time. 

her name is Maria. 

the truth is, I adopted her in January. 

the majority of the time, especially in the beginning of my time here, Alina and I would go to Stephansdom for mass and adoration, or at least for adoration because it is the most convenient place with a separate adoration chapel open from 8am till 10pm. every time that I go into Stephansdom, no matter how long or short, I always visit my favorite little alcove and say hi to one of my best friends...St. Therese...or at least a large portrait of her. 

When you regularly visit a place that is everyday swarming with tourists and people you are seeing for the first time and probably will never see again, you tend to notice the reoccurring faces. Her's was one of them. She was always perched on the very end of the single bench in St. Therese's alcove, always beautifully dressed and her hair swept back, always very proper with her gloves (whether winter or summer) resting on her lap under one hand, and the other resting on her cane. 

After seeing her once or twice I started to smile, nod my head as if to say hi, or outright wave (so American). After seeing her the 10th time I knew I needed to meet her. After the 20th or the 30th time, my heart just wanted to sit right down next to her and hold her hand. 

Today was probably the 78th time. And today, I spoke to her. 

I know...it seems odd to make such a big deal about it. Yet, you must know something about German...like most foreign languages there is a personal "you" and a formal "you". For some reason I just can't get the formal "you" down. You can imagine what fear this instills in you when you are approaching someone like a Cardinal, or even an elderly, very proper frau and are not sure whether you will downright insult them with the first words out of your mouth (yes...i'm speaking from experience...lets just say there are several old frauen in this city that will no longer speak to me...the men are always a little nicer if you just smile and say you're sorry). 

But today, this little impulse welling up inside of me just had to be acted upon. I finished my rosary beside her, took a deep breath, picked up my purse rethinking the impulse, and then turned around and squatted (ps. i hate that word) at her feet. 

Since it was definitely the Holy Spirit nudging me to do it...I blamed it on him. "Gruß Gott! I just wanted to say that I say a prayer for you everyday...but I don't know your name. What is your name?" (its the most I could do...please...count how many times I had to say the word "you"...i couldn't come up with anything more eloquent under so much pressure) 

She took my hand...so tight...with both of her hands. And told me her name was Maria. Yes, thats right, my adopted grandmother has the same name as me. 

 She smiled the most gorgeous 70-something year old grandmother smile and said, "Alles lieb kleine madchen! Alles Gut! Wir sehen uns morgan!"

(All love, little girl. All good. We will see each other tomorrow)

She said she doesn't come to Stephansdom everyday (completely understandable considering every time I see her..she is usually there for at the least an hour without moving from her usual spot next to Therese). And tomorrow she would actually not be there (good thing I asked) because she would be having a visit from her sister and some other family (you can imagine how much I was anxiously sweating at how long this conversation turned out to be and how many times I had to use "you"). 

So she took my hand even tighter and once again said, "Alles lieb. Bis nachste mal, bald. Alles lieb."

Then I wasn't sure she was going to let my hand go. But no she isn't a "kleine madchen" snatcher. She is my adopted Viennese grandmother (does she even come from Vienna? I don't know yet) and today I learned her name. 

Recent Article by Fr. Thierry

"Art and the Religious Sense: The Human Longing for Beauty--a Yearning for the Absolute." 

Monday, March 8, 2010 -- Speech at the American Bible Society, New York, NY

Fr. Thierry de Roucy

"Good evening dear friends. It is a pleasure to be with you tonight and to speak about the humanization of the culture. We are all aware that, at least in its traditional features, the religious phenomenon has known a dramatic decrease in the past decades. New generations seem very little interested in what they perceive as mere institutions, incapable of meeting their most pressing existential needs. On the contrary, it is striking that art attracts and fascinates more and more. Museums have never before recorded such a large audience. Art sales keep beating their own sky-high records. And young generations show massive interest for art studies in its different forms. Such enthusiasm is all the more surprising because art, like religiosity, by the way, is at odds with our society's most accepted criterion. We value what is efficient and productive, whereas art is gratuitous. We value immediacy and automatism, whereas art takes a lot of patience and personal engagement. We value easiness and comfort, whereas the artist's life is unsecured and difficult. This leads us to a simple question: Why? Why does our society hold on with such passion to art? We proclaimed the death of God and the 'age of maturity' of humanity….Why do we keep so profoundly attached to such useless and somehow enigmatic tradition?

Maybe the first hint of an answer to that question is: because art meets a desire. The Estonian composer Arvo Pårt is regarded by many--including young musicians-as one of the most lively and creative protagonists of contemporary music. How does his music, besides being deeply religious and rooted in tradition, fascinate such a large audience? In an interview, answering to that question, Arvo Pårt said: "Both of us have an overwhelming desire. The artist who creates his work and the observer or the listener who comes to see or to listen to it. We come together with open hearts. Once we are there, perhaps we will find ourselves." True art meets a desire. Art is an encounter that is made possible by a common language, a common desire. This is so true that someone who lacks nothing, wants nothing, desires nothing, would show no existential interest in art. One has to be poor in some way to penetrate into a museum or a concert hall. 

Once someone asked Alberto Giacometti how he knew a work was finished. He answered: "I don't finish, I just give up." Few artists in history were such restless seekers as Giacometti. Every morning he would destroy what he had made the day before and start it anew, unsatisfied. What was he looking for? The British art critic John Berger writes: "The extreme proposition on which Giacometti based all his mature work was that no reality--and he was concerned with nothing else but the contemplation of reality--could ever be shared. This is why he believed it impossible for a work to be finished. This is why the content of any work is not the nature of the figure or head portrayed, but the incomplete history of his staring at it. The act of looking was like a form of prayer to him--it became a way of approaching but never being able to grasp an absolute." The work of art is not the end, it is not the goal. It is a sign. It is a hint towards the absolute. A milestone on our way to absolute beauty. 

A true work of wart helps us 'find ourselves', as Arvo Pårt says, precisely because it expresses, awakens, and ignites our desire for absolute beauty. This desire is 'overwhelming' because it is so deeply rooted in our humanity that, no matter how much we try to discard it, it surfaces again and again. By 'beauty' we certainly do not mean something that can be traced back to a rule, a style or a recipe. It has to do with experience. Anyone who ever visited the Sagrada Familia and contemplated Antonio Gaudi's work and its continuation through Etsuro Sotoo, knows that beauty is like a church and a family: it is somewhere we belong. The experience of beauty has to do with the feeling of being 'at home'. Or at least with the nostalgia of a place called home. A home for our hearts…

For the same reason, it makes so much sense that Makoto's experience of exile and quest of beauty would lead him to the foundation of the International Art's Movement, that is, of a place to belong, to experience the beauty of communion. 

Art expresses the ideal. Sometimes giving us a foretaste of it. Sometimes just carrying the memory of it. Sometimes re-opening the wound of its absence. Reading Rostropovitsch's memoirs, we learn that communists were great promoters of art, apparently. In reality, each composition was submitted to approval by the regime. And there is one thing that would definitely have a work of art banned from concert halls: the expression of sadness, and particularly the use of dissonance. It was banned because it opposed and resisted the power's claim to have achieved the ideal society. Art brings us back to the humility of our condition. Maybe it is specially true for contemporary art. It is inhabited by a profound feeling of the limitedness of our condition. Whoever wandered about amidst the art galleries in Chelsea or the corridors of the MoMA knows how much contemporary art is pregnant with a sense of drama, if not of tragedy. Rothko spent his life looking for beauty. Yet the sense of tragedy never quits his canvases, even the brightest ones. It is always there, in the edges, "blurred with sadness and mystery." He used to define his paintings as a "space" or a "stage". He too was striving towards a home in which to belong. Yet he could not prevent the progressive dying away of his own light, overwhelmed by the sense of tragedy. 

Now let's make a step further, looking at another great artist, Andrei Tarkovsky. A Russian filmmaker, he worked under the communist regime. For the reason already mentioned, he had a very hard time with the censors and could only make seven movies in his lifetime. All along the way he suffered from criticism and calumny. He was exiled away from his beloved country which he would never see again. He died of cancer little after completing what would be his last work: "The Sacrifice". In his lifelong reflection on art and cinema, Sculpting in Time, he wrote: "An artist cannot express the moral ideal of his time if he does not touch its deepest wounds, if he does not live and suffer these wounds in his own flesh." This means that, at the very core of the work of the artists, there is a compassion. A passion with and for his people. Same desire, same passion. If we sometimes experience art as balm, it is because the work of art mediates the compassion of its maker. Tarkovsky also states that the artist is "the conscience of society, its most sensitive organ." Nowhere is the wound so open and profound. Nowhere is the yearning for the ideal so conscious and pressing. The heart of the artist, and therefore his work, is a crucible where the sense of tragedy meets the ideal, and becomes a cry, and a prayer. 

It is a great mission and a great responsibility to be an artist, especially in these times of great confusion. Yet there are many obstacles to it. There are many ways to withdraw from that responsibility and to give up the quest for truth. There is of course the temptation to secure oneself a more stable position in the market. But we have to admit that, generally speaking, our human nature is more inclined to comfortable and easy solutions than to difficult and lifelong achievements. During the time that is left to me, I would like to emphasize two features to which all artists should hold fast in order to not only remain faithful to their vocation but to allow themselves to grow, to deepen their roots and to bear year after year more beautiful fruits. I want to talk about the relationship with a master, and about friendship. 

By master I mean of course more than just someone who is able to teach me the techniques of art. The master is the one I look at to understand what art is about and what humanity is about. It is someone in whose life and work the longing for truth and beauty is clearer and deeper. Yehudi Menuhim describes his own masters with very touching words: " [They were] people who haven't lost the human touch and who are great in their compassion and who have extraordinary command of knowledge. But they're more humble and great at the same time than the knowledge they possess. I know Enesco as great a human mind as ever I encountered -- and Bartok. Two totally different people who were concerned with the youth and the education of the youth. […] They were concerned with the world." To find such a master should be the deepest desire of all artists, and he or she who found a master should hold on to him as to his most precious treasure. The French sculptor Auguste Rodin has a beautiful way to put it, "The master is he who looks with his own eyes to what everybody has seen, and he is able to perceive the beauty of these things that most people hold for common and unappealing." The master, we could comment, is the one who looks differently at the world, because he is not moved by mere curiosity, projects, or selfish interest. He is moved by a deep and heartfelt longing for truth and beauty. 

Is the master just someone I admire and imitate for a period of time, but that I have to quit in order to find my own personal way, so that the real journey would be a solitary one? Is that dependance of being a disciple a threat to my originality? The Irish painter Sean Scully is someone who has a very conscious and generous relationship with his influences, past and present. He was once asked to talk about his relationship with--and the words are those of the interviewer--"the fathers that a strong artist has to assassinate for his own work to fully emerge." His answer to that question is worth listening to: "My work is not a rejection of influences, nor an assassination of artistic parents, but rather an incorporation of whatever is of use to me. I have eaten them, and now I am them. This is what I mean by spirituality. It's an absorption and complete identification into another way. I have not advanced merely through a sense of competition." Building on Sean Scully's statement, we can advance that artists are not bound to either be solitary or in competition with the others. Art stems from a relationship where my subjectivity is not at odds. On the contrary, my masters engage and reveal my true subjectivity. THey save it from the subversive dictatorship of trends and the ruling ideologies. They show me the way to my own heart, to that longing deep inside me. Thus they empower my subjectivity to address and embrace the objectivity of the real and the quest for the ideal. 

Now there is a second word which I deem essential to art. A word we are not used to connecting with the mission of the artist. This is the word friendship. Instead, another Irish painter, Guggi, states that, "[artists] need friends more than others." Why so? Because it is his friends whom he credits with inspiring him. "I wouldn't be painting at the standard I am now without the friends I had and have. We were all blessed to have the gifts we had and we were blessed to end up on the same street. They made me dig deeper. When I see how deep they dig, I feel there's no way I'm going to let the side down. I might not be big in the sense they are, or a household name all over the world, or anywhere, but I want to be a great painter, which is what I've always wanted to be." Artists need friends, that is, they need to belong to a company of people who have the same passion, the same quest, the same commitment to art. Of course there is a solitude that is intrinsic in art. Solitude because the ideal is personal and therefore the answer can only be personal. No proxy. Yet genuine friendship is the only thing that can support this lifelong effort towards beauty. My friends encourage me. They remind me of the reason why I started the journey. They help me to not lose sight of the goal. They also inspire me, since the beauty of a true, committed and faithful friendship is maybe the most moving incarnation of that ideal we are striving for. 

To conclude these very brief, schematic, and incomplete reflections on art and beauty, I would like to say a word about this project that we started upstate New York--The International Center for a Culture of Compassion. The vocation of this place has to do with all we heard and saw tonight. When I started Heart's Home twenty years ago, it was with the intuition that friendship and compassion is what human heart's need the most. Soon we found ourselves sending hundreds of volunteers to the slums of INdia, Brazil, or Haiti. Not to give anything but their time and their friendship. Progressively we came to understand that not only the prisoners and the prostitutes were in dire need of a human and compassionate presence, but that cities like Geneve, Paris, or New York too were dying of loneliness and crying for compassion. And that culture too needed to be raised up and healed. Set in the Catskills, it is our wish that the International Center for a Culture of Compassion may become a home for the artists, among other culture builders. A place of education, through seminar and retreats. But even more, a place where they can experience beauty, the beauty of nature, the beauty of silence and music, and most of all the beauty of friendship. A second house is currently under construction in order to increase our housing capacity, yet all of you are already welcome at any time, especially on the weekends. New York is an amazing city and center of the art world. Yet we all know how hard and dehumanizing this city can sometimes be. It is our hope that this humble endeavor of ours will contribute to a true rehumanization of culture. Thank you again!"

bike riding etiquette and other firsts

yesterday I was almost killed. and the shrill clinging of bells would have been the last sound I had heard. 

the sun was shining on a beautiful 80. day and the ever so light layer of perspiration that coated my skin was a welcome sign that indeed summer has arrived. that....and  1,000,000 bicyclists in the city. It is not just for the hipster, Viennese "should-be-living-in-Williamsburg" types. Even the 70-something grandpas are into it with vintage bikes that they don't even realize are vintage and "in" because they have, in fact, become vintage WITH the bikes. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that the Viennese are so eco-friendly (don't get me started again on the trash) and health-conscious (there is no such thing as non-organic food)...but I'd like to add that who wouldn't want to bike around Vienna when the sun is shining down on the countless beautiful buildings, monuments, fountains, parks and gardens. Who wants to be stuck underground in an u-bahn?? Not the Viennese...so they bike. Not me....so I walk. and therein lies the issue. 

I was on the phone. walking home from adoration after stopping by to say hi to a friend of ours (Wei Wei) at her newly opened fashion and design atelier. Monika had called me after getting off of work to see if I had done yoga this morning or if I wanted to go on a bike ride with her to Prater. Ironically, because I was so focused on whether or not I wanted to shirk my responsibilities in answering e-mails, writing letters, calling the Magistrat (no I still don't have a residence permit...), and so forth, in order to help a friend celebrate the beauty of the afternoon with a bike ride to the park, I didn't realize that what I thought was the pedestrian sidewalk was actually the bike path and I was the lost little creature in the middle of a stampede. Austrian's aren't just leisurely bikers...they like to get places and get there fast...and one courteous cling of a bell is all you get before swoosh you're toast on the front wheel guard. Needless to say, the clinging of the bells of three bikers was enough to make me jump into the grassy median and practically hug a tree. Looking both ways, crossing quickly over the bike path and onto the correct pedestrian path, I realized I was still on the phone with Monika. I kindly declined her invitation...this was not my first run in with bikers in Vienna that day and I had had my fill. With fear, I walked the rest of the way home, always looking left and right at least twice, and then about three times on the ground to see whether the blue icon showed me I was in the right place (pedestrian pathway)...or would soon be in trouble (biker path). 

well, I decided that if I can't survive against them, I might as well join them. 

today was another utterly gorgeous day in Vienna. At 7:30, Monika came over to pray morning prayer with me (Alina is in Italy taking some exams, and Fr. Jacques is visiting some Heart's Homes he is the Visitor for) and then headed off to work on her bike. 

Then I decided that today I would become Vienna's 1,000,001 bicyclist. After a meeting with Celal about the gas in our apartment, I prepared myself for my first European bike ride, which would involved reason #497 "Why I love Vienna"--FREE BIKES. 

Its called City Bike and its wonderful. You sign up for the cost of 1 euro and then you have a username and password which you can use at the terminals located in all the major places throughout Vienna. For one hour, you don't have to pay anything. When you return the bike within that first hour, your account resets, and after 15 minutes you can rent another bike and a new hour starts. It is what Vienna has established to provide an alternate means of public transportation! Brilliant! (Or course, they're banking on people using them longer than an hour....but being the missionary that I am...one free hour is just fine) And the cherry on top of this wonderful CityBike cake....the closest terminal in our district is right outside our building in Karmeliterplatz. Could it be more convenient! 

So today, braving the fear I have of not knowing how to get around a city on a bike (do I have to ride in the street or the sidewalk where there are not bike paths? what are the hand signals, again? etc.) I successfully biked to adoration, mass, and then almost the entire way around the Ringstrasse because I wanted to get my hour of exercise in for the day. I came close to running a man over. I came close to being run over. I broke many rules (which knowing Austria are probably laws that will get you a ticket or fine), got confused and had to walk the bike just to be safe...but loved every minute. I've converted. I am now a biker. Now I just have to remember to use that bell. 

Tomorrow night is a weekly meeting with students and priest in the KHG from Communion and Liberation (a Catholic community, the founder of which, Luigi Guissani, was a good friend of Fr. Thierry's) in which they read a text or portion of a text/book during the week and then discuss what they have read and personal application of the text to their lives. Its called a Community School or Gemeinschaft Schule. Having become very good friends with many of the students and members of the community in the KHG, we participate as much as we can....which means reading. Today on my way home from my bike ride I stopped in Volksgarten to lay in the grass and read the chapter for tomorrow night. It couldn't have been more beautiful. I have never seen so many roses in my entire life. Being the little girl at heart that I am...I just had to stop and stick my nose in each bush as I walked to a bench. Just as I remember from the rose gardens my dad used to grow--the yellow ones always smell the best, but the white ones are my favorite. Taken in by the beauty of the park and stumped by the complexity of this week's reading--I spent about 45 minutes on the park bench. Today, I got my first sunburn of the summer :)

This is going to be an interactive blog post. Ready?

Who in China is reading my blog???

Blogger has this really nifty thing that tracks from which countries your readers are reading from. I looked at it today. Normally its something like the following: USA, Austria, Brazil (thanks E!), France. 

Today I was not expecting these results:

USA 74 hits

Austria 4 hits

Hungary 3 hits

China 2 hits

Luxembourg 2 hits 

Germany 1 hit

I don't think I know anyone who lives in Hungary, China, or Luxembourg. 

But they know me. (Hi!) 

On Friday after spending the whole morning and midday helping Monika and three other teachers take their fifteen students (all suffering from mental handicaps) on a fieldtrip to the Musical Instrument Exhibit at the Technical Museum in Vienna (quite an eye-opening and fun experience), I met Hana to go walking around Vienna and catch up on her life. Mid-conversation walking down the sidewalk in Naschmarkt I stopped and surpisingly exclaimed, "WAS!??". Parked on the curb to my right was a van with a familiar name written on the side....it was in fact my middle name. HILLENBRAND INDUSTRIES IS IN AUSTRIA TOO!!! I couldn't believe it. Naive little Hillenbrand girl that I am, I had no idea the family company was international. Whoops. But it made for an exciting discovery. Poor Hana. I couldn't stop staring at the van, exasperated as I tried to figure out how on earth I had just run into my middle name (the "Hill" of Hill-Rom) in the middle of Naschmarkt, Vienna, Austria. 

And the last of all...

this evening I had a visit from a technician working for Celal's firm. He came to check the emissions on our water heater and make sure everything was safe and in order. Turns out...it isn't. We have been having problems lately in that we can run the hot water to do dishes or take a shower but after about 8 minutes, the gas turns off and you can't get it to re-lite. That usually means you are stuck with shampoo in your hair and ice cold water (the water in Vienna comes from the mountains). We thought it was an easily fixable dust problem where the gas ignites. We thought wrong. The vent for the gas emissions has somehow been hindered from working and the fact that the gas shuts off after 8 minutes or so is a security measure. If it didn't, taking a 20 minute shower could have been really dangerous to our lives because of the gas that would build up in the bathroom. So the result...he shut off our gas (if he didn't shut it off after knowing there was a problem and something happened...he could be put in jail...thats how he explained the issue being as dangerous as it is). So until they figure out how to fix the problem, no hot water. But hey, it summer, its warm and sunny...who needs hot water!? 

The best part was how kind the man was. Ibrahim was his name. Noticing that I couldn't catch all that he was trying to explain to me, he made an effort to speak extra slow and explain things in elementary ways I could understand with my limited vocabulary (what can I say, I don't talk about gas systems and water heaters everyday). And then, after instructing me to call a certain company tomorrow to tell them about the problem and arrange a meeting, he proceeded to write down a script for the phone call so that I would know exactly what to say to explain the situation. 

p.s.

if you have been reading this regularly, you probably don't need to know this...

but, just for good measure you should know that I will be posting my sponsor letters on my "my mission" page. 

I wrote my first letter while I was in New York and its now posted! 

tschuss!

OSTERN: Christus ist erstanden!!

I am back in Vienna. One amazing, beautiful adventure after another happening so quickly in the last two weeks (and also the limited availability of the internet) has lead me to keep you in great anticipation. But yes, after a normal, simple trip (full of screaming children haha) over the pond, I landed in Vienna to be welcomed one more time by Monika and Alina in the Wien Flughafen--but this time we knew what one another looked like, we hugged immediately and ecstatically, and we could immediately begin speaking in German. One thing that hadn't changed...I had a lot of luggage (I brought goodies back from America haha). Oh, and, it was not the middle of December, but rather the mid-end of April and Summer was already upon Vienna!! I immediately had to roll up my jeans, take off my jacket, put on the sunglasses and roll down the car windows. My breath was taken away....Vienna in the summer is so beautiful, green, and fresh! It is as if I arrived into a whole new world, but a world that was already a well worn-in love. 

Instead of going to Monika's apartment (as in December), we went straight to the Heart's Home where Alina and Fr. Jacques (who was in France then) and many of our friends had done so much renovation work when I was gone. Alina had spent the whole night (she slept one hour...crazy girl) cleaning and preparing everything for me to come home...im humbled. Monika had spent the whole day cooking and preparing a gourmet lunch...once again humbled. I am overwhelmed by their love. Here you can see the completely undeserved gifts they prepared for my arrival...

yes, the walls are now torn up from the electrical work in our once near perfect room, but so bright, clean, and of course...Alina had flowers and a couple Mozart Kugels waiting for me by my bed (my fav. Wiener schokolade)

unser zimmer

Ostern Eier auf dem Tisch
(Easter Eggs on the Table...Viennese table decorations for Easter)

our finished living room!! 

so happy. so peaceful!

Vorspeise (Appetizer)
Tomato, Avocado, Radish, and Cilantro Homemade Tacquito with Chips and Hot Citrus Salsa

Hauptspeise: The traditional Grundonnerstag (Holy Thursday) Austrian meal consists of eggs, spinach, and potatoes.
Monika, the speise-kunsterlin (food artist) that she is...made Spinach Balls on top of something I forget with sunflower seed kernels, Sweet Potato pancakes, and a poached egg tomato surprise. 

Nachspeise: Mohn-Sussekartofel Kugeln auf eine Mango-Joguhrt Swirl
Poppyseed (Monika's Fav) coated sweet potato clusters (my fav) with pureed mango (Alina's fav) and
joghurt. Yum. 

After the lunch, Monika returned to her home with Alina to do a few things, and I stayed to unpack. On our walk to Stephansdom that evening with the sun still relatively high in the sky, the breeze coming off the Donau as we walked over the bridge to the first district and the warm, welcoming feeling of the sun quenching your skin so thirsty from the dry cold of the winter...we stopped in with a little bunch of flowers to wish Krista a Happy Birthday (she is the mother of four for whom Alina used to babysit). We visited with her, met a friend of her's Sylvia (FROM FLORIDA!) who was over for the afternoon, and played with the kids, before continuing on our way to mass. 

The Holy Thursday mass was beautiful-celebrated by the Kardinal who, in celebrating the feast of the Lord's Supper, washed the feet of those serving on the alter (lectors, servers, eucharistic ministers, etc.) in a beautiful ceremony during the mass. At the closing of the mass, he blessed the congregation with the Eucharistic Monstrance which he then processed through the entire congregation of Stephansdom and left the MOnstrance at the Adoration alter for people to continue Adoration--"To stay awake with Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane" until 12 that night. After the mass we stayed for some adoration and then had a date to meet Hana and Matthias at a new little cafe by their apartment. It was so wonderful to see them both again and to catch up over what had happened in the month I was gone. I am so blessed to have such wonderful friends! I am completely overwhelmed!!!

Good Friday started out with an indulgence rather than a sacrifice--I slept till 10. But then after the usual morning routine, Alina and I walked to Staadtpark (a beautiful, HUGE park in the city center) to take a walk in the gorgeous weather, read an account of the passion, and pray the rosary. Finishing our prayers we headed over to the KHG (the student housing) because the students there that are part of C.L. (Communione und Liberazione....from Italy) had organized a Stations of the Cross through the city center. Each station (there were only 5 stations...the regular 14 were clumped together) was at a corresponding place in the city center and for each one, the amazingly talented choir of 8 students would lead singing (mainly in latin or italian), a meditaiton on teh station would be read, the gospel of the station would be read, and then Pepe (the priest that is in charge of the KHG who is also a C.L. priest from Spain) would give a short homily (always so strikingly beautiful and deep), and of course, more singing. It was interesting to do this (there were about 20 of us...and while walking between stations which sometimes would take 10/15 minutes or so, we would all stay in silence) through the city center, to be a little silent group, but to be lead by a cross and of course stand out, and to see or hear the reactions of the people. We were not praying the stations of the cross to get a reaction, we were praying the stations of the cross through the streets of the city center because it was through the streets of Jerusalem's city center that they had lead Jesus before leading him up Clavary Mount. But it was interesting to be surrounded by hundreds of people--out enjoying the beautiful weather, sights, ice cream, and coffee of Vienna-who all had completely different reactions. Some took pictures and videos (we definitely were stars on youtube or the family video that day), some looked confused and stared to try to figure out what was going on, some were disgusted, some were a little too excited and clapped, some said, "Oh yeahhh..its good friday....I forgot!" and some just simply joined us and asked us for a booklet to follow along. I think what made the difference after the initial question--what are these people that are walking in a group, behind a cross, in silence, doing?--was the music. it was beauty that attracted people. it was beauty that once those who were disgusted by a seeming "protest" or "too outward sign of religion" captured them and made them rethink what they had first thought. Something sorrowful, but attractive. The Kreuzweg ended at Stephansdom, and afterwards I got to see all our student friends from the KHG! It was such a joyous time to reunite with everyone and catch up. Most had already gone home for Easter, or were leaving that day...but it was a wonderful to see alot of our friends again. Then, Alina and I went into Stephansdom for the Good Friday Passion with the Kardinal.  Yes, it was a long three hours after having spent three hours doing the Stations of the Cross, but it was one of the most beautiful liturgies I have heard. Not to mention the striking picture of seeing the Kardinal , lead in by pair upon pair of Knights and Ladies of the Holy Sepulchre, come before the alter with the three other priests also celebrating the mass and lay completely prostrate on the floor before the alter for 5 minutes before beginning the mass. The Passion Gospel reading was read by two professional opera singers and the chorus was preformed by an operatic chorus....I felt like I was in the StaadtsOper rather than the mass....thats Vienna for you....always beauty!! There was no mass....but there was a Communion Service after the procession and veneration of the cross. And then after communion a host was placed in the Eucharistic Monstrance, covered by a veil, and processed around Stephansdom in absolute silence before the Kardinal once again brought it to the Adoration Alter where he laid it and lay prostrate before it, and before the scene of the tomb laid out the to side of the alter. There, adoration was held until midnight....always with four Knights/Ladies of the Holy Sepulchre "keeping watch by the grave" in rotation. We stayed for a couple hours and then went to bed! 

Karsamstag--Jeremy (a friend/student in teh KHG from Paris) had invited us to go hiking on Saturday after we finished the Stations of the cross the day before, so on Saturday we woke up early to be at the KHG by 10 to meet Jeremy and Bernadette for a hiking afternoon in the mountains surrounding the city (have I mentioned how much I love this city!) We took the Strassenbahn and BUs up to Kahlenberg and then hiked to Leopoldberg (both mountains are those which we visited with Monika and Fr. Jacques a month or two earlier) through lush woods, and beautiful green paths. It was a great way to get out of the city (a normal thing for the Viennese to do on a Saturday or Sunday..an "ausflug") and get fresh air, exercise, sun, and get to know our friends better! We went of the path on some adventures which always led to the most beautiful overlooks (one where we had a picnic) or interesting animal encounters. Oh, and of course, you cannot forget the bountiful Vineyards!!! For Germans---its their BEER, for Austrians---their WINE! Then we walked the entire way home from Leopoldberg...the whole trip ended up being a MINIMUM of 15 kilometers which is about 9 miles. (and yes, I googlemapped it). 

After hiking, Jeremy invited us for some coffee at the KHG, so the four of us had coffee together and with another friend of ours, Roberta, who had just arrived back at the KHG from working. 

this photo courtesy of Alina

Returning home around 4 we rested, cleaned, got ready, and were at Stephansdom at 8:30 to save seats for friends from the KHG who would also be coming to the Easter Vigil mass, celebrated of course by the Kardinal! Then the mass started in the Courtyard of the Kardinal's house "Erzbishof Palais" across from Stephansdom where there was a huge Easter fire which was blessed and then the Easter Candle was lit from. We all walked in procession behind the Easter candle into Stephansdom in complete darkness-the only light came from the one Easter candle. When the Kardinal reached the front of the church, the little candles that had been handed out to everyone were one by one lit in regress back from the Easter candle until the whole church was lit only be the light of the hundreds of candles held in the hands of everyone there! I wish it would have been appropriate to take pictures at these services over the three days....they were experiences you could only better understand by seeing, and only best understand by experiencing for yourself! They take your breath away. The mass proceeded in candlelight until the readings...or after the readings, I forget...and then one by one the huge chandeliers were turned on in the turn of the choir and organs melodic exclamations. Then of course there was a baptism, and all the traditional Easter Vigil things. 3.5 hours later (at 12:30) we were out of Stephansdom, met up with the 5 or so friends from the KHG and (seeing as we had bought that day two bottles of champagne as a thank you to the students for inviting us to celebrate Easter with them the upcoming day) we went to the Heart's Home to celebrate Easter with a glass of champagne and some chocolates we had received. By 2am we were on our way to bed, which was good considering we needed to be at the KHG at 10:30 to begin helping to prepare the Easter feast that the two Easter chefs (Pietro and Andrea) were preparing. 

Without even realizing it until it happened...we had our first Heart's Home Easter in Vienna: we were a group of Italian, German, American, French, and Romanian people (notice the absence of Austrians....), eating a predominantly Italian Easter feast (we have an idea what Austrian's traditionally eat on Easter...but no real experience) in a more than predominantly Italian way (Austrians are way more concerned with time haha), and it was one of the most wonderful Easters of my life! 

From 10:30-1pm we were cutting, grilling, sauteeing, decorating, slicing, pan frying, baking, and cleaning under the direction of Pietro and Andrea (wow! can Italian men cook! I was amazed!!). Oh and while Alina adn I were in teh kitchen most of the time, others were busy scaling rooftops and ledges, carrying tables, chairs, setting the feast--because believe it or not, we had this Easter feast in a venue the corresponded wonderfully with the superb quality of the food--on the rooftop, in the sun, with a light breeze and a wonderful view of the rooftops of the city center of Vienna. 

the chefs

brie

taschen

meat discussion...very serious...very important

onions

easter morning kitchen

its meat...but its pretty...

so I wont eat it....but Ill photograph it

toasted baguette

stovetop grilling the vegetables.
cannot wait to get these people to America to experience a real grill. 

my fav. part of the entire meal

brot.zwiebel.brie.honig

baked

just beginning....

if you think this is the rooftop deck, you are mistaken

jeremy

pears

getting closer to rooftop

boys 

gemüse

grilling

schokolade + himbeer

washing

alina

alina and veronica

salz

typical italian women in the kitchen---talking

We were 10: Pietro, Andrea, Veronica (another wonderful Italian), Roberta, Jeremy, Alina, me, a Romanian guy who lives in teh KHG who I had never met, an Italian friend of Pietro's who studies and lives in another part of Vienna, and a German guy who lives one the same floor as Jeremy. 

now thats a rooftop.

beginning the feast

sunshade courtesy of Andrea Cozzi's art

The Menu: Vorspeise-Toasted Baguette topped with sauteed onions and brie baked with a honey glaze, and Gouda or Ham and Gouda "Taschen" (purses) Vorspeise #2 (told you it was an Italian meal)-Gorganzola and Pear Risotto Hauptspeise-(some kind of meat and a sauce...but I didnt pay much attention) with grilled onions, tomatoes, zucchini, and peppers Nachspeise-Personal Tiramisu and Chocolate-covered Strawberries with Asti Spumante! 

The most interesting part....between every course, we would take a 15 minute break....to lay in the sun, sit back/relax, perhaps lay down on the ground for a bit (see photos of Andrea haha), walk over the rooftops to look at the view, play guitar, etc. All in all...we spent 2.5 hrs cooking/preparing, 4 hrs eating, 1.5 hrs cleaning. 

roberta + veronica

andrea..dead

jeremy...asleep

After everything was cleaned and washed, and organized, and life put back in order after the amazing day...i sat on the rooftop ledge outside the kitchen window watching the evening storm roll in and feeling its cool breeze, sometimes accompanied by Pietro when he would climb out the window to smoke a cigarette, and listening to the life still being lived in the kitchen--one italian playing guitar, Alina and Jeremy playing chess--but mostly just sitting there....taking it all in....trying to realize where I was, the amazing things I had experienced the entire weekend long--the friendships, the prayer both in remembrance of overwhelming darkness and suffering as well as pure light and joy, the traditions, the celebrations, the togetherness, the love, the thirst for more of it all and the desire to give it all to everyone else just so long as no one dies without having experienced the blessings that God so longs to give us, at least once in their lives. I think in that moment, I felt as if I could almost reach out and touch the gift of the Resurrection, of our salvation. No matter how wonderful and happy all these temporal, earthly moments were....none of it would make so much sense, would mean anything at all, if not illuminated by the light of that first Easter Sunday morning. The Passion and death of Christ wasn't something we were mourning in remembrance of. Easter wasn't just something we were celebrating in remembrance of. It was something that happened one time, for all eternity, so that everyday, no matter our multitude of bad and good experiences, we live always in the grace and hope that flows from the realization that death has been conquered, despair overruled, sin made powerless-by a God who loves us eternally and infinitely. --Easter Sunday it was as if I could feel the Joy of the Resurrection sink into my sun soaked skin, the Hope of the Resurrection brush my cheek gently with its breeze. Easter Sunday I got to really live the love of the Resurrection in a way I had never before! 

I wish you a joyous end to the Easter Octave and as always keep you in my prayers!!!