Sunday, May 25, 2008

Corpus Christi incidents

Went to the traditional Latin Mass at St. Mary's by the Sea in Huntington Beach today. Huntington Beach is a pretty seaside town in Orange County, much loved by surfers, where everyone's casual even by Californian standards. St. Mary's is a little church just a few blocks inland from the ocean. After Mass we had ourselves a traditional Corpus Christi procession around the block.

The procession looked like this: flower girls in their white First Communion dresses scattering rose petals on the sidewalk, followed by altar boys in cassock and surplice, holding candles, swinging censers, and ringing sanctus bells, followed by four men bearing a canopy under which a priest, with a humeral veil wrapped around his hands, was holding a monstrance containing the Blessed Sacrament, followed by two other priests and all the people in their Sunday best, most of the women in veils, all singing Pange Lingua Gloriosa.

The neighborhood we went through looked like this: there were cute little beach cottages, lots of cars parked on the streets, some people walking down to the beach with their flipflops and beach towels, a jogger in a sports bra going by on the other side of the street, what appeared to be a tattoo parlor or maybe a surf shop (I couldn't tell with all the stickers on the window) and a cafe with people sitting at the tables outside.

So you can imagine how the folks stared at us. Some of them had perhaps a touch of defensiveness, as if they feared we might break ranks and start handing out pamphlets or something. "That's just how we roll," I would have said to them, if it were the sort of thing I could say without sounding ridiculous. Anyway, 'twas a fine procession.

Then as I was driving back home on Pacific Coast Highway with the ocean on my left, I saw, right on cue, a pelican flying overhead!

There was a legend in medieval times that a pelican in times of famine would pierce her own breast and feed her blood to her chicks to save them from death. (Probably this idea was suggested by the way a pelican presses its bill on its chest to empty its pouch.) This of course reminded people of Jesus Christ, who was pierced for our transgressions and gives his children his own blood to drink. So pelicans were a popular motif for decorating churches, especially altars. And they especially show up on Corpus Christi, which is the celebration of the Eucharist, the Body and Blood of Christ. My 1962 missal has a picture of a pelican at the beginning of the propers for today. Its caption is "Pie Pellicane, Jesu Domine," which means something like "Jesus Christ, loving pelican." See how confusing that line would be if I hadn't just explained it? :)

Saturday, May 24, 2008

C.S. Lewis' early impressions of J.R.R. Tolkien

"A smooth, pale fluent little chap-- no harm in him: only needs a smack or so."

I can't come up with a rejoinder worthy of that. :) So let's just have some more quotes!

Elisabeth Elliot:
"George Macdonald said, 'If you knew what God knows about death you would clap your listless hands', but instead I find old people in North America just buying this whole youth obsession. I think growing older is a wonderful privilege. I want to learn to glorify God in every stage of my life."

Jim Elliot, who was martyred in his 20's:
"God always gives His best to those who leave the choice with Him."
He also wrote this:
"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose."

Alexandre Auguste Ledru-Rollin, observing a passing mob in 1848:
"I must follow them for I am their leader."

Henry Ward Beecher:
"Greatness lies not in being strong, but in the right use of strength."

Rene Descartes:
"Good sense is the most fairly distributed thing in the world, for everyone thinks himself so well supplied with it that even those who are hardest to satisfy in every other way do not usually desire more of it than they already have."

John Kenneth Galbraith:
"Faced with the choice between changing one's mind and proving that there is no need to do so, almost everyone gets busy on the proof."

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel:
"What experience and history teach is this - that nations and governments have never learned anything from history, or acted upon any lessons they might have drawn from it. We learn from history that we do not learn from history."

Edmund Burke :
"Society cannot exist unless a controlling power upon will and appetite be placed somewhere, and the less there is within, the more there must be without."

J.V. Cunningham:
"This is my curse: Pompous, I pray
That you believe the things you say
And that you live them, day by day."

Thursday, May 22, 2008

A Mexican funeral on St. Rita's day

I can't remember much about St. Rita, except that she suffered from a bad marriage and bad sons and managed to redeem both and then became a nun after her husband was killed. Also, something about white bees.

But when I realized it's St. Rita's day today, I had a thrill of nostalgia, because of my very vivid memory of where I was on this day last year. I was part of a large group from St. Peter Chanel on a pilgrimage in Mexico. I can't convey to you how thrilling that trip was for me as a very new Catholic-- seeing the very old Catholic shrines that were built at such cost by generations past, seeing the open expressions of piety of so many Mexicans in the present, standing in the places where amazing miracles had occurred, and feeling intimately connected to a heritage I'd had no part in before... so forget it, I'll just tell you the story.

It was Tuesday, May 22, 2007, and we were visiting a small and surprisingly mosque-like church not far from Mexico City. The neighborhood was very poor and crime-ridden even by Mexican standards, but the church was a little oasis of calm, neat and well-kept, with paintings inside of the Virgin Mary's appearance to Juan Bernardino in 1531. It was the site of the fifth apparition of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

There was a Mass scheduled to start soon, and a number of locals had gathered, but we pilgrims far outnumbered them and filled the pews. Our own chaplain, Fr. Fernando, a native Columbian who'd come with us from St. Peter Chanel, disappeared to speak to the Mexican priest about concelebrating the Mass. (That was one of the astonishing things to me about touring in Mexico-- bring your own priest and as long as he has a letter from his bishop declaring his good standing they'll let him say Mass practically anywhere, even in ancient and incredibly valuable churches that'd be roped off and hermetically sealed if they were located in America. I'm told you can do the same in Rome, maybe not in the Sistine Chapel, but in lots of other chapels. Truly a catholic Church.)

I was in the front row because that's where the holy people sit. Mass began, we all stood up, and in came Fr. Fernando and the Mexican priest, who processed up the aisle while we sang a hymn. They reached the altar and bowed to kiss it, and about then I became aware of a large crowd of people coming in late. They walked right up to the front and that was when I saw that they were... eight pallbearers carrying a coffin!

What the HECK? thought I. Are we crashing someone's FUNERAL? I looked at Fr. Fernando; he was waiting with folded hands as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The pallbearers set the coffin down in the aisle right next to me; that's what I get for sitting in front! I felt awful about being dressed in blue jeans until I noticed that they were too.

It was an ordinary Mass, with the readings for that day, and then the Mexican priest stepped forward to deliver what sounded like a funeral homily in Spanish. When he sat down, Fr. Fernando rose and addressed a few words himself to the mourners. Then he told us in English that the other priest had spoken of Juan Bernardino and of being close to Mary in sickness and in death. Fr. Fernando went on calmly to deliver a short homily of his own about St. Rita, since it was her day, and that was where I learned the few facts I remember about her. I was glad the mourners probably knew no more English than I knew Spanish; seemed a bit odd to be hearing a normal homily with the body right there!

We went on to the liturgy of the Eucharist, kneeling on the hard tile floor. Afterwards the Mexican priest came down to sprinkle the coffin with holy water, and the mourners walked slowly around it, gazing through its glass window, at least one woman sobbing loudly. The pallbearers carried the coffin away. Once the locals were safely gone I was able to look at a little sign they'd set up and discovered that the deceased was a man in his seventies who had died only yesterday.

I joined the other pilgrims under a tree outside and when Fr. Fernando arrived we snowed him under with questions. With laughter in his voice he related the tale. He and the Mexican priest had been in the sacristy, vesting for Mass, when they were interrupted by a man who hurriedly asked, "Can you do a funeral Mass, Padre? We're bringing the body up right now." It was less than ten minutes before Mass was to start, but the Mexican priest adjusted his homily and the whole thing came off with remarkably little fuss (or expense, I'll bet.) "That is very Mexican!" laughed Fr. Fernando, "Everything is casual and last minute!"

So, happy St. Rita's day, wherever you are!

Pictures: The outside of the church, the inside of the church before the Mass started, and a copy of the painting over the church's altar.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

What will I do to avoid working on what I should be working on for just a little while longer?

I'll pull out ten eyebrow hairs and four eyelashes, compare their color, take a blurry photograph, and post them on my blog.

Wow, I'd better post again pretty soon to make sure this one doesn't stay at the top...

I guess I'm a lesser woman

I just ran across this quote from Elisabeth Elliot's Quest for Love:

I know a woman who, when asked for a date, told the man quite candidly that since she had reached thirty she was no longer in the dating scene but was ready for marriage. The man proposed shortly thereafter. A lesser man would have been scared off, which is probably just as well.

I remember when I first read that story. I was a sophomore in college, and I thought it was pretty spunky of the woman to jump the gun. Wise, too, since she'd reached such an ancient age. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I'm going to be thirty in a few weeks and I don't feel that way any more. :)

Monday, May 19, 2008

Your day will not be complete until you've seen all of these

Behold the tasty meatcake!

An Anglican liturgy for the Blessing of a Minivan.

Musings on liturgical rage:
What exasperates and maddens me about liturgical abuses is that the Mass given to us by the Church is so supremely, eminently DOABLE. Almost any priest not in a concentration camp or on a battlefield can do what the Church asks him to do with perfect compliance. It's all there: wear this; say that; bow here; now elevate the host -- the dimmest clergyman in the poorest parish on earth can score 100% every time, and thereby offer a pleasing sacrifice to God.
That means that the departures happen for a reason. The innovator wants to jack us around for motives of his own, which he does not "covenant" with us. We almost never hear complaints about inadvertent omissions by celebrants trying to do it right; it's the deliberate changes that infuriate.

A fascinating blog about past versions of the future.

The Blog of Unnecessary Quotes, fighting a quixotic and noble campaign.

And finally, food for thought from Flannery O'Connor:
The Church’s stand on birth control is the most absolutely spiritual of all her stands and with all of us being materialists at heart, there is little wonder that it causes unease.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Praying the Psalms

Speaking of the Liturgy of the Hours (below)...

Jews in ancient times didn't just read the Psalms but prayed them. Jesus, an observant Jew, prayed the Psalms from the Cross: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" and "Into Your hands, Lord, I commit my spirit." The early Christians started praying the Psalms as the prayer of Christ whenever that seemed to fit.

Most of the Liturgy of the Hours is praying Psalms. At first I had difficulty with certain Psalms, the ones that say I'm sick, please heal me! or Enemies are gonna kill me, please smite them! Couldn't really pray those when my life was going just fine. But then I read a little booklet pointing out that this is the prayer of the whole Church, something you pray not just for yourself but for everyone. Plenty of people in the world are sick or seriously persecuted. So now if I get to a Psalm that's too heavy for my own situation, I'll pray it for those who do need it. Often it ends up becoming the most important part of the Hours for me. I'm very bad at remembering to pray for other people, and this helps.

Today's daytime prayer, for example, had extracts from Pslam 59, and when I prayed it I thought of two groups: the many women and girls who are sold into sexual slavery, and the Chaldean Christians in Iraq who are being targeted for extermination.
Rescue me, God from my foes;
protect me from those who attack me.
O rescue me from those who do evil
and save me from blood-thirsty men.

See, they lie in wait for my life;
powerful men band together against me.
For no offense, no sin of mine, Lord,
for no guilt of mine they rush to take their stand.
Awake, come to my aid and see!

O my Strength, it is you to whom I turn,
for you, O God, are my stronghold,
the God who shows me love.

O God, come to my aid
and let me look in triumph on my foes.

That was followed by Psalm 60, and the opening lines make one think of recent disasters in Myanmar and China:
O God, you have rejected us and broken us.
You have been angry; come back to us.

You have made the earth quake, torn it open.
Repair what is shattered for it sways....
Good stuff! I appreciate the Psalms a lot more now. I actually used to think them pretty boring, and I didn't know why so many people spoke of them as one of the best parts of the Bible, but now I'm getting it: the Psalms teach me to pray in ways I wouldn't come up with on my own.

Protestants praying the Liturgy of the Hours

Very cool! That's from, a site for college students that's put out by Focus on the Family. I think I would have loved the Hours myself as a Protestant. I always wanted to know more about church history and how past Christians thought, and the great majority of the non-Biblical readings in the Office of Readings are from before AD 500 (though there's a fair selection of medieval authors and a very few from more recent times.) The one thing that drives me crazy about the breviaries is that they don't print the dates of those non-Biblical readings. In most cases they're so old; it would be great if people knew that!

My mom's another Protestant who likes praying the Hours. I don't think she stresses about doing all the prayers, readings, antiphons and hymns in exactly the prescribed order on the prescribed day. It's pretty hard to work out by oneself, though Googling will turn up some sites that can help. I learned by following the priests and other parishioners at my church, where we have the Office of Readings and Morning Prayer every weekday morning. (The two of them together only take us about 25 minutes.) That way I was also able to look on with someone else who owned the breviaries, until I was certain I'd actually do it consistently and I dared to spring for the four-volume set myself. One can also find most of the readings for each day at; that would be another way to start praying the Hours without paying $140. Anyone getting the four breviaries is gonna wanna get a St. Joseph Guide for the current year as well; that tells what pages you're on for each day.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Serra Retreat Center

Some Franciscans in Malibu (California) run a retreat center, beautifully landscaped with amazing views. I visited the place today with two friends, and we agreed it wasn't nearly as Catholic as one could wish. (An informational bulletin board about St. Francis of Assisi celebrated him for being, of all things, "ecumenical".) But it was lovely. There was a chapel set on a hill with glass walls to show off the canyon and the ocean beyond.

We toured the place and hit the gift shop, and then split up for a few hours to pray in our chosen spots. It occurred to me what a blessing it is to have friends who like to do that when we visit a church or retreat place. The only real regret I have about a pilgrimage to Mexico I took at this time last year is that we saw so many churches with glorious histories but barely had time to linger in any of them. One ought to have an entire day at least just to pray in the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe. It was amazing to be there with the tilma right up front.

Dear Lord, please remind us how cool we are

Discovered on the lectern of a Eucharistic chapel at the Serra Retreat Center today:

Monday, May 12, 2008

LAME reason not to be a nun

I just remembered this and had to share.

Last month when my friends and I were visiting the cloistered Dominican nuns, the prioress told us of a young woman she once talked to who was interested in joining up. The sticking point? Makeup. This girl didn't want to give up makeup.

The prioress told her she'd have to make that sacrifice for God, but the girl kept pleading for just a bit of foundation or powder or something. This was, I repeat, a group of cloistered Dominicans. Had she joined them, she would hardly have been seen at all by the outside world. She sure as heck would have given up any potential romantic interests. And yet she apparently couldn't bear to show anyone an uneven skin tone!

Just in case that shine serum post below was making you think I was vain. :)

Sunday, May 11, 2008

The right to be taught

Heard something interesting from a friend at church this morning-- interesting in a sad way. He teaches classes on the spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius, and the classes have really been expanding; there are 150 people taking them right now. The Exercises include an hour of prayer and meditation every day for ten weeks, so it's impressive that so many people are doing it!

But the folks who are attending from other churches haven't all had the years of solid teaching that our priests give at St. Peter Chanel, and it showed when my friend got to talking about Hell (the Exercises have meditations on the Four Last Things). He could see that some people were really rejecting it. Their perspective was "I've been going to St. John's (or wherever) for forty years and they never mentioned that!" So they don't believe the actual Catholic doctrine when they do hear it. They seem to figure that if it were true, their own priests would have been talking about it all this time.

It makes me think that the failure to teach Christian doctrine in its fullness is even more harmful than I thought. It doesn't just deprive people of the truth; it actively teaches them to deny it. Never teaching an important doctrine seems to be tantamount to saying it's not doctrine at all.

The Catechism has this excellent point: "The law of God entrusted to the Church is taught to the faithful as the way of life and truth. The faithful therefore have the right to be instructed in the divine saving precepts that purify judgment and, with grace, heal wounded human reason."

Say you have cancer and your doctor gives you a sugar pill instead of chemotherapy because he doesn't want you to get mad at him about the nausea and hair loss. Is he doing you any favors? We have a right to expect real medicine.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Citre Shine Shine Miracle Anti-Frizz Serum

I admit to owning a bottle of this pretentiously long-named stuff. One night I washed my hair and applied some to the wet ends. It dried overnight, I brushed it out in the morning, and wow-- my hair was all glossy and smooth. Felt like a Pantene commercial.

So I glossed around all day looking much smarter than you frizzy dull-haired folk, and towards evening after catechism I was ready to go to the 6:30 PM Mass. Long hair and a short triangle veil look lame together, so as usual I went to the bathroom mirror to put my hair up. Only it would NOT stay in place. My lovely shiny hair had also become incredibly slippery. After many attempts I tortured it into the neatest bun yet, captured it in the butterfly clip, looked into the mirror to see the result, and FWOOMP-- it fell right out again.

In the end I got my hair to stay up by the desperate expedient of wetting it down. The first reading had started by the time I finally slunk into Mass.

That night I checked the ingredients of Citre Shine Shine Miracle Anti-Frizz Serum. First on the list: Cyclopentasiloxane. Which is... wait for it... a "silicone fluid characterized by high lubricity". So that explains that-- I'd coated my hair in nonstick silicon!

"Vanity, vanity!" saith the Preacher. "Vanity of vanities! All is vanity!"

Friday, May 09, 2008

I've found my Anglican counterpart!

This is awesome. I want to know what the numbers look like for a full set of breviaries and a 1962 missal. :)

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Drug search at the convent

You other bloggers, top that post title if you can! :)

When I got to the convent yesterday afternoon, one of the sisters said she had a big task for me. She communicated with some effort (most of the sisters are from India or Africa or Asia, and their English, though much better than any second language of mine, is difficult to understand) that when the guests of the women's shelter ring the bell to be let in, I should ask to see inside their purses and bags. UGH! I enjoy opening the door for the guests with a smile, but searching them, not so much. "What am I looking for?" I asked, and wasn't surprised to hear it was drugs; I knew drugs had been found in the rooms.

So when the guests arrived, I let them in and very apologetically asked them to open their bags. They were all gracious enough about doing this, but I really, really hope it's going to be a temporary policy. It's ineffective anyway; I just kept my hands behind my back and let them show me what was in their purses and diaper bags. Any woman who wanted to get drugs past me could just stick them in a jeans pocket.

That was the hardest job I've had at the convent, but it was by no means the only one. When I began volunteering with the MCs last September I expected to be kept busy. But in fact it was mostly free time at first, with only the occasional ringing phone or doorbell to answer. Only recently have the sisters clued in to the fact that they can put me to work. Last week they asked me to call the parents of the kids in their catechism classes (a bit nerve-wracking because all the names were Spanish, but it turned out they did nearly all speak English.) They've also had me hanging newly-washed curtains, giving rides to the guests of the pregnancy shelter, and typing up prayers on a really old electric typewriter. Yesterday when I wasn't searching for drugs, I spent the time preparing a craft for a catechism class one of the sisters teaches. This involved reducing many rolls of red and white tissue streamer to piles of neat little squares, which the kids will then crumple up one at a time, dip in glue, and stick to a construction paper heart. It's going to be the Sacred Heart of Jesus, encircled by a construction paper ring of thorns, crowned with flames made of glitter, and with a teardrop-shaped bit of red paper glued on to represent the gaping spear wound. There's a project we sure never had in Protestant Sunday school!

I'm glad to be making myself more useful, but I sort of miss the time when the convent was just a weekly four hours away from it all. I used to spend the first hour or two preparing my own catechism lesson. Often as I worked I'd overhear the six sisters singing a hymn with their varied accents, and sometimes I'd catch the smell of incense from their chapel. I'd finish the lesson and catch up on my diary a bit, pausing to get the phone or the door and pray for anyone I encountered. The dinner bell would ring and I'd hear the guests gather in the dining hall and murmur the Our Father before sitting down to table. I'd eat a snack of my own, and open up a book. As people stopped calling, I'd leave the front parlor and go to the little chapel myself, where the low sun filtered through the windows. Then with night fallen I'd gather up my stuff, ring for a sister to come lock the door behind me, and skip down the convent steps with a cheerful "See you next week!"

I doubt I'll have that kind of leisure any more. The sister with the Sacred Heart craft yesterday was merely the first one to ask for my help. Two other sisters came to the parlor after her with work of their own they wanted done. They'll have to be more on the ball than that!

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

From "The Courtship of Miles Standish"

"No; you were angry with me, for speaking so frankly and freely.
It was wrong, I acknowledge; for it is the fate of a woman
Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless,
Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence.
Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women
Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers
Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, unseen, and unfruitful,
Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profitless murmurs."

Now how did Longfellow know that? What woman did he know to tell him that? I shall guess his wife.

I read The Courtship of Miles Standish for the first time tonight and found it a fast and enjoyable poem, with nice description and unexpected insights here and there. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote it in 1858, basing it on the history of the Pilgrims. About 102 of them arrived in Massachusetts in the fall of 1620 and half of them died that first terrible winter. Every family lost at least one member. In spring the Mayflower (which had stayed anchored at Plymouth) finally returned to England with its crew, but all of the surviving Pilgrims chose to stay in America. The bereft families combined, widowers marrying the widows. They met Indians who helped them and in fall of 1621 they had a good harvest and thanked God with a feast you've probably heard of. This poem is set right after the first winter. Longfellow uses three actual members of the colony-- Miles Standish, John Alden and Priscilla Mullins-- as main characters in his poem. The text is here, but don't read the paragraph at the top if you don't want the story spoiled for you!

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Saint Picture Quiz 5

Athanasius nailed the fourth saint picture quiz; it was St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, more commonly called Edith Stein.

I will now post four pictures that would have completely stumped me if I hadn't seen their labels. Anyone who successfully identifies any of these saints will win the valuable prize of my admiration. :) Click for bigger versions:

Sunday, May 04, 2008

Friars on Facebook

I think it is cool and quite appropriate that when priests and nuns and other vowed religious fill out profiles on Facebook, they don't list their relationship status as "single", "married", "dating", or any of the usual categories, but rather they make use of that famous classification, "It's Complicated." You'd almost think Facebook came up with that category with them in mind! Almost.

Friday, May 02, 2008

A 1962 Missal and the Mass for public pentients

Then God remembered Rachel, and God gave heed to her and granted her desire. So she came into possession of a 1962 Missal and said, "God has taken away my reproach." (Genesis 30:22-23, RMUV*)

I finally have a 1962 Missal and need no longer be ashamed of myself at traditional Latin Masses. :) I've been making do with a booklet missalette and a printout of the day's propers, but real trads have missals.

(This painting is "The Missal" by Waterhouse; I found it on Wikipedia, where I also learned that President Johnson was sworn in on a Roman Catholic missal from Kennedy's desk because they couldn't find a Bible on Air Force One!)

So I've been browsing through my shiny new 1962 Missal, and of course it's full of cool traditional Catholic stuff. In the Votive Collects section are the proper prayers for Masses for all sorts of intentions and needs and dangers, both physical and spiritual: rain, fair weather, earthquake, famine, storms, a Mass "in time of cattle plague" (which I'm sure was no laughing matter back when food sources were more precarious), for the faithful departed, in honor of the Holy Ghost, in honor of the Most Holy Sacrament, and this interesting little one: "For concord in a congregation." Its postcommunion prayer goes like this: "O Lord, pour forth upon us the spirit of Thy love, that those whom Thou hast fed with one heavenly Bread, Thou mayest, by Thy mercy, make of one mind..."

But the votive Mass that really grabs my attention is the one "For public penitents". Evidently that means a person can do public penance for some sin by having a votive Mass said for that intention? How does that work, exactly? Would you invite everyone you know? Would it be a regular daily Mass? Would there be an announcement about who the Mass was for and what the sin was? How "public" are we talking here? I wonder if that Mass was ever said any time in the last hundred years. I knew public penance was the norm in the early centuries of Church history but I didn't know there was any kind of provision for it in today's liturgy! Anyway, here's one of its prayers: "Almighty, everlasting God, in Thy loving kindness release from their sins Thy servants, who confess their guilt: so that they will not lose more from the pain of remorse than they gain from Thy gracious pardon...."

* Rachel's Made-Up Version

Saint picture quiz 4

I was going to inform Andrew that he has a strange notion of how to spell the name of Saint Clare of Assisi, but then I realized that our Italian seminarian was giving her Italian name. And here I'd thought Chiara (and its many variations) was merely a modern, trendy, made-up name! So the answer to the last quiz is St. Clare (or Santa Chiara), and there's an explanation here of why she holds a monstrance.

New quiz!