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A Very Different Holy Week

It is hard to believe it is Holy Week without little crosses made of palm all over the place. Plus, I kind of miss those strings of palm that come from all the frayed edges. They get all over the car, the floor, and the kid’s rooms. The palms were a bit of a misnomer 2,000 years ago – as people confused the types of kingdom Jesus came to establish, so maybe not having them is a good thing.

Still, it is a whole new world, isn’t it?

We will not watch 12 people from the parish get their feet washed this week. We will wash each other’s feet at home.

We will not stand in line to venerate the cross, trying to kiss it where no one else has kissed it (I cannot be the only one who does that). Instead we will take a cross off the wall, read the Passion, and have our own little service.

There will be no fire on Holy Saturday night and sparse Easter baskets come Sunday morning.

But there is cause for joy. We are spending tons of time together, watching movies, laughing at old Vine videos on YouTube, and building the treehouse.

The walls of the treehouse are complete and the siding starts tomorrow. Fortunately, the supplies were delivered long before the virus took hold and I have even convinced a local roofer to come by as we hide in the house to put the roof on.

We celebrated the 15th birthday of Ace Number One last week and I am grateful to the dozens of you who were a part of it. Tiger came home and she was delighted. If you want to see the video, let me know. I won’t post it here in an attempt to shield her privacy but for those who haven’t seen it, it will bring you to tears. We took portions of many of the letters you wrote and decorated the box. When she got to one that referenced the day he was lost, the look of surprise came over her and she tore through the box.

“He came home,” she muttered.

All of us knew the implications of the reunion. A childhood friend returned, reminding her of simpler times and easier days. He has been hanging out of her pocket since. It will take some time for her to get through all the notes and letters.

This week, we will celebrate another birthday as Maureen follows my footsteps into the next decade. We will delay her annual birthday dinner because of Good Friday but we will celebrate her life just the same.

May this holiest of weeks bring you closer together with your own loved one – even if only virtually.

May the solemnity of Holy Thursday give way to the eerie calm of Good Friday. May you turn off the television and find some solitude to remember the great sacrifice of that day.

May we remember that Jesus’ “yes” to God on the cross created the space where hatred goes to die and, in that act, Jesus literally loved hatred to death.

May we remember that he did it once for all, paying the debt man owed God but could not pay unless God became man. The paradox of salvation that is only possible if we understand that mankind needs redemption and yet cannot achieve it on his own.

As C.S. Lewis says, “Only a bad person needs to repent: only a good person can repent perfectly. The worse you are the more you need it and the less you can do it. The only person who could do it perfectly would be a perfect person – and he would not need it.”

Let us remember that 2,000 years ago, God became man, walked among us, and tried to teach us what being fully human looked like.

As a viral darkness covers the earth, let us look for the light that comes from this simple fact: we know the end of the story.

That’s right. We know how this story ends.

In that, let us find the hope the world so desperately needs.

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The Longest Lent

It seems this Lent has lasted longer than most. It seems it might last longer. With the world around us shut down for another month or more, how can we celebrate Easter alone? How can we celebrate the washing of the feet, the veneration of the cross, the Easter fire, when the lights in our churches are turned off and the doors are locked?

Well, we could go back to the beginning.

We could remember that 2,000+ years ago there were no churches like there are today. There was no schedule, there were no livestreams, there were not daily phone calls and meetings reminding us of the distance between us.

There was only fear. Not of a virus, but of persecution for those who had followed the Lord.

And yet they gathered as families and cared for one another.They gathered as small communities and fed one another.

They washed each other’s feet by caring for widows and orphans.

They venerated the cross by remembering the sacrifice they had witnessed – even from afar.

They remembered their experience of the person of Jesus Christ and loved one another as a response.

Yes, Lent will seem long this year. Hope will seem distant. Light will seem weeks away.

But perhaps that is the gift of this pandemic: time to stay close with those who love us most, quarantined with those who love us no matter what. It offers us time to be still – as if we were in the dessert.

We must remember our experience of Jesus and his challenge to us to love one another, forgive one another, serve one another.

It started with an experience of Jesus.

That encounter led to discipleship.

May this experience – this desert experience – do the same.

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The Big 5-0

Amid the panic, the fear, the anxiety, the staying inside, and the cancellation of just about everything, yours truly celebrates a birthday this week. To commemorate the occasion, I thought I would list the things for which I am grateful, but who has that kind of time?

Then I thought of the fifty things I would do while the world shuts down. Then I remembered that I have a job and doing that while making sure the four kids are connected to their schools and doing their online assignments might all just be a bit much, so I let that idea go too.

So I decided to make a list of the fifty people who have influenced me the most in my adult life. I took brothers and sisters out of the mix. Partly because they would take up a fifth of the list to begin and partly because they are part my past, my childhood, and even my everyday life. They got stuck with me as I got stuck with them. Those are not relationships I chose any more than any of us choose our families of origin. I love them and value them, but this is a list of people I choose to be in my life.

I also took the immediate family out. My wife, my true North, who keeps me grounded, didn’t make the list. Neither did the children. I love them with my whole heart but I put them in a category all their own. I would be lost without them and they know that. They are on the list in my wallet of people who I pray for every day, but they didn’t make the cut for this list.

So who did? Well, there’s people from the Wilmington chapter of my life on whom I still depend for friendship and kindness and honesty: Fr. Joe, Jen, Joe, Hummy, Karen, Bridget, Sr. John Elizabeth, Mary, Madeline, Ruthie, Vanessa, Mark, and Kelly. These are the people that moved with me virtually when that chapter of my life wrapped up in 2015.

There are even a few from the first chapter of my professional career in Knoxville with whom my life would be empty. There’s Susie, Marcy, Madelon, Regan, Sam, Dana, Kathleen, and all their extended families I cherish.

Chapter three began in January 2016 and includes Patrick, Pat, Bp. Frank, Brian, Debbie, Elizabeth, Anne, Sr. Mary Grace, Tracy, Erin, and all those who welcomed me to New England and introduced me to people like Valerie, Liz, Msgr. P, Father K, Eleanor, Nancy, Pat, Carol, Sue, Diane, Elaine, and the many, many people for whom ministry in the Church is more than a job.

There are the women of the Church like Charlotte, Ela, Marlene, Kathryn, Christine, Kathy, Cindy, and Brigitte (among others named above), who teach me each time I talk to them something new about the world and how we can each make it better.

Wrapping up the list are all those who cross from chapter into chapter, people I bring with me along the journey because of the bond we share and the experiences that bring us together. Here’s looking at you, Steve, Tony, Jose, John, Declan, Michael, Scott, Mark, and Robert. You have my respect and my undying gratitude for your example of faith and wisdom.

In case you’re counting, that’s more than fifty. I could probably go through and delete a few people, but it’s my birthday and my list, so I’ll pass. I could also keep going and list Bill and Mary Beth, Bob and Kathy, Barry and Regina, Amy and Mike, and all those couples who continue to help my family navigate the challenges of growing up, moving, and putting down roots.

The reality is this: I am blessed – more than I know and probably more than I deserve. God’s grace is limitless, unmerited, and overflowing. It’s easy to miss that in these days of uncertainty. It is easy to get nervous and impatient and begin to wonder what will happen next. Yet there is comfort in not knowing, I think. It makes us cling to that whom we do know and trust and love.

Panic makes us mean. Not knowing makes us nervous. Uncertainty can make us selfish.

But each of us are surrounded with many more than fifty people who are only a phone call or text away. Find someone in these coming days to pray with, to pray for, and with whom you can share your uncertainty.

And remember, my friends, that we never know what tomorrow will bring, but the old adage is right: we know who brings tomorrow.

That’s where I find peace.

Have a good week and wash your hands.

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God’s Own Fool

Sitting at Mass this weekend, there was a line in the second reading that caught my ear. But first, some context.

Over the course of the last few weeks when I have been traveling in the car, I have hooked up my phone via Bluetooth and just let the music play. I chose the entire music library (several thousand songs) and hit the “random” button. There are tons of songs I love, and I am always amazed at how many a human brain can remember. But let’s be clear, there are lots and lots of songs that I hear and wonder why in the world they are on my phone. The Countdown Kids compilation that was fine when the kids were younger but now make me want to intentionally hit a tree. Then there’s the Veggie-tales, which are worse. Those I skip. Anything that makes the children groan, I skip. Anything that has inappropriate lyrics (I’m a grown up, don’t judge), I skip.

That still leaves several thousand songs to play and it’s made driving back and forth to drop off and pick up the kids, especially when Maureen is out of town, all the more enjoyable.

There was one song that came up last week that I love, sang along too, and remembered long after it was over.

That brings me back to Sunday’s second reading. In the first letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians, we hear:

Let no one deceive himself.
If any one among you considers himself wise in this age,
let him become a fool, so as to become wise.
For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in the eyes of God,
for it is written:
God catches the wise in their own ruses,
and again:
The Lord knows the thoughts of the wise,
that they are vain.

This brought me back to that song in the car. It’s called, God’s Own Fool and was written and sung by Michael Card a generation ago, when religion was more touchy-feely, and we used songs at retreats the way people use apps to pray.

Still, the lyrics are a great reminder of our call to live a life worthy of imitation.

Seems I’ve imagined Him all of my life
As the wisest of all of mankind
But if God’s Holy wisdom is foolish to men
He must have seemed out of His mind

For even His family said He was mad
And the priests said a demon’s to blame
But God in the form of this angry young man
Could not have seemed perfectly sane

When we in our foolishness thought we were wise
He played the fool and He opened our eyes
When we in our weakness believed we were strong
He became helpless to show we were wrong

And so we follow God’s own fool
For only the foolish can tell-
Believe the unbelievable
And come be a fool as well

So come lose your life for a carpenter’s son
For a madman who died for a dream
And you’ll have the faith His first followers had
And you’ll feel the weight of the beam

So surrender the hunger to say you must know
Have the courage to say I believe
For the power of paradox opens your eyes
And blinds those who say they can see

So we follow God’s own Fool
For only the foolish can tell
Believe the unbelievable,
And come be a fool as well

As Lent begins, may we all be a little foolish this week. A little less wise in the know-it-all sense, and a little more willing to let others know whose we are but showing them who we are as a child of God.

pjd

To hear the artist sing the song, click here.

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Presidents’ Day

Let us pray…

Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet if God wills that it continues… until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid another drawn with the sword… so still it must be said that the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and for his orphans, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

President Abraham Lincoln
Second Inaugural Address
March 4, 1865

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Long Live God

Sitting in the parking lot last week, waiting for child number one’s bus and listening to the local public radio, I was distracted by the mention of Godspell playing nearby.  Something about the station giving away tickets if you signed up online.

So I signed up online and forgot about it. A day or two later, I receive an email that I have won two tickets to see the show at the Contemporary Theater of Connecticut in Ridgefield, a thirty-five-minute drive from the house. With everything going on last week – Maureen out of town, teaching two night classes, the children wanting to be fed every evening – I almost wrote back and said, “thanks but no thanks.” Something made me hesitate.

By the night of the show, we had decided that the eldest would be ready, that I would end my night class early, and that I would then race home, pick up the child, and head north. I had very little hope that this plan would work, but like everything else last week, we’d have to wait and see.

The Contemporary Theater of Connecticut is a small equity theater that features professionals just as good as you would see on any Broadway stage. The intimate setting allows for you to feel like you are a part of the show and yet still a spectator to all that is going on up on the stage. Through their friendship with Stephen Schwartz, the directors are allowed to make some changes to the show, something that would normally be forbidden.

The oldest is one who struggles with her faith. She argues about going to Mass more than anyone and yet still has a deep longing for that which is bigger than all of us. I was so glad she wanted to go with me to see the show.

Sitting on the edge of her seat, I could tell she was moved by the story and the music. The genius of the directors at the theater was clear as the greedy king in one parable was a Trump-esque leader of his people and another was Harvey Weinstein. There were shades of Game of Thrones, Hamilton, and even a little music-by-cup from Pitch Perfect. The contemporary references – even the subtle ones – just made the show better and better. The actors were superb, and the music washed over her as I could see out of the corner of my eye as she bobbed  her head along.

During intermission, the actors hung out with the audience and she couldn’t wait to tell any of them that she loved their singing, their haircut, their outfits – all of it. One of the actors invited her to wander around the stage before the show started again, and I hadn’t seen her that happy in quite some time.

Godspell is one of my favorite shows. Seeing it years ago in Ford’s Theater in Washington was one of the things that drew me to study my faith more closely. In the last scene, when Jesus has died and his friends come to carry him to the grave, they begin to sing, “Long live God, long live God….” again and again. When I saw it the first time, the actors carried Jesus up and down the aisle as the people in the audience sang right along with them. There was less walking around in this small theater and not as many people sang along, but you better believe my daughter and I were belting it out – a message that speaks more of that faith we need in this world, at this time, now more than ever.

Love live God. Long live God.

In our words, our actions, and our attitudes. Around us. All through us. In our homes and in our communities.

Love live God. Long live God.

 

*This post updated with the change that the theater is an equity theater, not a community theater. 

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T is for Tiger

She called him “Tiger” from the first moment she could pronounce the word. Our eldest child and her constant companion. A small, stuffed animal that was a part of all the stories she would tell – and the ones that I would make up for her. It began with his adventures from Africa, when Tiger climbed in my suitcase and smuggled his way home. Maureen and I had just found out we were expecting our first child when I ventured to Rwanda and Kenya with Catholic Relief Services.

To be fair, I think Tiger was a gift from an aunt or a cousin, but when the children are little and need a story, we oblige. Plus, we honestly didn’t remember where he’d come from, so Africa seemed like a good bet.

Tiger was in loads of photos those first few years. Like the animals we all had growing up, he had his own personality. Many nights were spent searching the house for Tiger so the baby, then toddler, then child could finally go to sleep. I honestly have no memory of her in those early years without him.

Then, in August 2010, Tiger was gone. We remember having him in the Costco parking lot on a day that included haircuts (her first “bob”), back to school shopping, and more. We were taking pictures and we think Tiger must have wandered away into the woods looking for an adventure (or, in laymen’s terms, was left on the wall where we were staging our back to school photo shoot).

In the days and weeks that followed, we returned to every one of the locations from that day. We talked to the folks at lost and found, the people who collect the garbage from the parking lots, and we looked high and low – in the woods and in the grass. But Tiger was gone.

I have spent the last ten years looking for him. I searched through every single current and retired Beanie Baby animal. I have done image searches online using the best picture we have of Tiger, sitting quietly next to Winnie the Pooh. I looked through antique stores, all the GUND animals I could find, and, when I am out and about, I often search through those carousels of stuffed animals near the checkout line just in case Tiger (or his twin) shows up.

On Saturday morning, I found him. I don’t know what made me look, but there he was.

On eBay.

Same little pink nose. Same green eyes. After hundreds of searches with all sorts of combinations, I finally stumbled across an entry labeled, “orange cat.” Tiger would not be happy at being called an ordinary cat. I did not investigate the backstory. I did not email the person selling it with questions about where she got him. I just spent a few minutes whispering a prayer of thanksgiving and, with a few clicks, Tiger was on his way back to Connecticut.

Ace Number One has a birthday coming up – she’ll be 15 years old at the end of March and Tiger will be there to celebrate. I imagine I am much more excited that she will be. After all, she’s been without her friend longer than she had him. But he still comes up in conversation once in a while and my hope is that she will be both surprised and thrilled when she opens the box and sees her stuffed friend sitting there. Maybe there is a part of me that hopes by reclaiming some of her childhood, I can somehow pause the rapid pace of her growing up. I need her to feel safe. I need her to be careful. I need her to study and do her homework. I am probably asking too much of a stuffed animal, but this is Tiger, dang it. He can do it.

To set the scene for the birthday surprise, I want to ask you to do me a favor. Could you hand-write a note from Tiger and talk about some great adventure you’ve had? Make it up. Get creative. Use a postcard or a plain piece of paper. It doesn’t have to be long, just a quick note that speaks of an adventure and then end with, “I can’t wait to come home.”

Sign it “T” so it keeps her guessing – or don’t sign it at all. Do not include your own name, please. Keep it anonymous. My hope is that if she receives a few of these, it will build the momentum for Tiger’s triumphant return.

If you don’t have our address, shoot me an email (p(dot)donovan(at)mac(dot)com) and I will send it to you. The birthday is the end of March, so we have some time.

Sounds crazy, I know. But parents always do crazy things for their kids and even crazier for the inanimate objects that make our children happy.

~pjd

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God’s Law

We see throughout the Gospel readings this week that Jesus made a habit of recognizing God’s law over man’s law. No doubt this made the legal scholars of the day angry and even those who didn’t study the law but knew the law were irked.

We look at these situations with the benefit of hindsight. We know how the story ends. We commemorate the crucifixion and celebrate the resurrection. The winners write the history books and we know, as Paul Harvey would say, the rest of the story.

Why, then, are we still putting man’s law over God’s law? God says, “Do not kill” and yet we create ways to take a life again and again and then try to justify our actions. God says, “Feed the poor” and we’d just assume leave that to the people who run the charities and soup kitchens. God says, “Keep holy the sabbath” and we fill our time with less important obligations and find excuses not to rest as we have been commanded. I could go on, but you get the picture.

God’s law. Man’s law. One gets you to heaven. One does not.

Where you begin is everything.

May your week be filled with God-like decisions.

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Back to Life

Three of the children went back to school on Thursday. They did so begrudgingly. A long Christmas break afforded us the chance to build fires in the fireplace, play cards, eat meals at all times of the day, and watch more movies and shows than we normally would. We are not full-fledged fans of The Good Place and Brooklyn 99. We’ve seen movies about popes and another where nearly everything blows up. We cheered the Irish on in their bowl game and made plans for Easter break. We saw the new Star Wars, had a visit from our favorite priest, and even ventured to Baltimore to spend time with the cousins on Maureen’s side.

Today we are back to normal. The eldest went off to high school bright and early and Maureen drove to a meeting in Newark even earlier. I am back at work trying not to think of the books I started and never finished, not to mention all the decorations still adorning the house.

Vacations are a good time to rest and reconnect, but for us, they are also a great time for being together as one family unit. I know the days are numbered and that before too long, kids will have jobs and access to cars, college will soon follow, and we’ll trade one group of expenses for another.

For now, though, I will hold fast to the moments of sitting all together in front a show we enjoy, listening to the unbridled laughter of those around me. I will cherish the memory of Christmas morning, when we enjoyed the excitement of children – giddy that Santa has come – and yet still managed to sit quietly for a great breakfast on our new snowman plates. I will smile when I remember how child number three launches into the theme song for the cheesy movie he and I watched in our “guy time” –  a classic Disney flick in which a young Kurt Russell is shocked by a computer and is suddenly imbued with all the knowledge the machine contained. I am not sure which was more amazing to the child: the horrible song that someone actually had to sing (and that he continues to sing at random times) or the sheer size of the computer in the movie.

I will take comfort in the raw energy of the youngest, who will not walk across a room if she can flip, cartwheel or otherwise fly across it. I will be sustained by the second oldest, who sends more texts of love, hearts, hugs, and kisses than most children her age. The phone, for her, is not a way to move away from the family, but an opportunity to become even more connected to it.

And I will settle back to work knowing that the oldest, our ace number one, will be heading into exams soon and will need all the patience her parents can muster. Always the serious one, she surprised us all the other day when someone was giving Alexa a hard time. The so-called smart device was asked a simple question and could not seem to come up with an answer. Someone commented that it wasn’t that smart after all when suddenly, the eldest child chided us all, told us to be nice to the smart devices, and reminded us that when the robots turn on us, she’ll be remembered as having been nice to them.

Happy new year, everyone. May your time away from work and school – and the memories you made together – give you strength to journey onward.

At least until the next long weekend.

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Merry (early) Christmas

Merry Christmas a few days early.

This is the week when, for one day, all people, believers and nonbelievers alike, celebrate Christmas far more widely and with far greater joy than any other holiday or holy day.

Is this simply because Christmas is about motherhood, the birth of a child, innocence, and love? After all, these are at the heart of human life. I suppose it’s true that most of us would find it hard to identify with rising from the darkness of the tomb. Maybe that is why Christmas often has broader appeal than Easter. But perhaps there is more, a lot more. Perhaps we are more deeply in touch with an abstract idea we call the Incarnation than we realize. It could be that something deep inside us knows what “the Word made Flesh” really means.

From the moment God breathed God’s life-giving spirit over the darkness of the void and brought creation to life, God spoke to people. Through giants like Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Deborah, Jeremiah, Isaiah, the psalmists, God gave us the words of life.

But, on Christmas day, the living Word of God came into the world. Mary gave birth to the Son of God. In this Jesus, God communicated most eloquently with God’s people. In this Jesus, God held children. God met with skeptics and dined with outcasts. In Jesus, God talked, listened. God wept over the dead Lazarus. God touched the leper. God put mud and spittle on the blind man’s eyes and healed him. Through Jesus, God entered the cycle of human life and unswervingly walked its path to the end.

Perhaps Christmas is so touching because God skipped nothing, not the frantic eruption of birth nor the numbing moment of death. God came to be one of us. One of us.

Perhaps the gift-giving of Christmas, the outpouring of love we lavish on one another, echoes the final message this God-Made-Man spoke through human flesh: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you” (John 15:12).

Maybe this feast opens the door to some inner cell of our hearts where we imprison the Word that tells us that now we must be the arms of God surrounding the little ones; that we must be God’s voice to speak and God’s ears to listen; that we must weep God’s tears; that we must be God’s healing hands; that we must be Jesus in our times and in our culture. the power of this truth escapes and, at least for a few moments, warms up the coldness of our world.

It is indeed up to the twenty-first century Christians to give birth to Jesus in their own time, their own culture, their own families. This is the heart of faith and life. Each of us is an innkeeper. It is up to us to find room for Jesus.

Deep within us, we know it. We feel it and so we celebrate.

May that wonder and joy of that first Christmas be yours today and always.