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Losing Gratitude

I do not like to wait. If I buy a gift for someone, I usually deliver it long before it’s time. We tend to shop for Christmas all year long, looking for sales and trying to help Santa finish early. At some point, we forget where we hide things or forget what we have purchased, all of which makes for a fascinating Christmas Eve.

And each year, I swear I will “do” Advent better. Then it sneaks up on me and pretty soon we are halfway through the season and I still haven’t gotten the candles out.

Apparently, the rest of the world is afraid they will miss this important time of preparation too. Everyone seems to be in a rush to get to the manger. Christmas lights and decorations were up at Home Depot long before all the pumpkins were sold. Black Friday, which was annoyingly creeping into Thanksgiving day, has suddenly, and for no apparent reason (save the obvious greed), developed into a season all its own. You can now shop Black Friday sales pretty much all through November. Small Business Saturday gives way to Cyber Monday and soon we are two weeks into Advent and I can’t find the wreath.

And in the midst of this mess, we have lost sight of my favorite national holiday.

Prayers of Thanksgiving have long been a part of our religious heritage and prayers of thanksgiving at harvest time have been around for centuries. Rooted in this country in the practices of Puritans and stories of Pilgrims, Thanksgiving was first celebrated by all the states in the Union in 1863 as Abraham Lincoln sought to hold a country together. Later proclaimed a national holiday by a joint resolution in Congress and signed by Franklin Roosevelt in 1941, Thanksgiving has been a part of our nation’s fabric for generations.

Though the timing was changed along the way, in part for economic reasons, the simple message remained the same: take one day of the year to give thanks for all that we have.

So before we decorate. Before we light candles and open little paper doors. Before making our list and check it twice. Before all the waiting begins, let us just stop for one day. No shopping. No surfing. No texting. No posting.

Just be with the people you love and say “thank you” for the blessings they are in your life. Thank them for the way they challenge you, move you, and improve you.

It’s one day. My favorite day. Family day. Lazy day. Baking day. Cooking day. Going to Mass because we want to day. Pie day. Turkey day. Thanksgiving Day.

Thanks be to God for the blessing we have, the blessings we are, and the blessings we are called to share

~pjd

 

This post originally appeared in 2013 but the Donovan clan returned home late last night from the National Catholic Youth Conference and are exhausted, so please forgive the repost.

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Children Will Watch

Ace Number One came home with an infraction the other day. It’s essentially a piece of paper that outlines what she did wrong and one of her parents have to sign it. By the time I got home, the infraction was signed and the letter of apology to the teacher to whom the disrespect was aimed was written and ready for delivery.

What did she do? Well, she repeated bad behavior. Walking her charges down the hall, the first-grade teacher told her students, “Be careful, children, the seventh graders have no respect for first graders.” Child number one took issue with this and, upon turning the corner, muttered to a friend, “It sounds like she doesn’t have a lot of respect for seventh graders.”

She would have gotten away with the remark had the first-grade teacher not been standing right behind her.

The infraction was well-deserved and the child was well rebuked. She knows better than to talk about another person like that. But, still, the whole event got me thinking. It reminded me of a conversation with my dad when I joked that no one listened to me at home. “Children don’t listen,” he said. “They watch.”

My children yell because I yell. They eat ice cream and chocolate and read books and love electronics because their mother and I enjoy all these things. They are short with each other and mean to each other and leave their clothes on the floor because, well, you get the idea.

But they also sing and share and pray because we do. They know I love the Rosary and have an affinity for Our Lady and they know that Maureen and I bless them each night not out of habit, but out of a commitment to love them and do our best to be their “first teachers in the ways of faith.” They know that the religious symbols in our home are not for show. They are silent homilies that give witness to all that our lives are rooted upon.

The teacher in the hall was inappropriate. So was the child in front of her. Children listen. Children watch.

Lord, give my children good witnesses. And let the witnessing begin with me.

~pjd

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What’s the Matter with Kids Today?

There is a great song in the musical Bye Bye Birdie, where the characters lament all the things that are wrong with kids today. Surely if the song were rewritten for modern times, someone would be singing about the rise of anxiety among young people.

Don’t believe me? Read this article. And this one. And this one. And this one.

The reality is that for a number of reasons, young people today are less comfortable in their own skin than ever before. What is a parent to do? May I be so bold as to suggest three things?

Cut the cord. Yes, even the invisible one. The best $99 we spent recently was for a device called the Circle. It started as a Kickstarter campaign and was soon bought by Disney, who saw the potential. Essentially, it is a device that allows a parent to set up an account for each child, assign whichever device said child uses to that account, and set limits. The children living with me get anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour and a half, sometimes more, of Internet time. Then the Circle kicks them off. I notice that when the Internet time is up, the Legos come out or, even better, the children rediscover the great outdoors. Plus, it lets me track their usage. I can see everything they watch and everything they do online. If chores are not getting done, I can hit the pause button and every device on the Circle shuts down the Internet to the whole house.

Eat together. Survey after survey will tell you that young people who eat at least five meals a week with their family are more likely to live longer, healthier lives, all while avoiding at-risk behavior. For Catholics, I would add that, according to research I have found, families who eat together raise children more likely to remain faithful later in life.

Listen. Young people today are struggling with self-esteem, self-worth, and are searching for communities that value and love them. How can they fall in love with a God they never meet? How can they find acceptance in a community that never listens? Mom and Dad – put your own phones down and listen to what your child has to say.

The list is short and incomplete, non-scientific and opinionated. But the children hate the Circle, so I know it was a great purchase. They are learning manners and to pass things instead of slide them across the table, where the forks go, and how to share, so that’s something. And the stories they tell when we chat about the day? Well, just listen for yourself sometime and you will see what I mean.

May your week be blessed.

~pjd

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Institutional Failure

One of the hardest working groups of people in the church today is the men and women who serve as directors or coordinators of religious education. Some of my closest friends serve in these roles, so the conversation I had the other day with a DRE unnerved me. Usually, I am quick to defend, but somewhere deep inside, her story irritated me.

I was at a meeting, listening to complaints, suggestions, and the like. One expressed concern that the idea of reimagining faith formation was overwhelming because she was, after all, the only one doing anything in her parish. (More on that at another time.) At the end of the meeting, a DRE came up to me and said, “You are not going to believe this,” as she relayed a story of a mom bringing her son in for an interview for Confirmation. (More on that at another time.) The DRE asked the child to name the seven Sacraments. The young man could not. The DRE was flummoxed. The mom demanded the Sacrament. The DRE wondered aloud to me about her predicament. “How can I say that this child is ready when he cannot answer the simplest question?”

I do not think she liked my answer. If a child gets to the ninth grade and cannot name the seven Sacraments – especially after nine years of religious education – he or she is the victim of institutional failure. His parents have failed him. His religious education program has failed him. His catechists have failed him. And yes, this holy woman standing before me telling her story has failed him. Every person responsible for his faith formation – including himself – has fallen short.

The reality is this: we have to rethink the way we prepare parents when their infants are baptized so they understand their role as first teachers. Then we need to give them to tools to accomplish this. Moving backward, you could even make the argument that we have to rethink how we prepare couples for marriage so they know the responsibility that lies ahead. We have to rethink early childhood education so something actually happens between Baptism and First Reconciliation and First Communion. We need to rethink comprehensive ministry to, with, and for young people. We need to rethink Confirmation prep and stop calling it the graduation it becomes because that’s what we keep calling it. If we want young people to stay involved in the parish, why not provide a place for them from a very early age so the parish community is an extension of the family, not a sacramental marketplace where we check in once in a while.

I could go on and so could many of you. Directors and coordinators of religious education have a really, really tough job. Parents often abdicate young people’s faith formation to these men and women, some of whom are prepared for the challenge while others are not. This happens, in part, because mom and dad do not have the skills to talk about their faith. But it also happens because we have become a society of letting someone else take care of the hard stuff.

If you have children, take responsibility for your children’s faith formation. Talk to them. Read with them. Study with them. Ask them about the presence of God in their lives.

If you are a catechist, coordinator or director of religious education, put the textbook down and have a conversation with your students. Find out what they know and what they believe. See if God is real to them or if they are just going through the motions.

It takes a village to raise a child but only if the villagers work together.

Shortly after being elected, Pope Francis said, essentially, that the Church is a love story, not an institution. That gives me hope.

Because love never fails.

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Open House

Schools host open houses around this time of year and, for many, it is simply a chance to boost enrollment. For the one we visited yesterday, it was much more.

We spent Sunday afternoon at the first of what I imagine will be many visits to high schools. The oldest is in seventh grade and we are thinking about life beyond middle school. The other schools we might visit have a high bar to reach after yesterday’s outing. I use the word, “might” because halfway through the tour, Ace Number One exclaims, “I will die if I don’t go here.”

Well, if it is a matter of life and death, the choice seems clear.

The young people giving the tour were kind and gentle, struggling somewhere between being high school freshmen and seniors and still trying to stick to the script. What struck me about the young women is that they were not giving tours of their school as much as they were showing us around their home. This is where they spend forty-plus hours a week. This is where they discover who they are. This is where they are fed – academically and spiritually. The only time our student guide faltered was in her explanation of the chapel. I shuddered as she struggled with her explanation of the liturgy, going to Mass, and the language around all that happens in this holy place until I reminded myself that she had no idea whether the audience was Catholic or not. This room, too, was a part of her home, but she did not want to assume everyone else had a room just like it in their middle schools. Still, her enthusiasm for getting to go to Mass, spending time with our Lord in Eucharistic Adoration, and having the opportunity to spend time in prayer was clearly meaningful to her. I wondered if my own explanation to a group of strangers would be any better.

Every classroom was filled with teachers, outlining the curriculum and reminding us that we could ask anything. I felt bad that I was unprepared to pepper the teachers with questions, though I imagine that might get old as the hundreds of parents pour through the halls. I discovered that I had traveled to Italy with one teacher 17 years ago and that another one I knew from a party across the street from our house. Small state. Small town.

Walking around with my two oldest, I was fascinated by the things that made them anxious (the gym) and what made them excited (the art room, the science room), and even what made them giddy (the menu of clubs). The showcase of work of the students betrayed the depth and breadth of the studies happening in the rooms we visited. From the science experiments happening all around us to the incredible artwork of Biblical Illumination, you would expect to see in a museum. As a dad who has not quite grasped that his eldest will be in high school in a few short years – or how we will pay for it – I was glad to see the variety of opportunities that await.

We wrapped up the tour in the cafeteria, where we found the rest of the family and homemade goodies covered the tables. Nothing calms the nerves like fresh chocolate chip cookies and punch.

As we walked to the car there was no need to ask what anyone thought. It was a gorgeous day on a gorgeous campus with faith-filled people and a spirit that echoed excellence and holiness. There was no question that this was a special place where young women are taught to advocate for themselves. As we crossed the yard through the falling leaves and tried to find the car, I wondered what people would think if my family hosted an open house. Would they encounter the person of Christ or a busy host? Would they feel welcomed or rushed? Would they see Jesus as the center of who we are or would we miss the mark?

This week, I will use the example of Sunday’s visit to welcome people to my own journey of faith. I will tell stories of encounter and work hard to be the face of Christ to others. I will bake chocolate chip cookies with the children and share them with others (the cookies, not the children).

May your week be blessed.

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Angel of God

When the children were little, their prayer time at night always included the song to the guardian angels, whose memorial feast we celebrate today.

Angel of God
My Guardian Dear
To whom God’s love entrusts me here
Ever this day, be at my side
To light, to guard, to rule, and guide.

Katie held on to that song the longest, I think. I suppose the youngest child always holds on to certain traditions far longer than others. Perhaps it is rooted in the parents’ subconscious desire to hold on to those days of innocence.

Now, there are days when we just want the kids to go to sleep. There are nights, I am not proud to admit, that my prayer is something along the lines of: “Sweet Jesus. Will you please go to bed?!”

We still tuck them in, visit their rooms, kiss them, and bless their foreheads, but the song has been replaced with conversations about homework, uniforms, and which day is a gym day. They have perfected the delay tactics.: bathroom visits, just one more thing to draw, looking for socks, and my favorite: “I think I left something in the basement.” Bedtime comes too late sometimes and mornings almost always come too early.

This week, with mom in Indianapolis and dad at home, perhaps we will resurrect the old tune and sing again.

Lord knows we need the angels watching over us.

~pjd

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Amid the Chaos, Hope

An anniversary passes today that will likely be lost in the news of hurricanes and presidential tweets. With the start of school, open houses, meetings with teachers, and homework, today might just go unnoticed.

Since that Tuesday morning sixteen years ago the world has changed in so many ways. We are more alert, more aware, more afraid, and, with every passing day, more likely to forget how that day played out. We are different people than we were back then. We are older, wiser. We are fathers and mothers now, seeking ways to protect our children. The babies born that year are now well into into  high school. Millions of people born since that day have no memory of the Twin Towers or that remote field in Pennsylvania or the moment the Pentagon walls came down. Like so many sayings that come and go, “Let’s roll!” means very little to this my children’s generation.

But it’s important to remember. It is important to tell the story.

A few weeks after that terrible day, two of my sisters came to visit and we went to visit Ground Zero. The fires were still smoldering. Bodies were still being recovered. Guards were posted ever few yards and facing outward towards the throngs of people who came to pray, or just to watch. There was a silence, a stillness, over the crowd. Enough time had passed that the flyers announcing the missing were weathered. But not enough time had passed to stop people from openly weeping in the streets.

As I stood there, I caught the eye of an officer with the NYPD. Without thinking, I said the first thing that popped into my head. It’s a bad habit of mine.

“How unbelievably hard it must be for you to stand there, when so many of your brothers are still buried.”

I was almost immediately sorry I said it because I saw the pained look on his face. I had hit a nerve so raw, so near the surface, that I was sure he wanted to either cry or hit me. But as I saw his eyes go to the youth ministry logo on my jacket, the pained expression gave way to peace. He even smiled.

His answer haunts me still. He looked me in the eye and spoke without hesitation, almost has if he had planned his response: “I’m Catholic too – and there is a lot death, a lot of evil here, so much…” he paused, “crucifixion.” Then he cocked his head in the direction of the graveyard behind him and added, “But there is resurrection too. So I’m standing by the tomb and I’m waiting.”

I remember the voice, the thick New York accent. I remember his eyes. I remember everything about that night.

The world is filled with evil, darkness, chaos, murder, violence, and war.

The world is also filled with light.

May you find light this week. May any cross you face bring you to a tomb.

Because the tomb, the floods, the fires, the worry and the anxiety – all lead to emptiness. And, in the end, it is an emptiness that brings us face to face with life.

~pjd

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Eclipse

The family just returned from a seven-state, 2400 mile vacation. We visited with friends and family and had a front row seat for the solar eclipse that captivated the nation.

I have been searching for the right word to describe the experience. We went to the Nashville Zoo with about 7,000 others who sat in the field amidst the animal enclosures to both watch the sky and see how the animals reacted. I was more interested in how my children would react.

In the hour or so leading up to the eclipse, we sat in the field and sweated. I had forgotten about the humidity and, as the temperatures neared 100 degrees, the children started to complain. To be honest, so did I.

Then, it started. We donned our glasses and stared at the sky. It’s exciting, exhilerating, and, well, let’s face it, you just can’t stare at the sky for that long in heat like that. So it was a little bit of staring, a little waiting in line for food, a little  wandering around to see the animals, and a rush back to the field for the final countdown.

As we neared totality, the family lay on the ground together. At some point, as the sky overhead darkened, it became important for the children to be touching each other – and their parents. Holding hands, we lay on our backs in the field and waited.

It got darker. The sliver of the sun peaking out behind the moon became smaller and smaller. The field sizzled with anticipation. People grew silent.

Then it happened. The sun was gone, leaving only a ring of fire peaking out.

And the place went nuts.

Cheering. Yelling. Crying. Jumping up and down. As if we had somehow made it happen, willed it to happen, wished it to happen.

The more I think back to the sight of the children’s enthusiasm and excitment, the more I struggle for the right word.

I think it was joy.

I think it was that feeling where you forget everything else – the email, the phone calls, the chores, the back to school shopping, the bills, the mess you left at home – everything – and you just are. You just enjoy the love of the people you are with and you are overwhelmed with how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things.

It is an amazing moment as a parent when you realize the center of your life is outside yourself.

Joy. We tasted divinity for a minute and a half and then the glasses went back on and the crowds started to disperse. It felt almost disrespectful because the sun and the moon hadn’t finished their dance. But there were animals to see and shadows to investigate.

But the joy carried us through the day and night and into the next day…and I pray we can continue to capture what we experienced in that field on that very hot August afternoon.

~pjd

 

P.S. Liam shot this photo!

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Loving Others

Throughout the Bible, we are told the God loves everyone. I could quote you chapter and verse, but I know you believe me.

So if God loves everyone, then everyone is lovable. Right?

Think about that for a bit. Everyone?

Everyone.

The racist, the bigot, the idiot, the moron, the Democrat, the Republican, the guy on Fox and the guy on CNN, the criminal, the person who cuts you off in traffic, the guy – or girl – who dented your car and did not leave a note, the mean lady at the grocery store, and the person down the hall at work that everyone struggles to like.

Everyone is lovable.

God will sort out the forgiveness and God will judge the remorse.

It is our job to love others. Period.

That includes everyone.

This week, maybe I will just pick one or two from my list and start there.

~pjd

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Except Through Me

When we think of Charlottesville or Orlando or Charleston, may we pay attention to the command to love one another.

When we think of Syria or the Gaza Strip or South Sudan, may we gain some perspective and complain less.

When we hear of immigrants dying in tractor trailers or deportations that defy understanding, may we welcome the strangers in our midst.

When we think of Sandy Hook or Columbine or Paducah or any number of the places where people with guns shoot children, may we hold our little ones close and remind them that we are called to be people of peace.

And when we gather this week for Mass on the Feast of the Assumption, may we be reminded of the words of the late Ruth Mary Fox and the great challenge her words offer to each of us.

Into the hillside country Mary went
Carrying Christ.

And all along the road the Christ she carried
Generously bestowed his grace on those she met.
But she had not meant to tell she carried Christ.
She was content to hide his love for her.
But about her glowed such joy that into stony hearts
Love flowed
And even to the unborn John, Christ’s love was sent.

Christ, in the sacrament of love each day, dwells in my soul
A little space.
And then as I walk life’s crowded highways
Jostling men who seldom think of God
To these, I pray, that I may carry Christ
For it may be
Some may not know of him

Except through me.

As we watch the news and see the violence, bigotry, and unbridled enthusiasm for ignorance and hatred, we are challenged to ask ourselves this important question:

“How will I carry Christ this week?”

~pjd