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Vacation

The folks at Merriam-Webster define vacation as follows:

va·ca·tion

/vāˈkāSH(ə)n,vəˈkāSH(ə)n/

Noun

  1. an extended period of leisure and recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling.

In reality, it’s when you pick up your chaos at home, pack it in a car, sit in traffic for a while, and then unpack at your temporary destination. Then, after much effort to find a sunny place to spend your vacation, you drag your stuff to the beach and create shade.

In our case, the temporary destination is Baby Condo, my aunt’s place on the Jersey Shore. It’s small – only one bedroom – but it is right on the ocean and it is free, so it is ideal. After the three-hour journey turned into six, mostly thanks to construction in New York and the clogged Garden State Parkway, we arrived in time to have lunch with Aunt B and then settle in. We’ve already hit the beach a few times and have the redness in our fair Irish skin (yes, we used sunscreen) to prove it.

Today we might hit the boardwalk in Atlantic City, or we might play games, or we go back to the beach, but in true vacation mode, it does not matter. There is no plan. We are reading, playing cards, cooking together, and yes, on occasion, irritating each other with our closeness.

The best part for me – other than just being together – will come tomorrow morning around 4:20 am. That’s when the moon sets and we will be able to enjoy about an hour of the Perseid Meteor shower – an annual sky show viewed best away from city lights. The nearly full moon will hinder the show a bit this year, which is why we will need to rise early to get a glimpse of the sky while it is at its darkest. I did a dry run this morning and enjoyed a half dozen or so meteors when the hardness of the bed woke me around 4 am.

Then Wednesday night, following the vigil Mass of the Feast of the Assumption, the local pastor will hop in a boat and bless the waters of the Atlantic. The entire congregation walks with him to the shore and participates in the blessing. The kids love it and I love watching them enjoy the rituals of our faith.

Until next week…get some rest, enjoy your family, and unplug from the busyness of life.

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Perspective

Reflecting on one of the Gospel stories we hear this week, you can see the stark differences between the way various groups react to the words and work of Jesus.

A demoniac who could not speak was brought to Jesus, and when the demon was driven out the mute man spoke. The crowds were amazed and said, “Nothing like this has ever been seen in Israel.” But the Pharisees said, “He drives out demons by the prince of demons.”  Matthew 9:32-34

The crowds – the everyday people – are overwhelmed with faith. The Pharisees – the so-called holy ones of Judaism – are overwhelmed with indignation.

One group sees light, wonder, amazement. The other sees jealousy, bitterness, even a connection to demons.

I thought of this the other day when we were riding our bikes as a family (well, almost all of us, as the last child’s bike had bad brakes and she nearly wiped out on the first hill). We are trying to increase our exercise so child number three can increase his carb intake. It makes for a healthier family altogether.

Child number one – the one who would almost always rather be online – loved it. She was off and riding on the trail, talking to strangers, interacting with others, and having a great time. Child number two was less thrilled, complained a bit more, and rode with less enthusiasm. Though I was told I look like a bear riding a tricycle, I kept up.

It’s the same at home when we try to pick a movie. One child wants animation. One wants a documentary. Another wants all things Marvel. And yet another wants to stay in her room and interact with others only online. When it comes times for chores, one child clearly understands the connection between helping out and personal responsibility while another sees only a parent stealing playtime.

Perspective matters. What we see matters. But what we see and what we say are often rooted in who we are as children of God – and our willingness to embrace that childhood. How we respond when someone takes our parking space or cuts us off or eats something that is ours in the refrigerator is rooted in our own happiness – or lack thereof. Do we approach others with humility, openness, and love? Or do we allow our responses to be rooted in jealousy, hypocrisy, and envy?

When we look out at the world, do we see stars or just darkness?

This week, may your world be filled with light – and may that light guide others home.

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The New Normal

A well visit at the pediatrician and an irregular test result led to repeated tests on Friday, which led to child number three’s hospitalization from Friday through Sunday night. The final diagnosis: Hoshimoto’s disease and diabetes.

The first we can take care of with medicine and, as long as he takes it regularly, there are no real concerns. The second – type one diabetes – can also be treated with medication, but there are more toys involved: antiseptic wipes, glucose meters (that lose their battery power at 10 pm), testing strips, insulin, injector pens, and tons of paperwork.  Then there is the change in eating habits. No more than 60-70 carbs per meal and about 20 per snack. Check out the labels next time you go shopping and think about that. I have promised to limit myself in solidarity and the girls know our family eating habits will change, so in the end, child number one might be right when she called all of this, “a blessing in disguise.”

The patient is a trooper. Testing himself and injecting himself has quickly become second nature. He wearily offers his fingers for the midnight and 3:00 am test these first few weeks and shows me how he injects into the fatty part of the thigh with ease. He is becoming adept at reading labels and knows that giant bowls of pasta are not in his immediate future – at least until we get used to this new normal.

The parents are another story. His mother accompanied him to the hospital and never left his side. Nervousness and worry gave way to boredom because, when you look around at the other patients, there was a lot less to do for a child who just watches movies between tests and injections. As the girls and I were leaving the other day, I caught a glimpse of some of the other patients – heads shaved, barely coherent, confined to wheelchairs. Yes, we’ll take the inconvenience of diabetes any day.

Still, I think there is a mourning period that happens when your child’s life changes. Since I was at camp with high school and college students, the immediacy of it all fell to Maureen. Ever the daughter of a nurse, she is amazing: confident and calm under pressure. And yet, there is a twinge of pain when we think of how his life – all our lives – will change. How we eat, how we prepare for vacations, how he will need to test himself at school, the effects of stress on our bodies, and on and on.

The child, however, is made like Rubbermaid. He will bounce back and we will oddly draw strength from him. He is already made one thing clear: he is not a diabetic. He is a boy with diabetes. It’s the new normal and I pray that, in time, we are all as clear-headed about it as the eleven-year-old.

May your week be free of worry and may you enjoy the independence that comes from realizing we were never really in charge to begin with.

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Father’s Day

I was thinking this weekend about the advice I would give to my younger self, before the children were in or near their teen years, before technology got in the way of real relationships, and before I had a chance to make so many mistakes.

I would tell myself that kids hardly listen when voices are raised, that sometimes, “I don’t know,” is all they’ve got, and that “clean” is a relative term.

I would teach my children how to fold clothes correctly, how to fill a dishwasher properly, and how to vacuum the whole room, not just the places you can see.

I would teach them to make their beds every day, to pick up their clothes, and to put their toys away.

I would teach them that socks belong in three places – on their feet, in the hamper, or in a drawer – but never scattered by the back door or around the sunroom, in the basement, or under their beds.

The children are young, and I hold out hope that some of these things will be learned in time, but it will probably require me to learn how to fold clothes correctly and unplug from my phone or iPad as an example. To be fair, our children are fun to be around like to have a good time. They are helpful some of the times and mean to each other just enough to be irritating. Like any child these days, they get bored easily and get drawn into YouTube or television, or an app on the iPad way too easily. If I could afford it, I would quit my job for the summer months and hang out with my kids – doing something more interesting each day.

In tomorrow’s Gospel reading from Matthew, we are reminded that we are called to “be perfect just like your heavenly Father is perfect.” I suppose that advice holds true for my children too. If I want good behavior, I need to model it. If I want a clean house, good manners, folded laundry, and children who know when to unplug, that begins with me.

Then again, if I want children who have bad eating habits, like to binge watch crime shows, and don’t mind the dust, I am well on my way to perfection.

God bless all fathers and the examples they set.

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Ace Number One

The eldest child graduated eighth grade yesterday, so it is time for some nostalgia.

She is the first born, my Ace Number One – nickname her maternal grandfather used for her mother that I adopted. She is an enigma – fourteen going on cynical. With humor like her father and a voice like an angel. She has her mother’s wisdom and the depth of character more often found in someone twice her age.

Struggling with “undifferentiated fear,” she, along with thousands of other young people, suffer from some anxiety her parents yearn to understand. Moved by her parents so her dad could take a job he loves, working for (as a change), someone he admires, we uprooted her after fifth grade and left behind the only school, home, and friends she had known. As she struggled to fit into the “land of entitlement” (her words), it was hard for her father not to feel guilty for moving her at such a tenuous age.

Then came seventh grade and a situation in school that still haunts us. An offhanded comment brought her world crashing down as a young teacher dropped the ball and a principal took overreacting to a new level. There are moments in a child’s life when parents look back and wonder if they could have done more to protect their child, and this is one of those moments. As an educator, I am often prone to side with other educators. I expect them to react as I believe I would act. I expect them to be prudent, caring, and honest. I expect them to put the child first. As long as I live, I will regret thinking these people capable of such maturity.

Still, we talk about the moment not defining us. We challenge the now-rising freshman to dream big. She is over the moon about her high school decision – the only child from her school set to attend Sacred Heart down the road in Hamden. She tried out for the fall play on Saturday – before graduating from one school and buying books for another. She is excited about meeting new people, making new friends, and starting over.

Finally, we see light.

When she was six years old, we were at Mass for Easter Sunday and, since not saying “Alleluia” in our house during Lent is a big deal, the children were anxious to sing it out loud for the first time in forty days. Mass began with the required, “Jesus Christ is Risen Today,” and even the “Gloria” was a welcomed delight.

Then came the Gospel Acclamation. For reasons passing understanding, the cantor and choir chose the worst version they could find – the dirgiest of dirges to sing. It was painful. It was lifeless. And the six-year-old knew it.

Closing her book and chucking it on the pew, she leaned over and whispered, “I wouldn’t get out of the tomb for that.”

So, yes, her standards are high. Her patience is low. But her faith is deep. Somewhere in the midst of all that unnecessary worry, all that cynicism she gets from me, the questions she struggles with about her own place in the world, there is a depth that amazes me. She does not suffer fools lightly, but she delights in the joy she finds on her own.

And now, she is off to high school. So, today, we look back on simpler times and are reminded that she has always brought a song into our lives.

If the clip does not load, you can visit it here.

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Hope for a Reimagined Future

One of the hardest working groups of people in the Catholic Church today are 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 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 person expressed concern that the idea of reimagining faith formation was overwhelming because she was, after all, the only one doing anything in her parish. I did not have time to point out the absurdity of that statement, so the conversation continued. At the end of the meeting, the DRE came up to me and said, “You are not going to believe this,” she said, as she relayed a story of a mother bringing her son in for an interview for confirmation. 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 the tools to accomplish this. Moving backward, 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, first reconciliation and first Communion. We need to accompany families as they raise faith-filled children. We need to rethink comprehensive ministry to, with, and for young people. We need to rethink confirmation preparation and stop thinking of confirmation as graduation. Even when we use the correct language, many parishes still treat confirmation as graduation, evident by the lack of ways young people can be involved and are formed in the years that follow the sacrament. If we want young people to stay involved in the parish, why not provide an environment 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? This will require a profound cultural shift, but if we reimagine the sacraments of baptism, confirmation, and marriage, I believe we might have a shot at changing the future of faith formation.

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 articulate their faith. But it also happens because we have become a society of letting someone else take care of the hard stuff.

My request of parents is this: 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 or coordinator, or director of religious education, do two things: first, ask yourself if you are prepared for the role you play. If not, enroll in formation for yourself. Second, 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.

In a recent conversation with a close friend, who serves a large, suburban parish as a director of religious education, she relayed her concern with the way parents transmit the faith:

The main thing that I am noticing with this group [of parents] is the fact that they seem to forget the role that families play in formation, not to mention the role families play in the parish. The children were asked to draw in their book a picture of who was present at their baptism. All but 3 pictures depicted parents, usually their mom holding them, and a priest or deacon. Very few, however, drew pictures that included Godparents, grandparents, or any other family or friends present.

The story is anecdotal, but I believe it is also emblematic of how children see their families in relation to the rest of the community. Younger families are struggling to find their place in the parish. Parents lack the language to articulate the faith at home. We must help parents find the right words to tell the stories of faith, to share their own experience of encounters with the person of Jesus Christ. 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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First Teachers

Today is graduation day, so my studies are on my mind.

As a parent who is also a practicing Catholic, hoping to raise his child to be faithful, there were, perhaps, no more daunting words that those the priest prayed at the end of the Rite of Baptism for my children. In concluding this ritual of initiation, the celebrant prayed first over my wife, the mother of the child, reminding her to give thanks for the gift of this child now and in the future. Then the celebrant blessed me, the father of the child, reminding me that, together with my wife, we “will be the first teachers of (our) child in the ways of faith.” The celebrant continued, “May they be the best of teachers, bearing witness to the faith by what they say and do, in Christ Jesus our Lord.”This is a tough challenge for any parent, but it was a challenge that unfolded for me more and more as I journeyed through my coursework at LaSalle.

In those early years, when the children were quite young, the primary role of my wife and I was to feed and care for our helpless children. As parents, we taught our children to walk, talk, count, identify colors, and be kind to others. Parents like us, who wish their children to grow up in the faith – any faith – also tell stories of Jesus. Catholic parents help their children make the Sign of the Cross correctly and we teach them their prayers. As first teachers in the ways of faith, we are storytellers and witnesses to a loving God on whom our children can depend. As Saint John Paul II stated in 2003, “people today put more trust in witnesses than in teachers, in experience than in teaching, and in life and action than in theories. Therefore, a loving witness of Christian life will always remain the first and irreplaceable form of mission.”This charge to be witnesses certainly extends to parents. The obstacles to raising faith-filled children today do not involve public games of chance with a lion at the center of the ring, but the rise of anxiety, shootings in our schools, and the onslaught of technological devices certainly do their part to make it harder for parents to be strong witnesses to the faith.

As a theologian in the Roman Catholic tradition, these questions are paramount to the future of our faith communities. As a parent, the answers might save my children’s souls.

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Easter Monday

It is good to have the Gloria back.

It is good to have our Alleluia back.

It good to be free of Lent.

It is good to have journeyed well, to have sacrificed much, to have fasted intently, and to have prayed often.

It is good to be loved so much that His sacrifice is enough. Once. For all.

It is good that Springtime is finally here.

It is good that Easter dresses and shirts and ties fit this year, even if daddy’s shirt is a bit tight.

It is good that we celebrate good health.

It is good to be with family.

It is good that we live and work and pray in a country where we fear little when it comes to where we worship and how we worship. And though there is violence, it pales in comparison to the violence elsewhere.

It is good to hold your children close.

It is good to be forgiven. Redeemed. Saved. Blessed.

It is good.

It is very good.

We are, after all, the people of Easter.

And “Alleluia” is our song.

~pjd

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The Doctor Is In

Four years ago, I wrote about going back to school. I mentioned how the children put together a packet of pencils, pens, a notebook, and paper. They sent me off to La Salle University in the summer of 2015 to begin my doctoral studies.

Last Thursday, I finished.

After four summer sessions, dozens of research papers, course work, comprehensive exams, and a final, 250-page dissertation called, “Is Reimagining Faith Formation in the Roman Catholic Tradition Enough to Save the Church for Future Generations?” – it all came down to a conversation with colleagues on Thursday afternoon.

Friends and family gathered in the classroom to hear me pitch my ideas and then engage in a lively conversation with my three readers, Brother John, Father Frank, and my good friend Charlotte. After a little more than seventy-five minutes or so, they opened the conversation to the rest of the room. The first question came from a faculty member, “Isn’t this reimagining just a Hail Mary from the Church?”

The second question came from my own daughter, who I thought had been nodding off during the questioning, but who apparently paid enough attention to ask a pretty good question.

Then another one from another colleague. Then another follow up. Then our ninety minutes were up.

We were all asked to leave the room while the committee met.

After a few minutes, we were called back in and with the iPhone video rolling, my mentor, Brother John, announced, “Well, there is no use delaying it…..Congratulations, Dr. Donovan.”

I have to tell you, it was a little surreal.

So this week, I rest. I pray in thanksgiving for all those who brought me to this moment: my wife and children, my co-workers, Fr. Joe, Brother John, Fr. Frank, Charlotte, and especially, my parents – my first teachers in the ways of faith.

May you be able to unplug this week. May your palm branches find a place of honor in your home. May your feet be washed. May your cross be light. May you find time this week to just sit and be with the Lord in his passion. Read the story. Remember the suffering. Enter the sacrifice.

And celebrate the Light.

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The Wife’s Helper

This weekend’s Gospel reading is always a fun one to explain to children. As we sat in Mass this weekend and the deacon talked about the woman caught in adultery, child number four leans over to her mother and asks, “What is adultery?”

“Let’s just say the woman was caught in the company of another man,” came the response.

“Isn’t that just dating?” the child replies.

“Well….”

The oldest child wanted to know what happened to the man. Why is it always the woman caught adultery? What ever happened to the man?

Good question, but the deacon never got to that.

The whole situation reminded me of a day a lifetime ago when I was teaching middle school. We were discussing Henry VIII and had just finished reading Robert Bolt’s play “A Man For All Seasons” about St. Thomas More. We engaged in a powerful discussion about the formation of our conscience how we too could shape our lives so as to be “God’s first” above all that society tells us is better or more important.

At some point, the discussion turned to the mistresses of the late king. For the first time that afternoon, I saw a couple of blank stares on a few faces in the crowd and upon questioning the reasons for such looks, I was told that while I had been cruising along quite nicely discussing kings and servants, popes and acts of succession, I had never really outlined what a mistress was or how these women had worked their way from housemaids to queen.

Puzzled, I asked “Yo,u know what a mistress is, don’t you?”

“Oh sure,” came the response from one student in the front row, “she’s like a wife’s helper.”

Sit with that for a minute.

I must have grinned from ear to ear because she knew from the laughter of those more experienced than she that her answer had been off the mark just a bit. When I explained a better definition of a mistress, she too joined in the laughter at her previous answer and left class that day with her head held high that she had been the one to not only cause us to take a break from some serious discussion, but that it had been her uninformed answer that had left us laughing right up until the bell rang.

As teachers and parents, children arrive before us with an emptiness that we feel obliged to fill. We fill it with information we think they should know and beliefs we think they ought to hold. Sometimes we forget to leave a little room in that space for them to learn for themselves. Daily, we pour in facts and experience that are unique to us and expect them to shape their lives accordingly. We ignore the individuality before us until one of them says something that makes us realize that what we have created is not quite what we had expected. We have told our version of the world, but we left out some important details.

Parents are first teachers, but we better make sure we always lead in the right direction.