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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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Ode to Joe

The family took a trip down Interstate 95 a few weeks ago to celebrate a former colleague.

After 28 years coordinating the youth sports program for the Diocese of Wilmington, Joe McNesby hung up his whistle.

More than 8,000 young people play sports each year in the diocesan programs and for more than a generation, Joe lovingly guided their coaches through practices, games, and tournaments. More importantly, he guided their parents through the same. He coordinated the coordinators for individual sports, supported officials, and calmed the parents of the latest Michael Jordan or Peyton Manning when some coach thought he knew better.

During the party for Joe, hosted by his family, many people told stories of his generosity, his work ethic, and his love of family. But it was his youngest daughter’s words that stuck with me.

On a drive to the beach, his daughter said to him, “Dad, you go to Mass every day. You never miss it. So since we are alone,  I wanted to ask, ‘What did you do?'”

It was a funny question and, given Joe’s sense of humor, the answer could have been just about anything. But after a few minutes of silence (silence that let the youngest think she might get an answer that would give her dirt on dear old dad), Joe spoke.

“Look around. Look at the beach. Look at our family. Four kids. Great marriage. Several grandchildren.” Joe paused.

“I don’t go to Mass because of what I have done. I go because of what I’ve received.”

Even in retirement, the man still coaches.

Thank you, Joe, for influencing the lives of so many. Including mine.

~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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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

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This Week

Do you remember when you were little and you had absolutely nothing to do?

When evening arrived after a day of doing nothing with people you loved and as day turned into night, nothing mattered, nothing was important, and nothing worried you? You would stay up late because there was no bedtime and the stars were out and there were fireflies to chase and put in jars? There was no to-do list. No email. No one waiting for you to text back.

You could eat ice cream and not be intolerant and you could drink a coke and still fall asleep. If you were like me, you would mix up your ice cream until you made soup out it and still think it was delicious. In fact, you could eat pretty much anything because no one cared how you looked or what you wore or whether your pants were too tight?

Your parents said things like, “Be careful,” when you left the house and, “Be home before dark” as you rode down the street on your bicycle, without a helmet but with all the intentions of staying out until it was exactly dark and not a minute before.

Do you remember? Can you remember?

Me neither.

But as we worked in the attic this weekend, I found myself humming a song I thought I had forgotten. The song is “Eulogy” by The Hereafter and, though I have no idea of its origin, I love these lyrics:

Let’s pretend that we can still pretend/Let’s pretend that we are young again/I am only looking for a friend/Let’s pretend that we are young again.

It reminds me of those days so long ago and I’ve decided that this week I will worry less, have more fun, eat more ice cream, connect with a friend or two, and maybe, just maybe, go outside and ride my bike.

Close the computer. Put away the phone. Worry less. Pretend with me.

~pjd

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Nothing Else Matters

Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me,
and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me;
and whoever does not take up his cross
and follow after me is not worthy of me.
Whoever finds his life will lose it,
and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

These lines, from Matthew 10:37-39, set up what the Biblical scholars call “the conditions for discipleship.” I have to imagine that if you were having a first person experience of Jesus, you would have come to expect such instructions. And I can’t imagine if you were hanging out with a guy who changed water to wine, resurrected the official’s servant, healed Peter’s mother-in-law, and calmed the sea, you would be bothered by putting Jesus first.

But looking at the lines with twenty first century eyes is another story. Lots of things can get in the way of putting Jesus first. Sometimes I love chocolate more than I should. Sometimes I love other foods, too, but chocolate always comes to mind. I love my children more than myself and want them to love God more than they love me, but sometimes it is hard to imagine loving anything more than I love them. A long car ride with all of us barreling down the highway in an enclosed place usually is enough to remind me that I really do love God more.

This week, I will live like nothing matters more than God. I will teach my children to do the same. Perhaps if we consciously work to put God first, speaking nicely to others will come naturally, helping around the house will come naturally, serving others in love will come naturally.

But first it requires acting as though loving God more than anything else also comes naturally. My children, like all children, I suppose, learn better by watching. How I live makes much more of a difference than what I say.

Unless I tell them I have chocolate to share. They always seem to hear that.

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The In Between

I find myself once again in that in between stage. Not in the metaphysical sense as in between birth and death. Not in the seasonal sense as in between the end of school and a new beginning.

No, I’m talking about pants.

I find myself too big for one size and too small for the next size up. One pair is too tight and hurts. The other pair falls off when I walk. I’m in between.

The way I see it, I could eat well and exercise, take the stairs instead of the elevator, take a walk around the block, ride the stationary bike, and risk shedding a few pounds so the pants that are tight fitting more comfortably.

Or I could eat more.

People say nothing tastes as good as being thin feels but I don’t think those people have ever tasted Breyers ice cream. Or peanut butter. Or the chocolate chip cookies I make with the kids.

I talked it over with the children and they voted for the stationary bike. I think they like to see me sweat – or maybe they are tired of my telling them, “I don’t bend,” when things are on the floor.

So that’s the goal: five pounds. I’ll start there.

It’s time to charge the Fitbit, that annoying piece of technology that screams, “Hey Lazy,” at the end of each day. It’s time to take a walk, ride a bike, take the stairs, and put the chips away. Starting today, I will use a smaller bowl for ice cream (let’s be honest here…)

About the same time I noticed the in between situation with the pants, I noticed it had crept into the rest of my life too. I am in between classes in my doctoral studies. I am in between four different projects at work. I am in between two books I started around Christmas. I am in between series on Netflix. I am in between the prayer I started last night when I fell asleep and the prayer I started this morning.

Living in the in between is frustrating. In this morning’s readings, we find Abram living between his old life and the new one to which he has been called. In the Gospel, we find Jesus chastising the disciples to stop being hypocrites: remove the beam from our own eyes before reacting to the splinter in our neighbor’s eye. We live in between being accepting and judgmental, kind and vicious, helpful and lazy, brave and cowardly, saintly and sinful.

Maybe this week we can choose a side that is healthy, holy, righteous, and peaceful. Tell the devil named Breyers to get behind us and choose the side that leads to better choices.

It might also lead to smaller pants.

 

Comments have been turned off because computers are getting smarter and keep trying to posts garbage disguised as comments. If you want to reach me, you know how.

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The Circle of Life and First Communion

What a weekend. One great blessing after another.

Ace Number One – Molly – performed in The Lion King Saturday night in what I have to say was one of the best middle school shows I have ever seen. The Lion King is a powerful story in itself and I have fond memories of seeing it in the theater the summer before big brother Jim died. I remember thinking then how poignant the story was for what Jim was about to endure and I remember the lump in my throat when I looked down the aisle to see Jim cuddling his three-year-old daughter.

Molly’s role wasn’t huge. She was part of the Dashiki Dancers and part of the ensemble that sang back up for the principle actors, but you could hear her voice above the others as she told the story in song. More than 100 young people from the school participated and the costumes, straight out of a Broadway design shop, were amazing. On Sunday, Molly mentioned she wasn’t sure what to do with all her free time (she’s been rehearsing since January). I suggested that her Math grade could use some work, but judging from the look on her face, I am not sure that is what she had in mind.

On Sunday morning, Katie received her First Communion – the last of her generation to do so. All along, Katie had wanted to receive the Blessed Sacrament from Fr. John, our pastor and the last few weeks have been rough for her as she waited patiently for the right time. Her classmates received their First Communion while we were in Syracuse celebrating the same event with one of Katie’s cousins. With the play already on the schedule and with family already traveling so much to be with and then celebrate Maureen’s father, we decided to combine the events so the family could celebrate with us. All of Maureen’s siblings and most of the nieces and nephews came to town, as did the ever-faithful Aunt Maggie, a Daughter of Charity who is preparing for a move out west.

Katie has been ready theologically for some time. She is a funny child who cannot clear her place or shut her dresser drawers but can articulate that she becomes what she receives and that this has implications for how she treats her brother and her sisters and the world around her. I don’t know whether Jesus ever cleared his place, so I pick my battles.

I know I am nowhere near the first person to point out the spiritual significance of The Lion King, but there is a line in one of the songs that has been running through my head all weekend. When it was sung Saturday night, the tissues went up and down the aisle as Maureen and her siblings remembered Pop Pop, who certainly would have been present were he still living. On Sunday morning, I found myself humming the song as I prepared to walk with Katie and Maureen the short distance to Father John. Katie, you see, had brought a picture of Pop Pop with her. She wanted him to attend so badly and thought if she brought a picture, that might help.

He lives in you
He lives in me
He watches over
Everything we see
Into the water
Into the truth
In your reflection
He lives in you

Indeed, it’s true for Pop Pop. But when she heard me humming, Katie also commented that the song makes sense at Church too, because that’s what Communion is all about.

The Circle of Life continues.

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Take It To Our Lady

My father was the one who introduced me to Mary. Every day on the way to school, we would pray the Rosary. It is a tradition I came to cherish and have sought to maintain as a parent. Even though the children now take a bus to school, the daily prayers are a practice I try to maintain – in part as a nod to my father and in part because of the power prayer has to focus me on the things that matter most.

But praying can be a challenge. It can be hard to hear above the din. The drive to the office is only a few minutes and I get busy at home or work. The noise around me – or in my own head – distract.

A few years ago, after Maureen was diagnosed with Colon Cancer, we were at a meeting for diocesan leaders that was taking place as part of the National Catholic Youth Conference, which Maureen organizes. In a moment of unscripted sharing, she told those in attendance about her diagnosis and impending surgery.

All of the sudden a women in the middle of the room interrupted her. “Take it to Our Lady,” she called out, and immediately invited all of us to pray the Hail Mary together for Maureen – and each other.

It was a powerful moment. It was a powerful experience. Even today, though the cancer is gone and Maureen’s at full power, it gives me chills. I can still hear that clarion call, “Take it to Our Lady” echoing as though they are instructions for the rest of my life.

For Mother’s Day, the children gave Maureen a statue of Our Lady for the garden in the back. Our friend, Fr. Joe, will bless it in a few weeks and Katie, who makes her First Communion next Sunday and missed the May Crowning as school, will fashion together some flowers and crown Mary – a small nod to another grandparent lost.

This week, I will focus more on prayer. I will go back to the ritual my father taught me and try to stand still before moving forward.

This week, I will take it all – the pain, the ignorance, the cynicism, the joy, the work, the play, the family, the driving, the shopping, and the conversations – all of it – to Our Lady.

And, like my father, I know I will find peace.