Posted on

St. Patrick’s Prayer

According to tradition, St. Patrick wrote this prayer in 433 A.D. for divine protection before successfully converting the Irish King Leoghaire and his subjects from paganism to Christianity.

St. Patrick’s Breastplate, also known as The Lorica of Saint Patrick, was popular enough to inspire a hymn based on this text. Often the 15 lines found towards the end of the prayer are used on their own. Today, I thought we could use the whole thing.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation.

I arise today
Through the strength of Christ’s birth with His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.

I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In the obedience of angels,
In the service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In the predictions of prophets,
In the preaching of apostles,
In the faith of confessors,
In the innocence of holy virgins,
In the deeds of righteous men.

I arise today, through
The strength of heaven,
The light of the sun,
The radiance of the moon,
The splendor of fire,
The speed of lightning,
The swiftness of wind,
The depth of the sea,
The stability of the earth,
The firmness of rock.

I arise today, through
God’s strength to pilot me,
God’s might to uphold me,
God’s wisdom to guide me,
God’s eye to look before me,
God’s ear to hear me,
God’s word to speak for me,
God’s hand to guard me,
God’s shield to protect me,
God’s host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptation of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
afar and near.

I summon today
All these powers between me and those evils,
Against every cruel and merciless power
that may oppose my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul;
Christ to shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me an abundance of reward.

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation.

Posted on

Presidents Day

Officially, today is Washington’s Birthday. Contrary to popular belief, there actually is no Federal holiday called “Presidents Day.” Don’t tell that to the marketing department at any number of the big box retailers, mattress companies, or car dealerships.

Still, it is a good reminder that we live in a country that celebrates its leaders, remembers its past, and looks forward to a future built on a dream where all are welcome, all are equal, and all can share in the promises new beginnings bring. As a nation of immigrants, we remember that most come from somewhere else. Many of us were one-time strangers in this new land, and whether we had a choice in our being brought to America or not, we have an obligation to remember our common struggles, our history, and what we owe to each other.

You can like the people in government or not. You can agree with policies or not. You can protest and write articles in favor of the government or against it. But what we must never do is fear the government. Local officials can seldom fix the problems that are broken in our communities. The people who fix the power lines do not regulate what runs through it. When disaster hits, it takes the government – usually on a big scale – to find the solution, fund it, and fix whatever is broken.

The government is not supposed to make money – it’s supposed to make life better for its citizens – protect them, solve issues that cannot be solved on a small scale, and educate its people as they work for a life better than the one they inherited.  We all pay for it. It works for all of us.

Or it should.

When it’s broken, we fix it. Like any competent surgeon, we use a scalpel, not an axe. We don’t arbitrarily cut off limbs; we tweak what needs tweaking and prune carefully so those who serve are served, not dismissed and destroyed.

Perhaps it would help if we paused this day and prayed. Not just for ourselves and our leaders – but for the storytellers who came before us, contributed to the government in many ways, and gave their lives in faithful service to their fellow citizens.

God our Father,
You guide everything in wisdom and love.
Accept the prayers we offer for our nation.
In your goodness,
watch over those in authority
so that people everywhere
may enjoy freedom, security and peace.
We ask this through Christ our Lord.
Amen.

—Catholic Household Blessings and Prayers, 371

May we all work together to build a more perfect union.

-pjd

Posted on

Maintaining Perspective

On Saturday I had to drive child number three to an audition. The micromanagers in charge said he could not drive because he might be nervous. The trip there took more than an hour.

“Are you nervous?”

“Of course not.”

Ugh.

Since he had been concussed, he had missed the deadline to register and now had to fit in whenever they could take him. While sitting in the parking lot, some kid gets out of the Porsche parked next to me and whacks my car.

Really, kid?

After I scolded that kid, I dropped my own kid off and went to the grocery store to get food for the upcoming football game, which is always great family time.

The phone rings as I am getting out of the car. It’s the child I just dropped off.

“I forgot the money.”

“Can I bring it when I come back?”

“Do you have a checkbook? They need a check.”

“Fine.”

I go into the Acme – the kind of store where they take 12,000 square feet of merchandise and shove it into a 7,000 square foot store. It is crowded, cramped, and I have chosen the time of day when they are restocking the shelves, so carts are everywhere. So are people.

Ugh.

At checkout, the phone rings again.

“They cannot take me until two.”

“It’s not even one!”

“Sorry….”

Ugh.

When I return to the site of the audition, I write the check out. Then I texted the kid and confirm how much, which somehow went up in the time I’d been gone, and write another check.

I take it inside and ask who gets it.

“Oh, you have to give that to the school.”

Ugh.

“By the way, who is the micromanager that set the rule that my kids cannot drive himself?”

“That’s our rule. It’s for insurance.”

“That makes no sense. My insurance covers my kid from home to here. Your insurance covers him here. You cannot mandate how my kid gets here and now I am stuck here all afternoon.”

“That’s our rule.”

Ugh.

While I am sitting in the car, eating some of the groceries to ease my hangriness, I look up this dumb rule. While I am looking it up, I count five – FIVE – kids get in their own cars and drive away. One almost hits my car. He must have been nervous. One drives over the curb. One speeds out of the lot.

Now I am really irritated. Not only do these turkeys have a dumb rule, they are not enforcing it. They have no way to, which, frankly, makes them negligent. It’s not a policy if you have no way of enforcing said policy.

Ugh.

Child number three gets in the car, complaining about how long it took and wondering why there are crumbs all over his seat. That’s when I remind him that this is all his fault. If he had paid attention, he could have gotten all the paperwork in on time. If he had done that, the fee would be half as much as it is today. If only he had his crap together, his grades would be higher. If he put his phone down at night he would sleep better. If he paid more attention…

Somewhere in the silence of the rest of the drive home, I realized what an ass I had been.

Instead of cherishing the time alone with my son, I saw it as a chore.

Instead of enjoying time I got to spend alone, I was irked at the messy, crowded store.

Instead of thanking the volunteers at the audition, I challenged a rule they made out of concern for young people and not in an attempt to irritate parents.

Instead of praying for the safety of the kids in the parking lot, I judged their driving and secretly hoped they got caught.

Sitting in the silence, I thought to myself, “Let’s call this day, ‘Great Weather. Missed Opportunities.'”

The good news is kids are forgiving. My kids know that I yell because I care. I fuss at them to challenge them. I love them even when I want to throttle them (metaphorically speaking).

Still, everything that irked me was more about me than anything else.

We got home safely and in time for the game. As I got ready for a friend to come over to watch, I ducked into the bathroom off the kitchen.

That’s when I realized my zipper had been down most of the day.

Really, kid?

Ugh.

Our Lady of Humility, pray for us.

 

Posted on

Beyond the Election

If you are like me, you are looking forward to November. Thanksgiving? Sure. The seasons of Advent and Christmas? Maybe.

What I am really looking forward to, however, is the end of election season.

I do not know how the campaigns get my email or phone numbers, but as I reply STOP to all the requests for money – locally and nationally – or the emails slamming one side or the other, as we are barraged by the endless news stories about who wants microphones on or off during a debate, and as the constant publishing of polls fails to share any news that is actual news, I find myself longing for the first Wednesday in November.

Of course, my hunch is that nobody will be happy. Unless it is a victory with a margin so vast that no one can dispute it, one side will be elated and the other will quickly move to file motions in court.

I cannot remember when the election season got to be years instead of months, nor do I recall when the money became so great that our poorest neighborhoods could be lifted out of so many issues with one weekend’s haul of donations.

Yet this is country we love, this is the freedom that we share and for which so many have given their lives. This is the reality we have created – a reality as frustrating as it is free.

I just can’t help thinking of all that gets lost in the noise. Distracted by politics, we spend more time talking about the failures of others and not enough time solving problems. Congress seems more interested in investigating their so-called enemies than actually solving any of society’s issues.

Listening to sophomores in college the other day in class, many of them just want the government officials to govern, to stop yelling at and about each other and do their jobs. They want politicians who have ideas, not politicians whose default position is name calling, demeaning, and threatening their opponent. They want people who understand that life issues include abortion, yes, but also a clear understanding that racism, the unhoused, immigration, poverty, healthcare, affordable insurance, and child care are all life issues too. They want a government that cares what happens after the child is born.

These are the youngest voters and I am careful not to stray too much into the weeds. I cannot ask for whom they intend to vote and it would be inappropriate to try to convince them of anything other than following their own conscious. It is clear, however, that they see the failure to speak kindly or to tell the truth as a negative, not an advantage. This is an age that can spot inauthenticity a mile away. They can tell when you are faking it, when you haven’t a clue, or when you care more about me than we.

But, like all adults, they are tired of the noise. They want a government that makes them feel safe, at school and on the road. They want officials who care about public service more than self. They want to be able to find a job, afford a house, and raise their families. And they are tired of the bluster, the corruption, the distractions, and the nonsense. They long to trust their elected officials and keep wondering aloud if this is the best we can do.

Like many of us, these young people, many of whom will vote for the first time, just keep wondering if anyone is listening.

I hope so.

 

Posted on

A Prayer for the First Week of School

Master and Teacher,

Bless the students who will have trouble settling down this week, whose minds are still at the beach or at grandma’s swimming pool, or the amusement park or soccer camp.

Bless those who sit nervously in class: those who are new in school and those who never read anything over the summer and know a test is coming anyway.

Bless those who will struggle, those who will succeed, and those who get lost in the crowd.

Bless the new friendships that will begin on day one and bless those cherished friendships that will be renewed.

Bless them all with compassion, that they may root for the underdog, celebrate those who accomplish much, and pray fervently for each other.

Bless them with an environment free from bullying, needless competition, and petty jealousy.

Help them, Lord, to fall in love with learning.

Bless the parents of these students, their first teachers in the ways of faith. Give them patience when the homework takes too long, give them the courage to understand that their children are not perfect and give them the courage to discipline with love. May they abdicate less and partner more.

And we beg you, Lord, to bring these children safely home at the end of the day, the week, or the semester. Keep them free from violence – at home and at school – on the bus and on the streets – and guide them home to the waiting arms of those who loved them first.

Finally, Lord, we pray in the thanksgiving for the men and women who have already been hard at work straightening desks, taping names to cubbies, painting lockers, planning classes, cleaning rooms, decorating bulletin boards, hanging posters, and studying test scores. Bless these servants with peace, patience, persistence, and your Spirit, that they may be Your presence to our young people, Your hands, and Your voice.

We make this prayer through Christ our Lord: teacher, servant, and source of all hope.

Amen.

Download printable copy.

Posted on

Dear St. Anthony

We are blessed with some great readings this week. In addition, we will celebrated my mother’s favorite saint – St. Anthony – later this week.

I remember when we were kids and anything was lost – car keys usually since it was hard to lost a giant phone attached to the wall – mom would begin her prayer… “Dear St. Anthony, please come around. Something’s lost and can’t be found.” She would repeat the prayer again and again and, eventually, that which was lost was found.

I still use that prayer and I know so many of you do as well. As the children get older and the problems seem bigger, I find myself using the prayer for inanimate objects as well: mental health, a calming spirit, a good attitude, kindness – all those things that can get lost while we are not paying attention. I pray, too, for lost people – those I love but whom I must move out of my life for my own sanity. I pray for lost friends with whom I have lost contact because I think social media is a colossal waste of time. I pray for those with whom I work, those alongside me in the field of ministry, and those with whom I live and work and play.

We can all get lost, I suppose, overwhelmed by life and everything on our lists. It’s nice to pray for each other, hoping and longing for that which is misplaced to be recovered and made whole.

St. Anthony of Padua, pray for us.

Posted on

Thanksgiving Week

One thought.

If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, that would be enough.

Meister Eckhart got it right. Not much more to say.

Happy Thanksgiving.

– pjd

 

 

Posted on

Psalm 34

This is a big week in our household. Mom is away so it’s dinner out every night and a suspension of all the rules.

I am kidding, of course. Really, it’s four against one. Child number three turns 16 this week and Thursday is the anniversary of my brother’s death. Child number two goes to NCYC on Thursday and another one has a concert this weekend, an event that comes with last minute shopping for a black tie and dress rehearsals at dinner time. The dogs and I will spend quality time together and I assume they will engage in a cage match only while I am on Zoom.

I drove nearly 500 miles over the weekend and never left Fairfield County. Between practices, rehearsals, college tours, and a trip to JFK, I spent quality time behind the wheel. It gave me a chance to catch up with individual children and Maureen and I braved the traffic last night so she could arrive in Indianapolis long before the conference participants.

As I do most Sundays, I got the chance to go through the next week’s readings. I like looking ahead. I hate surprises. Tomorrow, the psalm is a favorite – number 34. Do you know it without looking it up?

I will bless the Lord at all times. 

At. All. Times.

In traffic. In crowds. When the idiot in front of me turns left as soon as the light turns green. In the supermarket when the people in front of me clearly had no training on self checkout. When the child waits until the last minute to announce a need for some obscure item that Amazon will not deliver on time. When another child announces they’ve been waiting for you to get home to decide what to eat for dinner. When no one has fed the dogs or emptied the dishwasher or taken out the trash.

At. All. Times.

It’s a Psalm worth remembering, even if you have to mutter it to yourselves as you fly down I-95.

Have a good week.

Posted on

The Poor In Spirit

St. Matthew gave us all the Beatitudes on Sunday morning, but the Bishop focused on only one at Mass: the first one. He called it the doorway to all the others, the requirement for the rest. Live the first one, the others become easier to understand and emulate.

It reminded me of my friend, Macrina Wiederkehr, a Benedictine nun who died in 2020 of a brain tumor. She has a reflection on all the Beatitudes, but this one danced around in my head as the Bishop spoke.

I turned to the empty ones,
What does it mean to be poor in spirit? I asked
Is there anything good about being that poor?
 
The poor in spirit replied:
Can God fill anyone who is full?
And how sad if you should suddenly discover
That you are full of illusions
Instead of filled with truth.
 
Being poor in spirit means
Having nothing to call your own
Except your poverty
It is a joyful awareness of your emptiness
It is the soil of opportunity
For God has space to work
In emptiness that is owned.
 
Being poor in spirit means
Knowing that you are so small
And dependent
Needy and powerless
That you live with open hands
And an open heart
Waiting to be blessed.
For only then can you be blessed
If you know
That you need blessing.
 
Being poor in spirit
Means that you have time
You are not oppressed by deadlines
There is always time for waiting
For the one who is poor.
Being poor in this way
Frees you from the prison
Of having to have everything
planned and structured
As though there were no tomorrow.
 
And finally, being poor in spirit
Means being able to say
Without embarrassment
Humbly, and yet with passion:
“I need you.”

This week, may we have the courage to be empty, to be poor, to seek the assistance of others as we journey together.

Posted on

Fall In Love

Nothing is more practical than
finding God, than
falling in Love
in a quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with,
what seizes your imagination, will affect everything.
It will decide
what will get you out of bed in the morning,
what you do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read, whom you know,
what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in Love, stay in love,
and it will decide everything.

 

Happy St. Valentine’s Day.

Often attributed to Fr. Pedro Arrupe, SJ (1907–1991), but by Joseph Whelan, SJ.