Posted on

All About Emily

I usually go to great lengths to avoid naming the children in these posts. I call them by their numbers instead since we are not much into nicknames. Growing up as one of 11, you were lucky to get called your own name and, on occasion, my mom would just snap her fingers and you were supposed to figure out who she wanted in the moment. But I digress…

This post is about Emily. She graduates eighth grade this year. True, it’s not a milestone like college or medical school or perhaps even high school. It’s more like part of the normal growing up process and, in this town, the law. Still, it’s an event worth celebrating.

When her big sister graduated last year, relatives came. There was a party, a Mass, a celebration, gifts, cake. She got to see a Broadway play with mom and dad and the family’s favorite priest.

Emily got a sign in the yard.

She feels the slight the universe has dealt her and knows that others are celebrating the same way. She tries not to take it personally, but she’s a kid. She will turn fourteen in a few weeks and, like every fourteen year old, she is filled with hormones and attitude and excitement and wonder and hopes and fears and eyes that roll. She is excited about high school but nervous about going to clean out her locker. She is looking forward to new challenges in a new school, but hesitant about what school will look like when it reopens in the fall. Like all of us, she is facing a new reality that has yet to be defined and seems to change every day.

The sign in the yard doesn’t quite cover it.

Emily is the kind of kid that, at a young age, sought out the ones on the playground that had no one to play with and engaged with them. She wants justice for all and peace in our world, but will turn on a sibling who chews with their mouth open faster than anyone I know. She is helpful and kind, a good cook and talented student. She is social and bright and conscientious. She can also be moody as hell and can cut the room with a tone that gives even me the chills.

In the coming weeks, her mom and I will plan a party and family and friends will join virtually. We will toast her with sparkling cider and make her queen for the day. There will be gifts and a homemade cake and her school will do a special video with all those annoying baby pictures the parents hate submitting. We will do what we can to make sure she knows we are proud of her and this milestone in her life.

Most of all, we will pray that she and her siblings will soon be able to visit with friends, return to school unmasked, and maybe even go to the beach. It will take a miracle, to be sure, but we are people of hope.

In the meantime, let us collectively pray for graduates everywhere and for their parents who look for ways to make these rites of passage meaningful during these interesting and challenging times.

Posted on

Pause to Remember

Since we have been working at home for so long, today seems like just another day at home. I have a budget to prepare, calls to make, and work at home to do. But today is different. It should be different.  Today is more than hot dogs and hamburgers, beach passes and cutting the grass. It is more than the unofficial beginning of summer. Even without the parades and the large-scale gatherings at beaches and lakes, it should be different.

Today is one of those days to pause and remember.

We should remember why we enjoy the freedom to do the things we love to do. We should remember the sacrifice of someone’s daughter or son, sister or brother, mother, or father. We should remember that it was those sacrifices that give you and me the chance to vote for whomever we choose and then complain about the outcome. We get to speak our minds out loud without fear of recrimination and we get to worship wherever we choose, even if it is only outside or in small groups these days.

Freedom comes at a price. Following the Civil War, which claimed more lives than any conflict in our nation’s young history, our leaders were faced with the need for the country’s first national cemeteries. Within a few years, Americans in towns and cities began setting aside a day in late spring to pay tribute to the fallen, decorating their graves with flowers and praying for the dead.

As wars continued, so did the number of cemeteries. Decoration Day gave way to Memorial Day, which was established officially as a federal holiday in 1968 and first celebrated across the country in 1971.

So even if you do not have a chance to visit a cemetery and lay flowers at a grave, you and I can pause this day and give thanks for the brave women and men who offered, as President Lincoln called it, “the last full measure of devotion.”

We can be people of peace. We can speak kindly to a stranger, thank a veteran, fly the flag at our homes. We can pray in public, tell our children the stories of friends and family that served. We can enjoy the freedoms earned by another’s sacrifice.

And we can pray…

While the storm clouds gather far across the sea
Let us swear allegiance to a land that’s free
Let us all be grateful for a land so fair
As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer.

God bless America
Land that I love
Stand beside her and guide her
Thru the night with a light from above

From the mountains, to the prairies
To the oceans white with foam
God bless America
My home, sweet home

God bless America
My home, sweet home

May we all pause to remember those who had sacrificed so much that we may live in peace.

Posted on

The Big 5-0

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s where I find peace.

Have a good week and wash your hands.

Posted on

Presidents’ Day

Let us pray…

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

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

President Abraham Lincoln
Second Inaugural Address
March 4, 1865

Posted on

Please, I Want To See

This morning in Luke’s Gospel, we hear the story of the man born blind.  

There it is, the great and powerful question that Jesus asks us all: “What do you want me to do for you?”  

On behalf of all of us, the man replied, “Please, I want to see.”

This reading always makes me chuckle. The man was blind. The people on the side of the streets  knew it (they had to tell him what all the fuss along the road was about). My guess is the townspeople knew it. The man certainly knew he was blind. And Jesus likely knew it too.  

Still, he asked the question, “What do you want me to do for you?”

I always imagined Peter, who struggled to understand so many things, slapping himself on the forehead at the question and then leaning in to whisper to Jesus, “Dude, he’s blind. You really had to ask?”

But yes, Jesus has to ask – for two reasons, I think.

First, in Jesus’ time, the sick were the way they were because of sin – the sin of the lame or of their parents. That’s how sickness was explained. The person who was sick or those who brought them into the world, must have done something wrong to deserve such animosity from a God that was sometimes very distant.

Jesus restores not just his sight, but his dignity. By addressing the man directly, he raises him up as an equal, treats him with respect, and shows the crowd how we are all to treat the ill.

The other reason is more simple. Then – as now – the question demands an answer.

“What do you want me to do for you?”

Show you how to love? Check.

Show you how to forgive? Check.

Show you how to heal one another? Check.

Show you want it looks like to love hatred to death? Just watch.

The challenge for us is to answer the question Jesus poses so that in our blindness, we might come to see the presence of God in our midst.

 

Posted on

Mary in Luke

Since we celebrate the feast of St. Luke this week and since October is often one of those months (like May) where there is a strong focus on Our Lady, I thought I might combine the two.

Luke gives the fullest account of Mary both as the mother of Jesus and a symbol of humanity. She is a real mother and completely human. She is a Jewish girl who grows to womanhood in the company of a son who is as much a mystery to her as a child can be. Yet she is a woman of extraordinary faith, which is what sets her apart and makes her a model for the rest of us.

Although Luke does not give us a glorified and unrealistic portrait of Mary, neither does he give us an undoctored photograph. What we read in the first three chapters of his gospel, therefore, is not so much a historical account as a theological account. He is speaking not only about individuals but also about exemplary individuals. He is not so much describing particular events as much as he is portraying the universal meaning of those events.

We need to see Mary not just as a person, but also as an example for us all. She is a particular woman, but she is also a model of faith for all women and men. And the events which Luke describes are not simply events in one woman’s life; they portray the eternal meaning of every life of faith.

A few of my favorite Mary stories in Luke:

1:28-29

Rejoice because it is always good news when the Lord speaks to us. Since we’re never sure who is speaking, the angel goes on…

1:30

God is calling her to the way of faith, which is not a way of fear. When the Lord is present, there is no need to fear. When the Lord calls, the only need is to trust. The woman is not to doubt God’s ‘favor’ – in Greek charis or grace. So then this is an experience of grace.

Each of us has a calling. The call comes personally and individually. It speaks to where we are and to what we are capable of. And yet, God doesn’t call the equipped. He equips the called.

1:35-37

Through Mary, Luke is opening up a new realm of possibility for us. He is saying to his readers that the way of faith is the way of unheard-of possibilities. The power of the Spirit is such that even the impossible is possible. Yet it does not happen to everyone. It does not happen automatically. It happens only to those who put their whole trust in the Lord.

1:42-45

Visitation – When Mary receives this word of the Lord, therefore, the woman does not turn in upon herself. Rather she goes out toward others.

1:46-49

In Mary’s hymn of praise, Luke sums us the combined wisdom of the Old Testament and the New Testament alike. Some call it the most succinct and perfect summary of biblical spirituality. The moral development of Israel leads up to this, and the spiritual growth of the Church takes off from this.

But this way of the Lord, this total surrender to the Spirit is a way of suffering. Jesus knew this and he lived it to the utmost. Here at the beginning of Luke’s gospel, the evangelist speaks the same word to every disciple by having it spoken to Mary, the perfect disciple.

8:19-21

Now she waits. Except for one further glimpse of Mary, we don’t see her again until Acts. She does not understand the meaning of this son of hers. Yet she never doubts. She has given over control. She makes no claims on reality or God or others.

For the next 18 years, Mary’s life is uneventful. She waited for the hour to come. She did not force it. She trusted that what God wanted to happen would happen. She needed only to be faithful, for she knew that God is faithful.

Discipleship is often like that. We do everything we think the Lord is calling us to do, but nothing happens. We pray, we read Scripture, but we do not feel any holier or smarter.

Luke’s reminder to all disciples, spoken through his silence about Mary, is this: Waiting in the silence is sometimes exactly what God is asking of us. God needs to do God’s work, but in the end, the work is God’s. God will bring it to fruition, not us.

‘Jesus growing into manhood…’ – while we wait, the Spirit moves and works.

Finally, the time arrives. When Jesus is about 30, he is baptized by John in the Jordan, and he receives the anointing by the Spirit which launches him into his public ministry.

Sometimes Jesus even draws large crowds. Luke’s last mention of Mary happens here.

In Matthew and Mark’s gospel, Jesus contrasts his family with the hearers of the word. In Luke’s interpretation, however, Jesus affirms that his mother and brothers are disciples, that is, they hear God’s word and practice it.

Of all these disciples in the early Church, Mary is the first and foremost. For 30 years she has said her yes to the word of the Lord, long before the others even heard it.

She is also foremost among the disciples because she has endured everything that any disciple could be called by God to endure for the sake of the kingdom. Day after day she said yes to her Lord, even though she did not know where she was being led. She was led to the meaningless of her son’s crucifixion, the absurdity of seeing him murdered by the very people she respected. Yet her faith did not falter and so, three days later, she witnessed the resurrection as well.

Mary has seen it all, from before the beginning until after the end. She is the unique witness to the whole life of Christ in the world, from before its conception in her until its transformation and continuation in the Church. She is the ultimate disciple, giving birth not only to Christ but also to the Church by being at the center of the earliest community.

Mary, Our Queen and Our Mother, Pray for us.

Posted on

My Friend Next Door

There is an empty office next to mine. It’s where my friend used to work. Friday was his last day and I missed it. I was out of town and, though I knew it was coming, today’s quiet brings a reminder that he has moved on.

His generosity of spirit was the first thing I noticed when he picked me up at the train station when I first came to meet with the Bishop about this new adventure. He took me to lunch at a great little bistro – long since closed – and showed me around the small town, making sure I saw only the good. Trying to “sell” me on the move were his instructions and, apparently, it worked.

Over the next three and three-quarter years, we forged a friendship built on mutual respect and trust. Though age separates us by ten years and experiences separate us even farther, we shared our office suite like a couple of brothers, listening to one another when it was necessary and picking on each other when the tension needed breaking.

He’s off on another adventure, shifting gears, recalibrating. So he is in my prayers today. As I pray, I am reminded of the wise advice I received just about four years ago: “If you don’t want to change, don’t pray.”

Prayer teaches us to dream, to imagine the impossible. Prayer works against time, noise, language, pragmatism, and inability. It begins with an appraisal of what we are and where we find ourselves, and then moves on to changing the situation and ourselves.

We pray and change is inevitable.  It is the start of a motion, a continuing transformation, and upheaval. Things are never quite the same as before and there is no going back.

Change means letting go, dying and rising.  It is the continual paradox of death and resurrection, which is experienced in prayer. It is a longing for change.  It is asking that we become what God dreams us to be. 

If you don’t want to change then don’t pray. To live is to change.  To be holy is to have changed often.

My friend prayed for guidance and knew a change was necessary, that life outside these walls was not only possible but essential.

Still, I will miss my friend in the office next door to mine.

~pjd

Posted on

Remembering That Tuesday Morning

There is an anniversary this week that, for many, will pass just like any other day. After all, we have an entire generation of students in school – nearly everyone in school these days – who have no memory of 9/11. To them, it is an article in a history book, a few paragraphs tucked between the election of 2000 and another war overseas.

For others, however, it is an anniversary that commemorates a great loss. The loss of mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters. It is the day we remember pilots and flight crews, bravery, and heroism. We remember those who took over the cockpit and those who ran into the buildings. Yes, they ran into the fire, up the stairs, and into history.

I remember, like many of you, where I was on that Tuesday morning eighteen years ago. I remember watching the events unfold, the emails from around the globe as family checked on family, the phone calls from Brazil as messages were relayed to and from my late uncle who lived there to family living in Tennessee because calling Brazil that morning was possible; calling family in New York was not.

But more than anything, I remember watching the news, the coverage, the stories, and the sadness. I have always been fascinated by the news, long before I studied journalism in college. In those days that followed, I was pinned to the television. I could not watch enough. I remember how, in those early hours, the people called the place “Ground Hero” in memory of all those brave men and women who ran towards the danger. Long before social media was a way of life, we got our news from the television and that morning the news came quickly and unfiltered.

Soon the media would rename that sacred space in Manhattan as Ground Zero, the epicenter. Though for some families, the epicenter was the Pentagon or a field in Pennsylvania. The moniker stuck, like it often does when people repeat it again and again.

I remember, in the midst of the chaos, the cameras turned to the families when people started to gather because their loved ones had not yet come home. The pictures of the missing filled the screen as commercials were abandoned and some channels were too overcome with grief to broadcast at all. I remember the pictures. The men and women holding posters with photos of their parents, brothers, sisters, lovers, and friends adhered hastily to anything they could find. Just to be able to stand with a photo was enough. There were no words.

Then, because journalists are human and most humans are afraid of silence, the reporter thrust a microphone towards a woman and quietly said, “Tell us about your husband.”

“Every time he walked into the room,” she replied, “He took my breath away.”

I still remember her face. I still get chills when I think about it. I still pray for her.

May our God, who is beyond all understanding, be with us as we pray.

May we look upon those we love with the face of Jesus.

May we practice patience.

May we be people of peace.

May we, in the silence of our hearts, pause for a moment to look at the bright blue September sky.

And remember to give thanks.

For a faithful God who takes our breath away.

Again and again and again.

Amen.

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.

Posted on

Martha, Martha

This morning’s readings for the Memorial of Saint Martha offer two choices when it comes to the Gospel reading. They both include a story about a Martha and both include powerful lessons applicable to our daily lives.

In the first option, John 11:19-27, we hear the beginning of the story of the resurrection of Lazarus, the brother of Martha. I love that Martha tells Jesus, “Lord if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” How many of us wonder in the time of great loss if God is really present? And yet, she confesses her confidence that Jesus can still make things right, almost challenging him: “But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.”

The conversation leads to that great line that conveys so much for you and I and for all faithful. Jesus tells her, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and anyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

To this, Martha confesses, on behalf of all of us: “Yes, Lord. I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.”

Martha speaks for all of us. Her confession must become our own. But how?

This takes us to the second optional reading, Luke 10:38-42, Jesus enters a village where Martha and her sister Mary greet him. Mary listens while Martha works. Then Martha complains that she’s doing all the work and Mary isn’t helping. “Tell her to help me,” Martha requests.

But Jesus chastises Martha, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.

There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.”

Martha works. That is important. She serves our Lord. That is essential.

Mary spends time with Jesus. Equally important. Equally essential.

Two readings. Two lessons. There is no escaping the Good News: in one reading, we hear that believing in Jesus gets us life eternal. How do we get to this confession? Serving and spending time.

These are the two roles we can choose when it comes to Jesus – serving him by loving others in word and deed – or spending time with him in prayer, in listening, and in just being present. Or both?

Both are essential and both will lead to that moment of clarity: “Yes, Lord, I believe…”

Saint Martha, pray for us.