A Note From God

My Dear Children,

What is it about, “Do not kill,” that you do not understand? Put the guns downs. Please.

When you were offered freedom in the garden, you got to choose between love and loneliness, true freedom and selfishness, happiness and despair.

Owning all the guns you want that fire all the bullets you want is not freedom; it is insanity. I gave you intellect so you could make smart decisions and protect each other. Why not get together and pass some of those laws you like and make it harder for dozens of people to die in a single weekend? While you are at it, think about that “welcome the stranger” line – I meant that too.

Take care of those who need help sorting out the wiring in their brains.

Love the depressed into wholeness.

Seek to understand each other and stop blaming one another.

Stop worrying about what the television says and open your hearts and minds and work together. It starts by listening to each other. Put the phones down and just listen. I gave you the intellect to create things – great things – like technology and cool ways to communicate – and you turn them into ways to tear one another down. I just don’t get that.

Too many of my children – your brothers and sisters – are dying and nobody seems to want to help. I said, “Blessed are those that mourn…” but I didn’t mean for you to make more people mourn each day. I think you might want to re-read that part of Matthew.

You are loved – all of you – in every color and in every race, every gender, and every orientation – no matter where you come from and no matter what you are heading. I love each of you – unconditionally – why is that so hard for you to understand? If you could try to understand it, perhaps you could mimic it. No race is better than another, despite what you might hear proclaimed in the streets or on the screen. We have been down that road and fought that battle before. Remember? I won.

Please. I am begging you. Freedom comes from doing what is hard, what is right, what is just, and what is true. It does not mean that everyone gets their own way all the time. That’s just silly.

Take care of each other. Love one another. Listen to each other. Mourn with one another. Hold one another. Talk to one another. And, please, for my sake – and your own – make some wise decisions that lead to safety in the classrooms, in the marketplace, at parties, and on the streets.

I am here if you need me. I always have been.

~ God

 

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.

Capernaum

I am in the Holy Land this week with a group of young adults. We have visited Nazareth and arrived today in Bethlehem. Our visit today to the house of St. Peter and the seaside town of Capernaum reminded me of the card in my wallet.

This card in my wallet tells a story and it started, like all good stories do, with a teacher who made a difference.

It was my junior year in high school and Sr. Judy Eby, RSM asked us to reflect on that great passage from the Gospel according to St. Luke.  You remember the story: Jesus is teaching at the house of Peter in Capernaum and some friends want to get their buddy, who is paralyzed and has spent the better part of his life flat on a mat, closer to Jesus. Unable to get through the crowd, they drag the poor fellow up a ladder and down through the roof.

Then, after we read the passage, we watched a scene of Franco Zeffirelli’s 1977 masterpiece, Jesus of Nazareth. The story unfolds just like it does in Luke’s Gospel: the crowds have gathered and there is no room for the men to bring their friend to Jesus. He cannot walk, so they carry him over the wall, through the thatched roof, and place him before the Teacher.

You know what happens next. The movie takes some editorial license, but after a brief conversation, the man is told his sins are forgiven. The movie version, while riveting, fails to follow Luke’s account. Jesus forgives the man’s sins because he is moved by the actions of the friends. But more on that later.

In both versions, the crowd goes nuts. “Only God can forgive sins,” they reproach Jesus. Putting yourself on the same plane as God is only going to cause trouble. To this, we get a classic Jesus response: “Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk’?”

Think about that. Surely forgiving sins is easier. Right? To show the crowd what he’s really capable of, Jesus tells the man to get up, pick up his mat, and go home. The man obliges. The crowd goes nuts for an entirely different reason and everyone learns an important lesson.

But back to the card in my wallet.

We wrap up the reading, the watching, and the discussion about the friends who carried the stretcher, and Sr. Judy hands us all an index card. “Now,” she tells us, “write down the names of those who carry you to Christ.”

Wait. What? This just got real.

I have repeated that exercise with youth and adults alike for years.  I even used it last night with my group here. Like Sr. Judy, I challenged them to think of those who, when we are paralyzed with fear, sinfulness, and selfishness, carry us to Christ. When you cannot move, who lifts you up? When you are sick or alone or unhappy or in serious need of a friend, who do you call?

I have edited my list throughout the years. Friends come and go. People die. But my list has been there since that spring day in 1987. I have moved it from wallet to wallet. It’s a thirty-two-year-old ratty piece of paper that I carry with me everywhere. On more than one occasion, the list has saved my life, my soul, my sanity.

Yes, there is a card in my wallet that tells a story. It tells a story of salvation.

Who’s on your list?

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.

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.

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.

Come, Holy Spirit

I was looking for something to write on this week of Pentecost and, after a few moments of prayer, remembered that I already did – back in 2017.

So let us pray…

Come, Holy Spirit, grant us patience. Today. Now.

Come, Holy Spirit, grant us wisdom to follow the rules, row in the right direction, work together for the common good.

Come, Holy Spirit, shower us with the knowledge that you are right and just, even when I think I have all the answers.

Come, Holy Spirit, grant us the courage to speak with love.

Come, Holy Spirit, give us the understanding to see clearly what is before us and the right judgment to know when to be quiet, when to speak loudly, when to serve, and when to depart in peace.

Come, Holy Spirit, give us the wonder and the awe that sees that you are here – and there, wherever we may go.

Come, Holy Spirit, help us to pray. Help us to remember that you are in our presence, though we may feel far from yours. Help us to know that you long for us more than we could ever long for you.

Help us, Holy Spirit,  to forgive – and grant us the grace to forget.

Guide us, Holy Spirit, to fill the world with your Hope, your Charity, and your Presence.

Lead us, Holy Spirit, to communicate the Good News you bring to those we meet, where we work, where we pray, and where we live.

Come, Holy Spirit, fill us with your gifts. Teach us, help us, lead us by your grace, to complete the work you started so long ago. Counsel us, guide us, move us, and improve us. Send us out into the world on the breath of the Risen Lord.

Amen.

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.

Memorial Day

It would easy – too easy – to lose sight of why we take the day off from work today. Between hot dogs and hamburgers, beach passes, and cutting the grass, today marks the unofficial beginning of summer. Many of us will stand along streets to watch parades, catch up on household chores, and spend time with family and friends.

But it’s important, too, to pause for a moment and remember why we enjoy the freedom to do the things we love to do. Thanks to the sacrifice of someone’s daughter or son, sister or brother, mother or father, you and I get to vote for whomever we choose and then complain about the outcome. We get to speak our mind out loud without fear of recrimination and we get to worship wherever we choose.

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.”

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

And we can pray…

God of power and mercy,
you destroy war and put down earthly pride.
Banish violence from our midst and wipe away our tears,
that we may all deserve to be called your daughters and sons.
Keep in your mercy those men and women
who have died in the cause of freedom
and bring them safely
into your kingdom of justice and peace.
We ask this through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen

—from Catholic Household Blessings and Prayers

 

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.