Introducing . . . A Song

I want to introduce you to a song. Some of you will already recognize this song but I strongly suspect for many this is a first. I am providing the words of this song, the full lyrics of its three verses. I ask that you read them slowly, carefully. Reflect on the content, what is being said. When you have done that, you will be ready for my comments below. And at the very end of this blog, I am also providing a link to enable you to actually listen to this song.

OK - here goes:

Lift every voice and sing
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us,
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun
Let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who has by Thy might Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest, our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand.
True to our God,
True to our native land. 

So, what do you think?

Good song?

Strong lyrics?

Expressive of the American Dream?

Filled with the acknowledgement of God as the true Source of our strength?

Yes, I believe all that and more.

And for those who do not know this song, it's title is Lift Every Voice and Sing, originally a poem dating back to the early 1800's and eventually transformed into song.

And today it is often referred to as the Black National Anthem!

Truth be told, there is no one "Black National Anthem." Can't be. Technically, every national anthem across the great continent of Africa and across the island nations of the Caribbean would be a "Black"  national anthem.

But this song has given voice to the longings, hopes and dreams of Black citizens of the United States.

And as I contemplate the content of this song, these are rich and beautiful longings that capture the reality of history, words that make proper tribute to the Power and Presence of God.

And now this song, probably unknown, unheard, unrecognized by so many is also upsetting so many.

The National Football League has decided that, if there is a season this year, it will begin with inclusion of this song.

So, what's the problem with adding another song to the beginning of a game?

Well, some would suggest, we have only one national anthem.

True -- but --

We are many people with diverse histories, background and traditions. That's the beauty of America.

As a youngster, in a Slovak Parish and school, our public events were known to begin with the Slovak National Anthem in addition to the American.

As a student in a mostly Polish college, the same held true for singing the Polish National Anthem.

When the Toronto sports teams or those from Montreal play games on our soil, we stand, include and even sing the Canadian National Anthem and when our teams are across the boarder, they afford us the same courtesy.

Bottom line - this is a good song, a beautiful song, a song of our brothers and sisters and now they want to share it with us.

We can stand strong and tall and unified.

We can and should stand together.

And Lift Every Voice and Sing!

THE SONG

Meantime,

keep praying

and stay safe.

Closed Doors

I have decided to put this in writing with the hope that it may help some in understanding something of what is stirring in our society these days.

The story is true.

The story is part of our history as a society and as Church.

I had this story very much in mind recently when participating in a public prayer service. The service was a response to the cries these days challenging us to deal with systemic racism. The service took place on the campus of Madonna University in Livonia, Michigan. Participating in this service were representatives of the various Felician sponsored ministries on this campus as well as St. Mary's Hospital.

At the very onset of this time of prayer spokespersons stepped forth and declared whom they were standing with and for in this service.

I spoke.

My declaration stated that I was standing with and for all of those for whom the doors of our churches and even of our hearts had for too long been closed.

These were not just some nicely chosen words.

Much thought and prayer was placed into these words as I reflected on whom I wanted to publicly stand with or maybe rather on whom the Lord was calling me to stand with and for.

I know stories.

From my many years of ministry I have heard many stories, and sadly, I have heard too many stories about these closed doors.

These were the ones with whom and for whom I stood in prayer - those who experienced doors closed to them, doors that really should have been open wide.

With that background, I have decided to share one of these stories.

It is a story that goes back into the 1980's.

That's a long time ago but the story has stayed with me and is also one of the stories that has helped to form and shape me, I believe, for the better.

As I share this story, I also hope and pray that it may help to form, shape and enlighten you as well.

At the time that this story unfolded I was pastor of Precious Blood Parish in Detroit.

By then this was a small faith community, consisting of perhaps 250 or so households.

Everybody knew everybody.

And one fine Sunday, right there in the front pew, there was a definite newcomer.

She was an elderly Black woman, stately and noble in appearance, dressed to the nines in her finest Go-to-Church wear.

It would be impossible not to notice her presence.

I determined to find out more and to certainly welcome her to our community.

I expected that she would, after Mass, follow the crowd to the back of the building.

Because this was a significant sized building and because we did not need to fill it with pews right up to the back door, several rows of pews had been removed and a gathering space created. There, after Mass we had room to gather for coffee, cookies, donuts and all sorts of other goodies that folks would bring to share. When Sunday Mass was finished, all would march to the back and gather and socialize and live community.

But she did not join us.

This mystery lady from the front pew had gone out the side door.

But she was back again the following Sunday.

And this time I was sure she would catch on and join us in the back.

But again I was wrong.

Once again, she slipped out the side door.

A third week she returned yet again.

And this time I resolved that she was not going to get  away.

As the procession began to exit down the center aisle, I slipped away and headed to that side door.

And I caught her and greeted her and welcomed her and we began a conversation, one that remains with me to this day and one that inspired my words at that prayer service.

I asked if she was new to the neighborhood.

"Oh no," she replied, "I live right down the street, about half a block away. I've lived there for sixteen years."

"But we've never seen you here before," was my reply and question.

And then she explained.

Sixteen years ago she bought that house and moved into the neighborhood, locating deliberately within the shadow of the church. She loved her faith and wanted to live within walking distance of the church. She did not drive, relied on public transportation to get around. However, she would be able to walk to church whenever the Spirit moved her.

She was so happy to have found that home.

And the first Sunday after her move, she walked to the church.

She entered through the main doors, the great doors.

She was entering her church.

Only she had hardly taken two steps in when one of the ushers quickly moved toward her and stopped her.

"Excuse me," he stated.

"Excuse me, but you are in the wrong church," he explained to her.

"There is a separate church for your people," he let her know.

You do not belong here.

Wrong church!

Doors closed.

For sixteen years she lived in the shadow of the church that she loved, the church that did not want her.

For her and for so many others whose stories are of doors closed, I stood in prayer.

Doors closed - that is what systemic racism is.

And it hurts God's children.

Our sisters and brothers.

Meantime,

keep praying

and stay safe.

. . . And Home!

Sandwiches finished; wine finished; conversation waining, it was time to leave this place of refuge.

We would head back to our home for the night, those park benches sheltered under that countryside train terminal canopy.

But first we had to settle our debts.

Only our gracious host would have none of that!

He was just grateful that he was able to provide some help and some relief for us. He was grateful for our conversation.

He would accept no financial compensation.

And now he was grateful that we were leaving and he could go home.

We thanked him profusely.

Pray for me, he requested of us. That is all he wanted as repayment.

We shall, we promised.

And then we asked, "What is your name? So that we can pray for you by name."

And then he told us.

And I can still hear his answer.

You really do not have to know Italian to translate this one, believe me.

"My name," he told us, "My name is Angelo."

You know, if ever I somehow managed to find my way back to that place on the map, I suspect I just might not even find a tavern out there in the countryside!

I wonder!

My name is Angelo!

Someone to welcome us,

to greet us,

to give us food and drink,

to spend time with us,

a stranger in the middle of nowhere

with all of those blessings!

A refuge in the darkness for two wanderers!

Angelo!

We made our way back down that still dark and empty road. We came back to our "home" for the rest of the night. We settled in as comfortably as one could get on those park benches.

And we caught some sleep, as much as could be caught. Park benches are not exactly the most comfortable.

It was shortly before 5:00 in the morning when the one whom we had startled the night before returned to his desk at that terminal.

He made sure we were awake and ready.

The train to Rome was on its way.

It a few minutes it was there and stopped and staying long enough for us to board it.

We were on our way back to Rome, an adventure of a lifetime now behind us.

We got to the Termini Station around seven that morning, caught the bus, Bus 64, cannot forget that one!

A short time later we were at our final stop at the base of the Jianiculum  Hill. All that remained now was the climb back up that hill and then back to our rooms.

Of course there would be little time for any further rest or relaxation.

It was Monday and classes were resuming at 9:00.

Not sure how alert either of us might have been for classes that day. Can't even remember what classes we had that day.

Minds were still in recovery mode from a Sunday afternoon autumn trip to Orvieto.

But we were home ---finally!

Meantime,

keep praying

and stay safe.

Homeless . . . but A Ray of Hope!

A light!

And sounds!

Human voices and laughter!

Out there in the middle of nowhere, in the midst of this darkness - a light!

A ray of hope!

Obviously we headed in that direction.

And entering that well lighted building, the haunting aroma of Italian cooking filling the air, we brought the merriment to an immediate halt.

Gathered was a group of maybe ten, twelve. Obviously they were just finishing their dinner and still had a healthy supply of wine with which to deal before departing.

And suddenly - silence.

They all looked up and across the room.

Looked squarely at these two strangers who had just walked through the doors.

They looked at us!

And we greeted them.

And they continued to stare.

Obviously, in a place like this at an hour like this wanderers just did not drop in.

But we did.

And so we attempted to explain what had happened and what had brought us to this moment.

And they listened.

And smiled -- and then chuckled -- and then began laughing.

And then they began to stand and ready themselves to leave.

One of the group took the remaining wine and handed it to us. "You need this more than we do. Enjoy!"

And at that point the owner of the establishment presented himself. He had heard our saga and now was inviting us to sit, relax and enjoy the wine.

Like we needed more wine.

Food, we requested. Can we get something to eat? 

But, unfortunately, the owner informed us, the kitchen was closed. The cook was cleaning up and preparing to go home. Day was done.

But we can still sit, relax and enjoy the wine.

But we really needed food.

Anything?

Perhaps a sandwich?

He agreed to go back into the kitchen and see if she would be willing to produce a couple of sandwiches before heading home.

Momentarily he returned and with good news. She would fix up a couple of sandwiches and then head home. We would have some solid food!

And wine!

The owner brought out stilll another liter of wine for us to continue enjoying, relaxing and as something to wash down the food that we were about to enjoy.

And then the sandwiches emerged.

They were huge!

We would have some solid sustenance to tide us through the night.

The owner sat with us and we enjoyed conversation, food and, of course, more wine.

We asked about a possible place to stay but, unfortunately, he could recommend nothing.

Those park benches back at that little rustic train terminal would have to serve as our resting place for the night.

Meantime, for now we had a new friend and a reason to be grateful.

Hospitality was real, alive and active in that countryside that night.

And we certainly had wine!

. . . And come back soon for the ending of this saga! 

Meantime,

keep praying

and stay safe.

And Homeless Again . . . The Saga Continues . . .

Train stopped.

Out in the dark and in what then seemed certainly like the middle of nowhere.

Something was going on and I was about to find out what. 

Leaving my traveling buddy behind with the wine in the dining car, I headed off, traveling through a couple of other cars before I caught the sight of the conductor. He was working his way through the cars, moving in the direction toward of me and so we were headed directly for each other.

He caught sight of me.

And instantly those Italian arms of his began waving as he cried out to me to get off the train!

Apparently, he had made radio contact with another train which was headed to Rome. Both trains stopped at this common point. We could switch trains and get to Rome at a still reasonable hour.

Only, I could not just get off the train.

I had to get back to the dining car and get my friend moving as well.

As soon as our eyes caught each other, I began yelling to him to get our stuff and get moving.

To which he responded, "But we haven't finished the wine yet!"

No time for the wine!

We had to get moving.

And so we did, disembarking the Naples non-stop and heading in the direction of the train on its way back to Rome.

We stood on the ready to climb into the waiting train.

Only to watch in total frustration as it began to pull away!

We had delayed a bit too long and someone concluded that we were already on that train.

No choice, then, but to get back on the Naples non-stop.

And so we turned around to head back.

Only to see this train begin to pull away as well!

Obviously, the conclusion was that we had successfully made the transfer.

Only there we stood.

In what really seemed like the middle of nowhere.

Evidently, it was a train station - country type station.

There was a sizable canopy providing a covering from inclement weather, a couple of park benches for sitting, some overhead lighting and an actual desk with someone behind it!

Someone who stared at us in total disbelief.

He was obviously shocked to see us standing there. From his outfit, he must have been the station manager, ticket seller and whatever else.

And he was closing up shop and getting ready to leave but now there were these two wanderers with which to deal.

We explained to him and he explained to us.

Now we would just have to wait there for the 5:00 AM train to Rome.

Could we get a cab?

Your kidding, right?

Could we hire some local to drive us to Rome.

Seriously?

Could we get a place to stay?

Those benches will just have to do.

Some food?

Look around.

What do you see?

Nothing - right?

Well, welcome to the Italian countryside at night.

Enjoy!

Our only glimpse of human life was packing up and heading home for the night.

See you in the morning.

Well, with no where else to go and nothing else to do, we decided to make something of a pilgrimage of the time. A pilgrimage, by the way, is traveling with God in charge; one's GPS, so to speak, is God who is free to call the shots.

We started walking down the dark deserted road, nothing on either side but the fields; nothing in front or behind but the empty road.

And the darkness.

We were making very sure not to turn off that road in any way. We needed to get back to that terminal.

We prayed.

"Hail Mary, full of grace . . . "

The words poured forth and we fingered our way through the Rosary.

And then up ahead we saw it; we heard it.

A building!

And lights!

And laughter!

Sounds of people, of life.

It was some sort of Inn or Tavern!

Out there in the middle of nowhere.

In the middle of the night!

. . . And come back soon for still more of this saga! There is definitely more!

Meantime,

keep praying

and stay safe.

And Homeless Again!

True!

The incident I wrote about in my last blog was not the only time in my life that I was homeless. There was another time, a very dramatic time.

I found myself homeless due to some surprise sunshine and Italy. What a combination!

It was October, 1990, and I was in Rome for Sabbatical  Studies at the North American College. The Sunday in question came early in that October. I and a couple of other Sabbatical Students got scheduled for concelebrating Mass outdoors, in St. Peter's Square with Pope John Paul II. We were also charged with assisting in the distribution of Communion.

And it was pouring rain!

Drenching rain!

And there we sat trying our best with plastic to keep ourselves somewhat dry.

The Holy Father, of course, was unfazed by the rain as he was safely located under a canopy, all nice and dry.

As the Mass progressed, the rain stopped.

And then it happened.

As the Holy Father lifted the Eucharist, at that moment of elevation, the sun came bursting through the clouds.

Don't know how he managed that but it was really effective.

All of a sudden what looked like a drenching, dreary day was transformed into a brilliant, sunshine filled, beautiful October day.

A fine sort of day for a trip out into the countryside.

I convinced one of my classmates to join me on a Sunday afternoon trip out to Orvieto.

We took the train. I had an Italiarail Pass, good for travel anytime, anywhere in Italy. My friend bought a round trip ticket to and from Orvieto.

For those who do not know - Orvieto is out in the countryside, up something of a mountain, a somewhat quaint village with a reputation for fine, dry white wine and a mammoth church, gorgeously constructed and with a reputation for some medieval incident in which a doubting priest experienced a bleeding host to convince him of the real Presence. That secured its reputation as a place to visit!

Our plan was to spend the afternoon, enjoy some Orvieto wine, check out the church and finally head back to Rome before the final train out of Orvieto. Back in Rome we would enjoy some pizza and wine at one of our favorite tavernas in the city and then be back at the College at a reasonable hour.

And so at the appropriate time we headed down the mountain to catch our train.

Which was late.

No surprise in Italy!

When it finally arrived, it was not only late but also crowded, jam-packed. Seems a whole lot of others had the idea of heading out into the countryside on this beautiful, October day. We would not even stand a chance of finding seats. We would stand.

And that I remember well. We got ourselves located between cars, hanging on to the railings, doing all we could to keep ourselves steady and secure.

Again, for those not familiar, there are a couple of train stops in Rome. The main one, the one we were aiming for was Termini. From there would be a simple bus ride, getting off almost at the taverna right on the Tiber and then the climb up the Janiculum Hill to the college.

Train stopped.

The stop was the one before Termini.

Not ours.

But almost everyone got off.

The train almost totally emptied.

We were able to get seats even if just for a few minutes.

And, when we got moving again, the conductor was able to walk down the aisle checking tickets.

He came to us.

I had my Italiarail Pass so I was good for anywhere, anytime.

My buddy showed his ticket and the conductor just shook his head.

He pointed back in the direction from which we had just come.

"Rome," he declared.

To which I responded, "Termini."

To which he responded, "No!"

Seems we were not stopping at Termini.

Seems there was only one stop for Rome that evening and we had just missed it.

Seems we were now on a train headed nonstop to Naples.

Arrival midnight!

Return train to Rome - 5:00 AM.

Not exactly what we had bargained for when we set out for our afternoon in the countryside.

But that is what we were getting.

And so we decided to make the most of the situation.

We headed to the dining car to get some food. There would clearly be not pizza at the taverna that evening.

And no food in the dining car either. The crowd that did manage to get into the dining car on the way from Orvieto to Rome literally cleaned the place out of food.

But there was wine!

In Italy always wine!

And so we could at least enjoy some wine while we laughed at our (mis?)fortune.

And then suddenly somewhere out in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, the train stopped.

Something was happening.

But what?

Have some more wine!

. . . And come back soon for part two of this saga! There is definitely more!

Meantime,

keep praying

and stay safe.

June 6, 1964 - - - Homeless!

Fifty-six years ago now and I still remember.
And, of course I remember, that day, June 6, 1964, was the day on which I was ordained a priest.
So, it being a rather significant day in my life, how could I possibly forget it.
Even some of the smaller details of that day still hold in my memory.
And here are some of the smaller details, likely also either unknown, ignored or outright forgotten.
Up until that very morning we who were about to be ordained remained in the seminary, St. John's Provincial Seminary in Plymouth, Michigan. Since it was a Provincial Seminary, that meant that it housed students from all over the Province of Michigan.
However, by the morning of June 6, 1964, only those from Detroit still remained.
Oh, and one exchange student from the Philippines.
The others had already gone home for their ordinations in their home diocese around the state. Underclassmen had also already ended their academic year and gone home.
Only we remained.
We were not going home or anywhere.
They kept us there, at the seminary.
Maybe they were just being careful with us.
Or maybe their were trying to make sure we would not run away at the last minute.
Who knows?
Anyhow, this was the one day, the first and last day when, for breakfast, we could order anything we desired!
Awesome!
Real bacon and real eggs!
And warm toast!
And then we got ready for the bus ride.
The seminary provided our transportation into Detroit to the Cathedral where the ordinations would take place.
We had to go by bus because, legally(?) we were not allowed to own cars until after ordination.
Of course, after ordination we would need our own cars rather quickly and so, unbeknown(?) to the authorities, when we were home for Easter that year, most of us bought cars. We actually got to see our new cars in May on visiting Sunday when our families drove out to see us in our shiny,  new cars.
But they would really not be ours until after we were ordained.
And we would need them rather quickly, especially since we had that seminary-provided bus ride to the Cathedral.
But after the ceremony, we were no longer seminary responsibility.
We were on our own.
And so, on the glorious day, families arrived at the Cathedral in two cars - the family car and our cars. We needed after ceremony transportation because while we were engaged in photo-ops and a brunch with the Archbishop, families headed home.
We were on our own.
And to remedy that dilemma, our cars were brought and parked nearby. Someone made a note of where the car was parked and as we ended the ceremony and processed down the aisle oh so reverently, almost unseen, members of our families reached out to us, not necessarily to touch the newly sacred, but to hand us car keys and location notes.
We would have transportation.
And we needed it.
Another small detail I remember - we were informed that, because we were no longer seminarians, we would need to have all our stuff out of our rooms that day by 5:00! I think someone may have said "Please."
But the Seminary needed the rooms back to start getting them ready for the next class.
So, in my very own car I headed from the Cathedral directly back to the seminary to load up my stuff and head out.
Back home - I thought.
And late that afternoon I arrived at the door of my family home with a car loaded with stuff, almost all of my life belongings.
I entered the house which was filled with laughter, noise, music and many, many other sounds.
There was a party going on.
Of course there was.
They were celebrating - me!
And then my dad saw me standing there.
Another small detail remembered.
He came up to me and asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I thought I would come home," was my logical reply.
"But you can't stay here, " came Dad's response. "We have no room for you. We have company from out of town, you know. We gave someone your old room. You can't stay."
And so there I was.
June 6, 1964 - Ordination Day!
And as it was ending I had a car filled with stuff.
And no place to go!
With a party in "my honor" going on.
But I couldn't stay.
Oh! OK, it really wasn't all that harsh.
Dad invited me to get something to eat.
And I could use the phone, call the parish. Maybe I could stay in the rectory guest room.
Have a drink! Get some food! Greet your guests!
And then, so long!
See you tomorrow.
June 6, 1964 - homeless!
Remembering some small details.


Stay Home!
Stay Safe!
It isn't over yet!