734

 That was the magic number.

734!

As plans became more concrete and traffic flow diagrams developed, the number 734 began to emerge as the total number of Eucharistic Ministers that would be needed to make happen the efficient (hopefully) distribution of Communion to roughly the hundred-thousand faithful projected to be present at the Silverdome for the Papal Mass.

734 could, conceivably make this happen and in eighteen minutes!

The next task became recruiting that number and then scheduling training for them.

And there was one more tiny hook.

Liturgical regulations required that, before any laity could be used for this purpose, clergy, you know, the ordained sort, had to be recruited and utilized. Once that was properly done, then and only then could laity be added to that number.

But how contact and/or recruit possible clergy. The immediate, Detroit Archdiocese, would be easy but the reality was that it was likely that clergy would be coming from other areas around the state, around the country and even Canada. 

We had to be realistic.

Notice would be sent to the Detroit clergy.

Notice would be placed in appropriate clergy newsletters around the country.

And a deadline would have to be set.

And when all was said and done, the recruiting of laity began.

Letters were sent to all Archdiocesan parishes asking to have qualified lay ministers named.

Then things got a bit more interesting - a question emerged and a rather surprising comment as well.

The question? Can we include women?

1987 remember. Roman Catholic, remember. Could women be included?

And the comment?

Ours is a poor parish. Our members are poor people.  We would be out of place at an event like this!

Out of place!

Because of being "poor"!

Of all people, they belonged. This was their place or it should be seen as such.

Firmly I declared that not only should they be there and ministering but if they needed a way to get there, I would arrange for transportation.

We would have 734 and they would look like the Church!

Some would be ordained and many would be exercising their Baptismal anointing.

Some would be better off (financially) and some would be not as fortunate (financially.)

And they would be young and old and male and female.

God's people would come to the Feast and God's people would share the Feast.

Together we would gather around our Holy Father to honor the Father of us all.

Of course more is coming! Please come back.

Meantime, Keep Praying . . .

Stay Safe!

Divide and Conquer!

 As I began to get to know the Silverdome, it became quite evident to me that it needed to be dissected, so to speak. If the challenge of distributing Communion to roughly a hundred-thousand in the course of eighteen minutes was to be properly met, a top team would have to be assembled, not the actual force needed to accomplish the mission but the team to imagine, design and oversee the mission.

I needed help!

Lot's of help!

Good, qualified, yes, even bossy, "take no prisoners" kind of help!

And so the work began in terms of dividing the building up, in the imagination, of course, into unique but workable sections.

The first and most challenging section was ground floor. Nothing would be actual or visible until the day or two before the event. Everything had to transpire in the imagination. There would be a sanctuary area for the Holy Father, the immediate ministers (lectors, cantors and acolytes,) the cardinals, bishops and priest concelebrants. We had no idea what that would look like or how much space it would occupy, not just yet. Still to be designed. But once designed, there would still remain a vast ground level space,  the general seating area.

The second section was also directly associated with the main floor. From ground level, established, non-movable seating rows ascended up to a walkway area and also handicap areas. 

Then came the - what should I call it - mezzanine? loge? A second floor so to speak but one that contained its own challenge. This was also an area containing suites, enclosed, private rooms for the "cream of the crop."

And then the great, vast third level, the bleacher/balcony area, way up there so close to heaven!

I needed to recruit those who could take charge of each of these areas, use imagination to create traffic flows that would not turn into stampedes or traffic jams, and then could also communicate the appropriate plans to the ones who would make happen and do that communicating in a way that said, "This way and only this way!"

And I knew just the ones I needed to work with so as to get the task done. In years before I had worked on some other projects for the Archdiocese, projects that also involved some complex logistics, though nothing quite like this. But I knew the ones who could make things happen.

And I began to recruit the "team."

And one by one each said "Yes."

Including - and remember, this was 1987 and this was a Catholic Church project, and, even then, yes, I asked a woman to be part of this team. Such a move might have seemed to some to be quite radical especially given the era. But I put a woman on the team along with all those men.

And years later she asked me why.

Why did I choose her in particular, she asked.

And my reply?

Because I knew you would take no backtalk - even from all those clergy types. And that is what I needed, someone strong.

And she was it!

And I was definitely not wrong.

Of course more is coming! Please come back.

Meantime, Keep Praying . . .

Stay Safe!

Envisioning the Moment

And so the "Adventure" began.

Well, actually, it did not really begin when I got the word that I was being placed in charge of orchestrating the distribution of Communion for the Papal Mass at the Silverdome.

That word was given to me early in March. The event would actually take place in September and before that many, many arrangements had to be made. Sites for the planned events had to be procured. We had to be certain, for example, that the Silverdome would be available for the span of time needed. After all, we certainly could not risk conflicting with a Lions' game. (Besides, that would probably be the first time in history that the Lions would loose to the Christians!)

So, for at least a few weeks between the job assignment and the actual getting down to business, there was a little time. 

Let the project sink in.

Wrap your mind around it.

Start to measure the moment in your mind.

And the "Moment?"

Well, here was the challenge in a nutshell.

There would likely be a hundred-thousand in attendance for the Mass.

The Silverdome consisted of an array of seating arrangements, from simple straight rows to box seats to suites to that oh so distant balcony. Somehow, people would have to be moved from point A to point B and back to their original point A smoothly and quickly.

And that would involve not only training and coordinating a sufficient number of Eucharistic Ministers. Training and coordinating of ushers was critical to make this "Moment" happen. Ushers would have to enable the needed movement to happen.

And did I say happen quickly? 

There was also a certain protocol to be followed.

The Holy Father would distribute Communion and he would do so to a specially chosen group of one hundred. This normally takes about eighteen minutes. When the Holy Father begins distributing, all others likewise begin distributing. And when the Holy Father has concluded his distribution to the hundred, all distribution must be concluded and completed.

In other words, you have eighteen minutes to make this Moment happen for a hundred thousand (give or take a few.)

And then I was asked the question.

"Have you ever been to the Silverdome? Do you know what it is like?"

"No," of course not!

For the first few weeks this whole matter was just images in my imagination. But the time would come soon enough when I would be introduced to the reality of the Silverdome.

And I would get to know that building, inside and out, would I get to know that building! Every corridor and tunnel, elevator and walkway, I would get to know that building. I would really get to know that building.

And add to the task of getting to know that cavernous building was another little detail.

The designing of the sanctuary area had yet to begin. We would have no idea at this point of what that sanctuary would look like, where it would be situated on that field. And as the days would progress, all we would really have to work with would be sketches and paper plans and the assurance that it would all come together something like this paper plan the day or two before the event.

That and the timetable - Communion for a hundred-thousand (give or take a few) in eighteen minutes!

Of course more is coming! Please come back.

Meantime, Keep Praying . . .

Stay Safe!

Thirty-Three Years Ago!

Is it really that long already?

Thirty-three years ago!

Hardly seems possible as the memories are still so strong and fresh and clear. Well, at least I think they are. We shall see.

I want to share with you in this and some coming writings my memories of that Event that took place in Detroit now some thirty-three years ago.

This whole sage began late February or early March. OK, got that piece of information kind of foggy already but it did begin right around then. I know the exact year - 1987.  I got a phone call one evening inviting me to Sacred Heart Seminary the next morning. There was going to be a press conference and an important announcement.

I could already surmise the nature of the announcement. Rumors had been swirling for some time already. Pope John Paul II was scheduled to visit the United States later that year. Word was that his visit just might include a trip to Detroit. However, that also seemed unlikely as the nature of this trip was taking him south and then west. Detroit was an extreme diversion from the rest of the itinerary. Edmund Szoka was the bishop of Detroit at that time. Word was that he had considerable sway in Rome but was his sway strong enough to make the unthinkable happen? Then came the phone call about that coming important announcement. 

And the next morning, sure enough. John Paul II was coming to Detroit. It would be a brief, very brief swing through. He would arrive on a Friday late afternoon and depart the very next day, late. But he was coming!

The Archbishop had worked his potent magic!

Plans were announced and already taking shape. There would be a visit to the Cathedral (obviously) and a gathering at Hart Plaza downtown and as a finale, Mass hopefully at the spacious Pontiac Silverdome, then home of the Detroit Lions.

Over the coming weeks more details would be fleshed out but the announcement had been made. It was official. John Paul II was coming to Detroit.

I was at that press conference to receive the news.

Then at the end of the conference, after the folks from the media had their fill, I approached our Archbishop. "Congratulations! You did it." That's what I said, or maybe something like that. And then I made my move. "If you need my help with anything regarding this trip, just let me know. I am willing to do what I can, contribute what I can."

I was properly thanked and assured that consideration would be given to the offer.

And so the day of the historic announcement passed into history.

It was a few weeks later and I was at the seminary for still another gathering, this one nowhere near as headline grabbing as the previous one. It was some sort of educational gathering. However, what made it historic for me, personally, was the walk to my car after the conference.

I was walking along with the head of the Worship Office for the Archdiocese. He mentioned to me that he would be calling me soon. He reminded me of the offer I had made to be of assistance for the papal visit. There was, evidently, a job for me. Curious, I asked what that might be. His response was coy. We will talk soon.

I assured that I was ready. Only one possibility would keep me awake nights or facing nights filled with nightmares.

"And what would that job be?" he asked me.

The thought of having to coordinate the distribution of Communion for the Mass at the Silverdome. Attendance was projected at 100,000 and it would be a Saturday late afternoon. It would be a Sunday Mass! And the Assembly, massive as it might be, would be expecting Communion.

Yes! That project would give me many a sleepless night!

And then he told me. And I can almost hear the words clear as they were thirty-three years ago.

"Go home and get yourself a good night's sleep. We will talk tomorrow."

Of course more is coming! This is just the beginning of the story.

Meantime, Keep Praying . . .

Stay Safe!

 

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.