Into 2000 . . .

Evening arrived and dressed to the nines (me in my clerics!) we boarded our bus and headed to St. Peter's. We had to get there early as, unlike our early morning trip, this time there were crowds, great crowds and security, tight security.
One by one we were being admitted to St. Peter's after showing our appropriate documentation and tickets. As we waited our turn for admission, I gave our group an instruction, a rather interesting and perhaps surprising instruction, I suppose.
"When we get in, follow me, " I instructed. "And don't pay attention to the ushers and guards!"
I told the group that if they want really good seats, they need to follow me without question and/or hesitation. I would be moving and I would be moving fast!
The ushers and guards will try and seat us as soon as possible which also means as close to the doors as possible, the doors at the rear of the building. I have learned that it is possible to just try and ignore them, make like you don't hear them, keep on moving and keep on moving forward!
And so we did - forward and inward, toward the very center of this vast building.
We got our seats.
Right on the aisle.
Directly on the path that the Holy Father would be taking as he moved toward the altar.
Prime position!
And we sat and waited.
And then it began.
John Paul II began his entry into the Basilica.
By this stage in his life clearly mobility was becoming an even greater issue for him. A special device had been crafted, a simple platform on which he stood, with handrails for his safety sake, and this device, just sizable enough to hold him, glided him down the aisle and toward the front.
Those of us in the aisle way seats were close enough to reach out and touch his hands.
He glided down the aisle and Evening Prayer began.
The year was ending.
The future was dawning.And as Evening Prayer came to its end, John Paul stood before the great altar with its Bernini columns and in a loud, strong voice intoned: "Te Deum, laudamus!"
The ancient and great Latin hymn of thanksgiving.
The year was ending - and we were giving thanks and praise to God. Te Deum!  From all our many voices and all our many languages - Te, Deum!
Our time of prayer was ended now. There would be no bus to take us anywhere at this point. Traffic was becoming increasingly impossible.
Fortunately, the restaurant I had found was but a couple of blocks from St. Peter's. Walking there was no problem.
We would have our end of the year Italian feast.
And feast we did. So much so that toward the end of our meal, folks, native Italians, from the table near ours came over and complimented us on knowing how to have a good time.
And this time I got a couple of strong looks at me in my clerics.
And then one of our visitors offered an explanation for the looks. "In Italy clergy do not seem to know how to enjoy life!"
Well, I don't know about the accuracy of that comment but evidently an American cleric impressed some Italians.
Dinner finished, we prepared to return to the Piazza where, in front of St. Peter's, we would welcome the year 2000. As we were leaving, one of our restaurant hosts came up to us and handed us a bottle of champagne. "Compliments! Enjoy!"
The piazza was filled with people of every nation, voices could be heard, a variety of languages. Sometimes singing would break out. Large screen TVs were also stratigically located around the piazza, sometimes showing entertainment, sometimes various locations around the globe as the New Year arrived.
And then came Midnight - - - and the Year 2000.
Noticeable from the piazza below a light broke the darkness from a window just above. John Paul II appeared at the window.
He spoke briefly, wishing all a blessed New Year and bestowing his blessing.
And 2000 was under way blessed for us by the presence of a saint!

(There will be a little bit more so come back. Meantime, see how close we were to John Paul at St. Peter's Evening Prayer as he entered - no special lens was used to take this photo. It is for real! I was right there on the aisle!))

New Year's Eve!

And so it arrived!
New Year's Eve - 1999.
The last day - of the year --- of the decade --- of the century --- of the millennium!
The day was going to start for us very, very early.
The shape of this day actually began to gel some months before as I contemplated my "dream" ending of this year.
I decided to give it a try and I wrote to the proper authorities in the Vatican with a most unusual and rather bold request.
Could I preside at a Mass at the very Tomb of Peter in the crypts of St. Peter's?
Was it possible?
Could it happen?
Well, on Thanksgiving Day itself I received my response.
A fax came through to the parish office that day.
Permission granted!
We would begin New Year's Eve 1999 at the very Tomb of Peter!
Mass at the altar there!
Our group was scheduled for 7:30 AM and so we had a very, very early start on the day.
Entering St. Peter's Basilica at that hour was like entering a tomb - silence, incredible silence. The building was virtually empty. Footsteps echoed in the emptiness.
We were almost instantly greeted and I was escorted to the proper sacristy (no problem this day; I finally had my clerics!) The rest of the group was taken by another guide down into the crypts.
And there our day began.
At that altar, promenade to where those bones had been found, the remains of one who died in his 60's, violently (martyrdom?) Those remains.
There in that place where the very seeds of our faith had been planted and watered in the blood of martyrs.
There we gathered to do Eucharist as they had done so long ago and continued to do throughout the centuries.
There we gave  Thanks on the final day of 1999.

Following the Mass our group headed off to a scheduled visit to the Vatican Museum and Sistine Chapel.
Having been there numerous times, I decided to slip the tour and wander a bit on my own and perhaps deal with a new dilemma we were facing.
Food!
Dinner!
Specifically New Year's Eve Dinner!
Since the possibility of our getting admission into St. Peter's for the evening services was uncertain right up to the wire, the tour company made no provisions for us for dinner on New Year's Eve and the word was that, while reservations were still available, going price was upward of $100.00 (American) per person and that price went on upward, seriously upward.
So I headed off to some of the smaller, more folksy restaurants that I knew. Found one not yet open for the day  but with a crew cleaning  and setting up and, as can be the case in Italy, the doors were open which invited me in.
I explained the situation and was immediately given reservations for a full, traditional Italian feast - antipasto to dessert together with all the wine we wished for roughly $25.00 (American) per person.
Deed done, I rejoined the group and we headed back to the hotel to prepare for the evening, New Year's Eve, 1999.


(Come back for New Year's Evening!)

Solution

(If you are just getting aboard this blog, you are coming in "In the Middle of the Movie." What you will read below is a continuation of a series of writings that began with my post on December 27. So your best bet would be to back up a couple of entries to get the big picture!)


St. John Lateran, the great Mother Church of the Catholic World, the Cathedral of Rome.
It was there that I was scheduled to preside at Mass on the second "official" day of our Jubilee Pilgrimage.
Morning arrived, December 30, the second last day of 1999. This is now the third day of the Luggage in Amsterdam Saga. Would the luggage finally arrive in time for dressing properly for our excursion to the Lateran?
Of course not!
And so for still another day we were off to visit the Holy Places and soon I would be presiding at the Eucharist in the Mother of All Churches.
Wearing my jeans, sweatshirt and hiking boots!
It was at this stage of the journey, while on the bus headed to the Lateran that one of the members of the group extended his offer. I could borrow one of his freshly laundered, neatly pressed dress shirts.
But we were already well on our way and that possibility would not be available, therefore, until later that afternoon.
The Great Lateran Basilica would just have to deal with this very informal? casual? seasoned? dose of clearly non-clerical attire.
And we once again survived.
More looks - certainly.
More stares - of course?
And one more occasion to produce the official documents declaring that I was whom I was claiming to be.
But we had bread and wine and that was all we really needed together with a healthy dose of faith.
And we gave thanks at the Great Mother Church of Rome.
The afternoon gave us some free time and so, when we got back to the hotel and once again discovered that the errant baggage was still nowhere to be found, I finally decided to use some of that free time to produce a solution to this ongoing dilemma.
"Who would like to go souvenir shopping?"
That's a tempting offer.
Mention shopping and pilgrims transform into tourists!
And because I knew where a goodly number of souvenir shops and religious supplies shops are located, I quickly acquired a following and off we headed on a little hike to the shops.
Of course in the back of my head I had something else in mind.
A solution!
In these shops clerical shirts could be purchased.
In these shops black (clerical, of course) shoes could be found.
At least come New Year's Eve, I would look something like clerical and official.
The hiking boots would be replaced by dress shoes, black.
The sweatshirt would be replaced by a clerical shirt with a back up at the hotel just in case this situation endured.
Not wanting to go the route of purchasing a new suit, I decided that the jeans would continue to make the pilgrimage.
But I would be at least somewhat respectable as we ended the year, the decade, the century and the millennium.
So shopping we did go.
And I came back to the hotel with something of a solution.
Back at the hotel at the end of the day another delivery arrived for us. Cardinal Szoka had come through once again.
We would be spending the evening of New Year's Eve in St. Peter's Basilica joining pilgrims from across the globe, being led by Pope John Paul II in Solemn Evening Prayer, concluding with the Great Te Deum.
And as we prepared to head out for dinner that evening another delivery arrived.
The Missing Luggage!
And a significant cheer arose from the gathered group  of hungry pilgrims.


(More is coming . . . )

Getting Some Looks!

Of course when we got to our hotel there was no missing luggage waiting for me.
My stuff was off having a good time somewhere in Amsterdam.
But, I was again assured, it would probably be joining me when we got back from dinner.
Which it did not!
"But don't worry," more words of assurance poured forth, first thing tomorrow morning.
Again it did not!
And so on the 29th of December, 1999, the formal pilgrimage began with me far less than formal in my jeans, sweatshirt and hiking boots.
First stop - Papal Audience.
Long before leaving on this trip, I had made a request of Edmund Cardinal Szoka. At that time the former Archbishop of Detroit was now head of the Vatican City State. With his connections in Rome I asked that he provide our group with some really good admissions - to the Audience, to New Year's Eve Evening Prayer in St. Peter's Basilica and to the Papal New Years Day Mass. His response was that I could have two but not three, so I opted for the later two.
Then I proceeded to contact Detroit's then current Archbishop, Adam Cardinal Maida. (Pays to have "friends" in high places.) Could he provide Audience tickets?
He did.
And they were hand delivered to me at our hotel the evening that we arrived in Rome.
And shortly after that came a surprise hand delivery of another set of Audience tickets, compliments of Cardinal Szoka. He relented after all.
And these two sets of tickets came as a surprise to our tour guide who had worked to procure for us tickets to the Audience!
We were definitely going to the Audience! And we would have our choice of seats!
I wasn't too concerned about my all too casual attire for this event because I knew that, even with all of our tickets, we would still be among another ten thousand or so, lost in the crowd. That's standard for an Audience.
Audience time came and we took our seats, just far enough away so as not to be too noticeable.
Next to me sat a young Italian man. He was part of a special project that had been undertaken especially for the Jubilee Year under the inspiration of Pope John Paul II. Volunteers were recruited throughout all of Italy to serve some time in Rome as hospitality ministers, guiding, aiding in whatever way they could, answering questions and the like.
This gentleman sitting next to me was one of these volunteers.
So he welcomed us.
And looked at me.
And looked again.
I know - not exactly dressed for the occasion.
We got talking before the Holy Father arrived.
Eventually, he asked what I did for a living.
And I told him.
And he looked again.
He really looked!
"Priest!" He exclaimed.
"You are a priest?"
I explained the missing luggage.
He smiled, and nodded and looked still again. Several more times.
Guess priests in Italy don't wear jeans, or maybe sweatshirts, or likely hiking boots.
Oh well!
When the Audience ended, we had time for some lunch and then it was back to the bus for a drive out into the Roman countryside for a visit to a catacomb. It would be there that we would gather for our daily Mass, there among the memories of martyrs who had witnessed their faith through the sacrifice of their lives.
I would, of course, preside.
And I would still be clad in those . . . well, I suspect you are getting the routine by now.
There was still no other choice.
And the very helpful sacristan who set everything up for us?
Well, he did a look and then still another.
"Priest?"
I had my papers testifying to such but I certainly did not look dressed for the part.
The tour guide backed my story up, verifying that I could put those vestments on, even with those hiking boots evidently visible below that alb.
Catacomb tour over, we headed back to our hotel. Again I was given that increasingly familiar assurance.
My luggage would probably be waiting back there at the hotel.
It wasn't!


(More will be coming!)

Welcome to Rome!

On December 27, 1999, we left Detroit Metropolitan Airport headed for Rome. On board I was decked out in some comfortable travel duds.
I was wearing a sweatshirt, jeans and hiking boots. On board my carry on had the usual assortment of necessities - basic toiletries and one basic change.
Travel comfortably and basically. That's the way to go.
We settled in for the overnight flight - dinner (and drinks, of course!) and then snooze or watch some sort of movie if you must. And then breakfast and the usual formalities for entering a foreign land - filling out the customs forms.
Smooth landing - Da Vinci Airport, Rome!
Morning, December 28, 1999.
The schedule for the day was easy enough.
Our guide would soon meet us, help us with baggage claim and then through customs. Board the bus and take a little drive around town. I have come to suspect that this little drive around - aka "City Tour" - is actually a time killer to allow the hotel staff to get the necessary rooms ready for the incoming occupants.
Anyhow, there we were at the baggage claim.
And the tour guide was there and ready to assist with claiming our bags.
Of course we did have to go through customs with our own luggage but once through a porter would be on the ready to set our bags on a cart and wheel them to our bus.
And so it began.
One by one voices could be heard, "That's my bag!" "That one is mine!"
And little by little the luggage selection dwindled.
And as for me, well, instead of proclaiming, "That one is mine," I could be heard increasingly declaring, "Where is mine?"
End of the line.
And mine is nowhere to be found.
Fortunately our guide was there to assist. He escorted me to a special desk where he was able to explain to the attendant that my luggage seems to have gone missing.
She asked for a description of the bag and I did thew best I could. Then she pulled out some pages of luggage illustrations asking me to identify the one that looked closest to my missing piece. It was almost like reviewing a police lineup, but there it was.
An almost exact spitting image.
Luggage looks declared, the attendant turned to her computer and began some clicking and typing.
It was amazingly only moments before shed declared, "It has gone to Amsterdam!"
So here I was in Rome and there my luggage was en route to Amsterdam.
But do not worry, I was assured. It will soon be on its way back to you and you will have it, perhaps even by the end of the day today.
So off we went to enjoy the rest of the day and begin our pilgrimage.
And off went my luggage with my formal clerical blacks, black dress shoes and all, everything prim and proper for a pilgrimage in Rome.
Only it was headed to Amsterdam.
And I was in The Eternal City with my jeans and sweatshirt and hiking boots!
My dream trip of the Millennium had begun!


(And, yes, there will be more!)

Twenty Years??? Really???

Has it been twenty years already?
Hardly seems so.
Twenty years ago today we were on our way. The great adventure was beginning.
The year 2000 was fast approaching.
And we were on our way!
This journey had its beginning some years before.
Somewhere around 1995 or maybe 1996 I can still recall that someone asked me the question, "So were would you want to be for the dawning of the Year 2000?"
Even years before that historic New Year many were already looking ahead and planning ahead and maybe even dreaming ahead. This was to be an historic moment. There was emerging that sentiment that somehow this should be a special moment, a dream event moment.
Where would you like to be?
I had no problem answering that question.
Where would I like to be?
There is one city, one place, one experience that has over the years captured my attention, fascination,  heart.
Rome!
I had already been there a number of times including spending several weeks on sabbatical.
Nevertheless Rome never lost its charm with me.
Rome!
What a dream!
New Year's Eve 1999 - Rome!
New Year's Day 2000 - Rome!
Start the new year, century, millennium in the Eternal City.
Rome!
That was my dream but realistically that would not be.
"Why not?" my questioner asked of me.
"Why not?"
Simply put - fascinating as Rome is, I would not want to be there for this event all alone. This would be a moment to be shared.
But who would even think such a possibility? Why would anyone even consider a possibility like this? New York, maybe. Even Paris, maybe. But Rome?
But then cane the challenge. My questioner set it before me.
Check it out.
Ask around.
You just might be surprised.
And so I began to ask and in so doing I began to discover.
Yes, indeed, there was an interest, a rather strong interest, I may add.
Next thing I was sitting down with a travel consultant and discussing possibilities.
And then came firm plans.
And a brochure.
And advertising.
And response.
And as autumn was turning to winter in the final year of the Twentieth Century there were over forty of us all set and ready to make that excursion across the Pond to Italy and Rome.
We would be welcoming the New Year, New Century, New Millennium in the Eternal City.
On the 27th of December twenty years ago now we were on our way across the Atlantic headed to the adventure of a lifetime.
And now as 2020 approaches, I cannot help but think back to that moment, to those days, to that adventure.
Twenty years ago now - when we headed to Rome.
And my luggage headed to Amsterdam!

(Stay tuned!)

The First Time (A Christmas Memory)

The year was 1963 - I am certain of that.
I was a deacon, ordained just a couple of months before Christmas, so a brand new, fresh deacon. In the coming June I would be ordained a priest (God willing , we would always add.)
For now I got to fit into the role of deacon for a few months.
On the Third Sunday of Advent I preached my first homily. Remember that well too. How could I forget that one? My first experience was at the Detroit House of Correction, mens' division and then a bit later at the women's division.
A few days before Christmas we were sent home.
Christmas vacation.
And as freshly minted deacons before being sent home we were given a set of behavioral instructions - what we could do and what, back in those days we could not do even if asked by someone as significant as our pastor.
There were limits on the proper role of a deacon, serious limits. Vatican II was just unfolding.
One of the limits on us then was that we were not allowed to distribute Communion.
Priests and only priests in those days distributed Communion. Only the hands of a priest were allowed to touch the Eucharist.
I had no worry about that since I knew my pastor and I knew that this would never be something he would ask or expect.
Sure enough when I got home for that vacation, I was readily asked by my pastor to serve as deacon for the Midnight Mass.
I would vest as a deacon, stand directly behind the pastor at the Solemn Midnight Mass, proclaim the Gospel (in Latin, of course.) I would announce the ending of the Mass. End of story.
And then came that moment during the Mass.
The ciboria were on the altar filled to the brim with freshly Consecrated Hosts, numbering enough to tend to the overflow Midnight Mass crowd.
And my pastor, that pastor who would never put me on the spot, handed me a ciborium!
"I am not allowed to distribute Communion, " I protested but in a whisper for we were at the altar.
"Who told you that," my pastor responded also in his whisper.
"The seminary rector, " I answered.
"Well," my pastor countered, "I'm in charge here and I set the rule here and you will distribute Communion!"
To that moment in my life I had never held a consecrated Host, never even held a ciborium.
Now, in that moment, I would hold in my hands the Eucharist, the very Word made flesh. I would give the Lord of Bethlehem to His people!
And I started to shake, tremble.
The realization of what was now taking place, a realization empowered by faith, grabbed hold of me.
And as I reached into that ciborium, what was it? Six? Eight,? Maybe even ten hosts came flying out!
The moment caused me to tremble so!
And today, so many, many years later, I still remember and even feel the moment.
It was the first moment I held Him and presented Him to His people.
And that makes me wonder how Mary felt when first she held her new-born Child.
And how she felt when she presented Him to those shepherds.
Did she tremble? Even just a bit?
And Joseph? When he held that Child and looked down into His eyes?
Did he tremble? Even just a bit?
It is an awesome thing this thing that God has done for us.
This is what we remember at Christmas..
This is the essence of what we celebrate.
The Word has become flesh and come to dwell among us.
And He has placed Himself into our hands and our hearts and our lives.
Oh, come, let us adore Him!
It truly is an awesome thing that  God has done for us.
Out of love!

December 12

This has been simmering on my mind all day today and so I am going to give a go at it. I'm not quite sure how this will turn out but I feel compelled to set some words down in writing and so, here goes!
This day I have found myself focused on two places - Jersey City, New Jersey and Tepeyac, Mexico.
Hundreds of miles separate these two places geographically.
On this day each year we, especially we American Catholics, are called to focus our attention on Our Lady of Guadaloupe. We recall a series of appearances of Mary, Mother of Jesus, to a indigenous native, a humble peasant, Juan Diego. He was sent to the bishop with a request from Mary that a chapel in her honor be built in that place, the place being Tepeyac Hill, just outside of Mexico City.
Of course the bishop was not exactly anxious to comply with the request being set before him by so lowly a one as Juan Diego. He asked for a sign.
And did he ever get one!
Juan Diego appeared before him, again sent by the Lady, but this time Juan had a multitude of December blooming Castilian roses folded into his tilma. Even more surprising - the image of the Lady was imprinted on that tilma.
That image led to the building of the shrine which now stands in that place and that image, that tilma, is enshrined in that place.
The image captured my thoughts today.
Mary chose to show herself and image herself as a native, as one with the indigenous people of that place. She also chose to be imaged as pregnant.
In a powerful way Mary was declaring, "I am one with you! I am one of you."
And that is where my thoughts turned to Jersey City, New Jersey.
It has been much in the news recently.
There has been a horrid attack on a Kosher store there, an attack that left four innocent victims dead and an entire community, a Jewish community in shock.
Hate Crime!
Another one!
Hated toward Jews.
And Mary doesn't even have to in one slightest bit alter her image here.
She is Jewish.
Her history, heritage, traditions, religious tenants, her very appearance - all Jewish.
Remember how Jesus told us, "Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, that you do unto Me?"
Well, that is what Mary is showing us there at Tepeyac.\ by her very appearance.
She is Jewish . . .  and indigenous . . . and Asian . . . and Black . . . and Eastern . . . and Western European.
She is mother of us all.
In all of our diversity we all have the right to image her as one of us.
She is one of us.
She is our Mother.
So hate any one us us and you hate our Mother.
And hate our Mother and you hate her Son, our Brother.
That's where my thoughts have been going today.
And I had to say it . . . in writing.

Put Christ Back into Christmas? Really?

I am serious!
Put Christ back into Christmas?
Are you sure?
Do you really want to do that?
This is the time of year when that battle cry emerges: Put Christ back into Christmas. Either that or Keep Christ in Christmas. Same thing.
Posters proclaim it; bumper stickers declare it and even billboards broadcast it.
Keep Christ in Christmas!
But do we really want that to happen?
Seriously?
I mean - think about it, think carefully.
Sure, at the heart of Christmas, if we truly understand this celebration, is the birth of a Child Who is the Promised One, Messiah, Savior.
A Baby!
And we can certainly get into a proper mood to focus our attention on a Baby.
And that makes this a kind of "birthday."
So, Happy Birthday.
And isn't that keeping Christ in Christmas.
Make sure those Christmas cards include somehow that Baby.
Make certain that Nativity scene is evident under your tree or else somewhere very prominent.
And by all means make sure that some of that Christmas music is all about things like, "Silent Night" and "Come All Ye Faithful."
Why we can even take time to go to church to really say and show we mean it, "Happy Birthday!"
But is that really putting Christ or keeping Christ in Christmas?
Remember, that Child grew up.
And when He grew up, He did cause some trouble.
We dare not forget that this Christ came to dwell among us to introduce us to a Kingdom . . . a Kingdom far different from the one we live in now, the one we are used to, the one we can even get comfortable being in.
He came to call us to the Kingdom of God.
And that meant He would challenge some of the things we could currently call important. He would challenge some of the things we currently call values.
He would tell us of a Kingdom of peace - where war is not an answer or even an option.
He would teach us of a Kingdom where power would be found in service and meekness and humility.
He would reveal to us a Kingdom where even sparrows are sacred because, well, all of God's creation is sacred and we need to see that and live its implications.
He would show us that mercy and forgiveness are more noble than vengeance and anger.
And on and on the litany would go of the things He would teach us and show us and call us to be.
Keep Christ in Christmas?
The only way we can truly do that is to commit ourselves to His way rather than any other way. He did come to show us something, to bring us something. That is very real!
No compromises!
His way must be the only way.
Even if that means standing in opposition to some, maybe even many, of the present currents and movements and thinkings.
In His own time there were many who did not like what He brought when He came to dwell among us.
It's no different today.
We can easily welcome a Baby.
But what that Baby became when He grew up?
It's easy to shop for gifts, to wrap them and give them.
It's easy to decorate - lights, tree, candles and such.
It's easy to bake and cook and entertain.
And amid all of that it is also easy to focus on a birth and a Child.
But if we really want Christ in Christmas then it should also mean to stand with Him as He calls us to be a most unique people, God's own People, builders of, teachers of, leaders into a Kingdom very, very different from what surrounds us today.
And being that kind of people will not be easy, never has been.Because so many really do not want things "His Way."
Keeping Him in Christmas?
That means giving Him the greatest gift we can give - ourselves!
No if's and's or but's!
Totally!
So are we really ready for that?
Do we really want to Keep Christ in Christmas . . . and in our lives?
The whole of our lives?

Counting Blessings

This is the time of year in which many pause to count their blessings.
This year we here in Southeastern Michigan (and maybe a few others as well) have one very special blessing to include in our gratefulness. It is a blessing unique to us and also a blessing that could easily be ignored or forgotten.
So, rather than risk having this blessing passed over, I want to draw attention to it, throw the spotlight on it.
Let us not forgot the great blessing that we uniquely have in our little corner of the world.
Let us not forget to count among our greatest of blessings the Detroit Lions!
OK - go back and read that last line again.
You are reading correctly, seeing accurately.
One of our greatest of blessings, especially in a year like this would be the Detroit Lions.
Think about it.
How many households and families were fretting the approach of the holidays, especially this year?
How many households were even questioning the feasibility of hosting a gathering, a family dinner, get-together?
Name a topic and it likely ran the risk of exploding any hopefully civil holiday gathering into a verbal tug of war or worse.
Talk about politics? Boom!
Talk about refugees? Boom!
Talk about climate change? Boom!
Talk about Church? Religion? Boom! Boom! Boom!
Find a safe topic? Go on and just try.
We seem to be living in a time when any topic seems loaded with potential to blow any situation into arguments beyond control.
Neighbors are divided. Families are divided. Political parties seem equally divided. Churches are divided.
And it is not just a matter of simple disagreements and varying viewpoints.
Almost every topic seems loaded and ready to explode.
So we could have faced trying to gather and talk about -- well, nothing really.
That is until the Detroit Lions came along.
Now we have a safe topic!
In our neck of the woods we can all talk safely about the Detroit Lions.
And there is really no danger of raised voices because we can all agree.
They stink!
What a blessing they are to us!
They have provided us with a safe topic for our holiday gatherings!
Just mention the Detroit Lions and everyone in the room will come to almost instant agreement.That one great disappointment has become our special holiday blessing.
They have brought us together in a true sense of unity.
We can all agree - They stink!
And that unity can hold . . .
that is unless someone dares to say,
"But wait until next year!"

Not a Stone upon a Stone!

A couple of weekends ago I had the opportunity to preside at Mass at the Church of St. Thomas the Apostle. Being in that place invited some reflections and looking back.
You see, this St. Thomas the Apostle is located in Garden City which is in the western part of metropolitan Detroit.
I grew up in the shadow of the Church of St. Thomas the Apostle. Only thing is that the St. Thomas of my youth was located on the east side of Detroit in the Harper/Van Dyke area - worlds apart.
The St. Thomas of my youth was a very formidable complex. The church was rather large, seating, I would venture to guess, upward of 800 at a time, Romanesque in style. A stately bell tower dominated the structure. The rectory was attached and also quite sizable. I am not sure exactly how many it could house and I am not sure how many priests the founding pastor thought he would have assisting him, but my suspicion is that that place could house a small seminary.
St. Thomas had a school - grade and high school, more significant buildings. The sisters who staffed the school also needed housing and so there was, in the complex, a convent, again of significant size.
The entire St. Thomas Church of my youth covered an entire city block.
It was truly a dominant presence in the neighborhood.
Actually, thinking of that St. Thomas got my imagination going as I reflected on the Gospel for the Thirty-Third Sunday of Ordinary Time this year. The Gospel is Luke 21:5 - 19.
Letting my imagination go, I pictured someone back in the 1950's or 1960's standing on the front steps of that old St. Thomas, announcing to all who were entering for Sunday Mass, "Not a stone will be left upon a stone!"
The day is coming when all this will be gone.
I can imagine the looks an announcement like that might garner. Imagine the comments!
The mighty St. Thomas the Apostle complex will, someday, no longer be?
Really!
Well, that kind of captures what Luke describes as he tells of Jesus in the Temple, announcing its coming destruction.
The people hearing Him could hardly believe what they were hearing.
This was their most sacred of places.
This was the great sign that God was, indeed, with them.
And Jesus was saying that it is all coming down?
Really?
But He was right.
By the year 70 not a stone was left upon a stone. To this day all that remains of that once magnificent Temple is what is known as the Western or Wailing Wall.
He was serving to remind us of how temporary all of our structures are, and our institutions, and our wealth and - well, all that stuff we tend to cling to.
Temporary!
Like the St. Thomas the Apostle of my youth.
Drive by the area today.
I don't know what you will find but I do know what you will not find.
The church is gone; the bell tower is gone; the rectory and convent and schools, grade and high, all gone.
That memory, those words of Jesus, this Gospel - all are serving to call us to look around and to realize and remember - all temporary.
These things will pass.
As we move into the later days of November even Mother Nature reminds us of that concept - temporary.
The leaves of summer are gone now.
Those warm breezes are bone-chilling now.
The lush green grass is browned and ice solid now.
Don't cling too strongly to what will pass with the passing of time.

Dancing? Saints???

It certainly caught my attention.
I subscribe to a monthly devotional. I guess you could call it that. It is titled: Give Us This Day and it is a publication of Liturgical Press. (And if this catches your interest, you can Google Liturgical Press for more information.)
This little publication contains a daily Morning and Evening Prayer, loosely based on the Liturgy of the Hours, a daily reflection on a holy person, the texts for each day's Mass followed by a reflection on the Mass texts. There are some other items included, but all in all, this is a simple daily devotional that can help with one's prayer.And having provided that commercial, back to the matter at hand.
What really grabbed my attention is the November cover, front and back, for this publication.
At first, I merely saw some saints, which, of course, would make sense since November launches with the Feast of All Saints.
Then I looked again.
And still again.
And then I realized it. I was right.
They are all dancing!
And there is even one playing a saxophone!
And I liked it!
Really liked it!
You know, all those pictures we see of angelic creatures floating around in the clouds, harps in hand!
That's a rather common image of heaven, isn't it?
And I just bet that really turns a whole lot of folks on (NOT!)
But why should heaven be depicted as boring to say the least?
After all we do have that New Orleans favorite "When the Saints Go Marching In," and that certainly has a beat.
And now this!
Dancing Saints!
The cover credit is given to a larger work, a mural by Mark Dukes titled, exactly, Dancing Saints. It is a work seen at St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Fransisco, California.
What appears on that cover is a sampling of this larger work.
Naturally I Googled the church, found its site and began to learn more and more about the Dancing Saints.
On the church site is a listing of all the holy people depicted in this mural. Also to be found are brief biographies including, often, information about why they are included. Well worth the read.
You can check out the site for yourself. And as you do be sure to click on the brief video showing the entire mural with background music included.

ST. GREGORY OF NYSSA

And as I reflect on this art piece, I see captured something of the joy of heaven, the joy of the saints, the joy of our beloved who have gone before us and the joy that awaits us.
Why not?
Dancing Saints!
Brings to mind my Aunt Betty.
She has been long gone from us now but while she was with us, though she may have gotten a tad ornery and cranky in her later years, she knew the joy of dance.
She taught me how to dance, got me ready for my first school dance back in the ninth grade.
If she had no one else to dance with, she just danced by herself.
Dance spoke of life.
In her later years movement was often difficult. She had trouble just getting out of chairs.
I had a lift chair that once was my dad's. I offered it to her to help her.
She refused.
I can still hear her words from back then to me, "Someday I will dance again!"
Dance on, Aunt Betty! Dance on!
Join the Dancing Saints.

Clearing Out Purgatory

I am old enough to remember (and, perhaps, you are as well.)
I remember back in the day when we could annually clean out Purgatory!
Yep!
Clean it out!
Empty it!
Or at least come close.
Or so we thought and so we tried to do.
I am reminded of that time as we approach another November, a month to remember our beloved dead, a month that includes the Day of the Dead as well as All Souls' Day.
We had a chance in those days long ago to do our part in cleaning out Purgatory.
And let me say, we did take full advantage of it.
Purgatory Cleaning began at noon on November first, All Saints' Day and the period extended all through the following day, November second, All Souls Day.
We were assured that we could gain a plenary indulgence, which, it was believed, removed or remitted all temporal punishment due to sin.
And isn't that what Purgatory is all about - paying off that temporal punishment that is due.
To gain this plenary indulgence we had to enter a church, recite six Our Fathers, Hail Marys and Glory Be's, praying for the intentions of the Holy Father. We also had to go to Confession and Communion within a week. (In those days Communion was a very infrequent thing for many.)
Fulfill those requirements, you got a plenary!
However, you could not use it for yourself!
It had to be intended for someone in Purgatory!
That meant release! Freedom for someone in Purgatory! Full pardon!
That is what we understood "plenary" to involve.
So that visit to church, those prayers and Sacraments sent someone soaring out of Purgatory and straight into Heaven!
Glory be!
And that happened as often as you entered a church, said those prayers and named a beneficiary
from noon November first all the way to the end of November second.
Know what many of us did?
You guessed it!
In and out of church and in and out again and again and again and repeat.
Purgatory Cleaning was well under way.
Oh, there was one theological note of concern.
What if someone for whom our plenary was intended was no longer in Purgatory?
Theology had an answer for that, of course.
Then God could use that plenary for someone else, someone who needed it, perhaps someone now long forgotten.
And interestingly, for us just to be safe, the following year we would be at it again. We would still keep sending those plenaries for people we remembered the previous year. No worry. God could take care of things.
Can you imagine: every year on November third outside the Gates of Purgatory the sign would appear: "Vacancies!"
I suspect that even these days there is someone still making those plenary visits this year.
In many places now, while we still celebrate All Saints and remember All Souls, something different is to be found.
Sometimes it is a special Mass, sometimes it is a special prayer service. Sometimes these include candles or crosses marked with the names of the community's deceased from that year.
We gather to remember and we should gather, not just those who have lost loved ones in recent months but all of us. We are a community. We gather to remember and support and show faith and hope and most of all love for one another and for those who have gone before us.
Love has power, an incredible power.
Love has the power to transcend even the boundaries of death itself.
And love has the power to set free!
It was love that inspired us in days of old and it is love that inspires us still to profess that death does not have the final word.
Our loved ones and still our loved ones.

Guess you can forget it!

For the past few days I have been inclined to do some more writing, a new blog post. Each time I did not, at least not until today. And as I pen these words, it occurs to me that the idea I had the past couple of days, well, you can just forget about it.
Actually, the idea was quite unrealistic even yesterday or a couple of days ago. Nevertheless, it was a thought.
And that thought got hit with pure, simple reality today.
We are approaching mid-October and here in Michigan the days of October have been marked with temperatures initially in the 80's and then easing into the 70's. It was actually possible to keep the heat off and open windows.
Sleeping with windows open in October in Michigan! Unreal!
Which led me to my "idea."
I was going to suggest that the time draws near when we can start ordering palm tree saplings!
Palm trees in Michigan!
Awesome!
And then today arrived and it is time to don a jacket, shut the windows and turn on the heat.
That is Pure Michigan - in October.
Forget ordering those palm trees!
But the idea of palm trees in Michigan - well, that just invites comments on climate change. Is it getting warmer? Colder? Drier? Wetter?
Is the climate changing?
That is a issue which, of course, some still do not believe.
We can have icebergs and glaciers melting at record pace.
We can have a heat wave baking most of Europe as never before.
We can have historic floods in Texas and storms in the Caribbean.
We can have young Greta Thunberg pleading before the United Nations.
But still we have a debate with regard to the reality of climate change.
Maybe we need a new viewpoint, a change of vocabulary.
Maybe we need to speak of Ecological Responsibility and Stewardship.
Just days ago we remembered and honored Francis of Assisi, that great and humble man who in word and deed reminded us that all of creation is deeply interrelated and that we are stewards of Mother Earth.
In recent times we have had from Pope Francis his encyclical to the world, Laudato Si, a letter not just to Catholics but to all people again reminding us that the world - air, seas, lands, resources - are not our possessions but our care, our trust, our sacred trust. We are caretakers, stewards.
Presently in the Vatican a unique Synod is taking place. The topic under consideration is
The Amazon - its resources, people and importance - all a sacred trust.
We need to come to the realization that The Environment and its care is not a political question.
It is a moral matter, an ethical question, a concern for religion.
If we are to be truly "Pro-Life," then we must be Pro-Environment, Pro-Ecology.
We look for things that can unite us.
This should be it.
We all share the same air.
We all share the same earth.
We all share the same water.
We all share the same responsibility to care for and consider sacred the very things that sustain us.
And we all share Ecological Responsibility and we are all Stewards of God's creation.
Amen!

Then October Comes . . .

 . . . and it becomes clearer and clearer that it is ending.
While September may sometimes taunt and beguile us with the empty promise of continued summer (as this year's September has done,) then October comes and we realize that it truly is ending.
October comes and the darkness increases.
October comes and the leaves display their momentary splendor, than fade and fade away.
October comes and one day we are searching for those warmer outfits.
October confronts us with reality.
It is ending.
Summer is ended and the year itself is ending.
October comes and forces us to face the reality of endings.
I was recently reminded of that while reading a poem in a current America Magazine.
The poem is by Terry Savoie and the lines that pointed me in the direction of October's lessons read:

Into their once full garden that's now

close to barren, two ancient nuns shuffle

along looking for a few late autumn blossoms

to paint their lives. Covered in grey habits

& (winter) coats, they're two of nine

lastlings living out their remaining days

in a convent that once housed dozens.

Two of nine lastlings!

Word came recently that the Dominican presence at Oxford, Michigan was coming to an end. The motherhouse and retreat center there would soon be closed. Reality had to be faced. In a building meant to accommodate 43, now only 13 remained. Lastlings!

There was a time when the Oxford community numbered - what? Hundreds? They staffed parish school in Slovak communities in Detroit and when our ancestors moved into the suburbs, the Dominicans followed. Their ministries responded to new needs and exciting possibilities.

For over fifty years on weekend after weekend retreatants came to the place of prayer and renewal of spirit.

Novices, bringing new hope and life, frolicked in the wide open fields of Oxford.

Parishes flocked to Oxford on Springtime Sundays and Autumn Sundays as well for pilgrimages and festivals. By busloads they came. It was a place filled with life and music and laughter. We sang there songs of faith and songs of Fatherland. Slovakia!

But now October comes.

And endings!

And the memories and tears that endings can bring.

But October reminds us the endings must come.

And they will come.

And they do come.

New days cannot begin unless old days end.

New Years cannot begin unless old years end.

And new life cannot begin unless the old life ends.

And so October comes!

And with it time to say, "Goodbye!"

Never Forget!

Every year, right around this time of the year, we begin hearing those words again, "Never Forget." And, of course, they are pointing us annually in the direction of September 11 and especially 2001.
Never Forget!
And with those words we see the images all so familiar - the Towers, the smoke, the twisted metal and mountains of debris.
Never Forget!
But for the past couple of years my mind began to wrap around the question, "Never forget what?" Or maybe the question should be, "Never forget! Why?"
What is it really that we are suggesting we should Never Forget?
And why should we Never Forget?
Those who lived through that time in our history hold sharp memories of the events. And they are often painful memories.
Never Forget!
Does that somehow imply that we should hold onto those painful memories and never move on?
Is that ever even healthy?
Keep reopening the wounds?
Renewing the hurts?
If that is what is implied by "Never Forget," then I would say that it is time to move on. We must move on. We cannot and should not hold onto the pain and keep reopening old wounds.
Never Forget, though, can and should mean more, so much more than embracing yesterday's pain.
Never Forget the heroism of those brave men and women who risked and all too often even lost their lives for the sake of others. Never Forget that because that shows us in a real way what Jesus meant when He said, "Greater love than this has no one that to lay down their life for another."
No, Never Forget that!
Hold on to the lesson that is important to think of others and work for others and sacrifice for others - even when those others may be strangers to us.
Never Forget!
In those days we came together as a people. We were able to rise above those things that can tend to divide us. Politics aside; status put aside; Black/White/Any shade in between did not matter. We were one people and we found the strength that comes from unity - from being able to rise above those things that seek to divide us. We were better than all that and that made us a strong and beautiful people.
Never forget that! The wonder that comes from unity.
And Never Forget!
On that morning we saw the ugliness and pain and tears that can be caused when a handful of people, egged on by a preacher of hate can bring about upon so many. A small group, filled with hate, made so much so ugly.
Hate has the power to do that.
Never forget that lesson - especially when any preacher of hate emerges on the scene.
Never Forget the power of hate.
And also Never Forget that unity and sacrifice are still more powerful.
Never Forget who we should be and how we should be.
That is what, I believe,  we should Never Forget!

Rush Lake!

I wonder!
If I were to journey out to Rush Lake this weekend, would I hear? Could I hear the echoes of long-ago voices?
Would I hear them?
Might I catch the echo of Lou calling for Marge to bring him a beer?
Could I catch the faint sound of Pauline giving some sage words of wisdom?
Or Joe and Joe's Mary?
Or Agnes calling for Bill to bring the camera over here?
Or the laughter of Betty and Catherine?
Could I possibly catch even dimly the sounds of Ziggy and Helen?
They should all be there.
They would all be there - they and so many more, their children.
This is Labor Day Weekend.
And in years long gone now that would mean Rush Lake.
Back in the 1950's mom and dad bought a cottage way out in what was really the country back then. It was a simple place at the time, on a double lot, right on the lake - Rush Lake. The property faced west which meant sunsets over the lake.
We journeyed out there many a weekend in season to enjoy the time away, on the water, on the boat (with oars no less!) Rush Lake was our get-away place.
And every year on Labor Day weekend it became the gathering place for pretty much the whole family. And what a family we had!
Mom and Dad were married on Labor Day weekend. Mom also claimed her birthday to be "Labor Day," which, of course made it a moveable feast from year to year. No matter. Labor Day Weekend became a family time of celebration.
And everybody descended on Rush Lake!
True to form there would be plenty of food, a drink or two (or three or more), card playing, games, songs, swimming and fishing. There were not enough beds or bedrooms but that did not matter. Chairs, couches, sleeping bags, the lawn, all worked just fine even if, as they aged, their mornings brought some stiffness.
What memories were crafted in those days long gone!
I treasure them still and come Labor Day, they all come rushing back.
Can you hear their sounds?
"Get your own beer!"
"Bill, get over here with that camera!"
"Afte Nashe Studye Nechke"
Time has passed.
Labor Days have become memories now.
Rush Lake has gentrified and is "fashionable."
And the old gang is - well, I do suspect they are all together once again, still celebrating but now with a celebration that has no end.
And we are left with our memories.
And we listen for the sounds, the echoes of days gone by.

(Enjoy one of their old songs. Click here!)



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The Assumption Day Parade

I grew up on the East Side of Detroit, in the Harper/Van Dyke neighborhood. In our area we had St. Thomas the Apostle (Polish) Church and SS. Cyril and Methodius (Slovak) Church. Both also had schools.
My family roots being dominantly Slovak, we belonged to St. Cyril and that is where we went to school as well. Obviously, the entire neighborhood was mostly Polish or Slovak.
When August 15th arrived, those of us who belonged to St. Cyril, especially those of us still in school there had no trouble getting going and getting to Mass on that day. It may have been summer vacation and the days were getting us closer to back to school and we might have wanted to treasure and enjoy every possible moment remaining of summertime, still come August 15 we just knew we had to be at Mass.
Specifically we had to be at the 9:00 Mass that morning.
And this wasn't because of some great devotion we all felt toward the Blessed Mother. Maybe there was devotion but the motivating factor for Mass on August 15th was really The Parade!
Or, since it took place in the church building, maybe it should more appropriately be called The Procession.
Parade - Procession -- whatever.
We wanted to be there for it.
Backing up a bit, our school was staffed by Dominicans, mostly Slovak Dominicans, a community brought here to work with Slovak migrants, helping to acclimate Slovak immigrants to this new and strange country while holding to their ancient customs and traditions.
At the end of the school year, the sisters who staffed our school stayed around for a few days, wrapping things up, putting things away, mothballing school and convent for the summer.
Then the lights went out.
The convent was empty as the sisters returned to their motherhouse. The summer days saw parish convent and school dark and empty.
And then came August 14!
And the convent lights went on again!
The sisters were back.
The next day, August 15, before the 9:00 Mass, they made their grand entrance.
Before the priest went to the altar to begin the Mass, the sisters came marching (Parade? Procession?) in.
From the back of the building to the very front pews, they grandly entered.
And their entry order was important. And this is what drew so many of us to that Mass on that day.
We watched  carefully!
Single file they entered.
First in line would be the house superior for the year, who would also serve as school principal.
Behind her would be the assistant principal
Next would come the eighth grade home room teacher, and then the seventh grade and then the sixth and so on right down to last in line - the kindergarten teacher.
We watched carefully to see who would be our home room teacher. Many who had been there in previous years came with reputations. Sprinkled among the old-timers would always be a couple of new faces - unknowns.
Did the year ahead promise to be easy, enjoyable, challenging, difficult? Or unknown?
We watched.
Our fate for the coming year was marching down that aisle.
We were there to discover what may be ahead for us in the coming year.
We were catching a glimpse of what lay ahead.
Well, that was a long time ago. The school is long gone now. The parish itself received permission some years ago to relocate closer to where Slovaks were now residing. The Dominicans have become part of a larger community, the Dominican Sisters of Peace.
But at this time of the year, I remember.
And that remembering provides a helpful focus for me, and possibly for you as well.
You see, August 15 is really still about what our future holds for us. No, not what the coming school year may hold. Something bigger - more important.
On this day we remember and celebrate what God has done for Mary.
And we remember that what God has done for her, God also has in mind for you and me.
Mary is home now, in her true home.
And we are on the way there.
That's God's plan for you and me.
On August 15 we take the time to focus again on what is in store for us, what that loving, merciful God has in mind for us.
It's all about our destiny, about God's plan for us.

So Very Worth It!

Another funeral today.
Seems like there has been a lot of that going around recently.
This time I was taking part in the funeral of a gentleman whom I have had the honor of knowing for a great many years. I got to know him, his wife and his family in my first pastorate, which goes back to the 1970's, so that is a long time ago.
We got to know one another, stayed in touch over the years, phone calls, letters, notes, visits, and dinners! Good old fashioned Polish dinners!
I will publicly state that I respected that man and, indeed, his entire family.
But this funeral only serves as a backdrop for something that happened today, so powerful, so moving, so rewarding, so very much, I will dare to say, that suggests even a slight touch of heaven!
I mentioned the 1970's.
First pastorate.
Rookie.
But with a parish blessed with many far reaching, far thinking folk who took their Baptism seriously.
He was one of them.
And tapping into a bit of history, the 1970's saw the end of the Vietnam War and countless people fleeing what might be coming and what was already present then. They were fearing and fleeing coming oppression.
Refugees!
So many risking so much for a better, more hopeful life.
Back then even our government was asking various groups, agencies, institutions to find a place for these refugees. Churches were among those being asked to sponsor them.
We heard that call. We sought to respond. We held town hall meetings. We were chosen as a potential host community. We were given a choice - a family of three adult professionals or a mom with six very young children.
The easy choice was there for us. Adults! Professionals! Piece of cake!
Among those speaking for the more difficult, more challenging choice was the man we bid farewell to today. He challenged us to take the more noble, more Christian path.
Our parish sponsored the mom and her six children.
I can still remember the day, standing at the airport debarkation gate, waiting, watching.
And then she emerged, those six little ones huddled about as close as could be next to their mom.
So frightened! So insecure! Yet so trusting.
We welcomed them.
A lot of years have passed since that memorable day.
These "kids" are all grown up now, married, kids of their own, business owners, professionals, even a restaurant owner.
And they were there at the funeral today.
And when the Mass was finished, there they were, all waiting for me. It had been a long time.
They surrounded me. They filled the place with their smiles. They hugged me and embraced me with gestures and greetings and faces of deepest gratitude.
I was merely the pastor of a community that gave them this opportunity and yet, in those moments, I was feeling the power of those who knew the gift they had been given.
The beauty and the power of those moments surrounded by those grateful, joyful one time refugees is something I will not let go of.
In those moments I was called to remember what richness, what blessings we have.
And I experienced the wonder that emerges when we can share what we have with those who do not have.
A slight touch of heaven?
For sure!
For in those moments with which I was blessed today I experienced the truth that true joy comes not from what one has but from what one shares!
And it was a joy rich and full!

If We Could . . .

. . . So can you!
My reflection this time is inspired by the funeral in which I took part just hours ago. It was the funeral of a priest, one whom I have known somewhat in passing over the years and in more recent years have known rather closely.
Rick Bass - excuse me! Msgr. Richardo Bass was laid to rest today.
Over the years our lives paths periodically crossed. I knew who he was, I knew of him, he was a passing acquaintance and I am sure he would have used the same descriptive in speaking of me.
And then, in one brief moment of life's relentless journey, our lives connected.
When I first retired, I had a condo out on the east side of the metropolitan Detroit area in Harrison Township. It was a great place, seconds away from things like the freeways and Krogers, important stuff, you know. I was providing needed assistance in a number of places as needed and requested.
Then in 2011 Msgr. Richardo Bass was named pastor of St. Hubert Parish, Harrison Township, right down the road from where I was living.
I wrote him a letter congratulating him on his appointment and offering whatever assistance he might see need for from me.
Next thing I knew I was at St. Hubert weekends, like every weekend and often enough during the week as well and likewise filling in while the Msgr. went on vacation or a workshop or seminar or whatever.
He declared that I had now become an associate - his associate and the parish associate.
And with all the pastoring experience I had under my belt and with my official status as Senior Clergy, I did not mind one bit that title "Associate."
And as we entered into that working relationship, I can remember asking him a question.
I suppose to the average church-goer it would not sound like much of a question.
But believe me. To those who know, this was THE question.
I asked, "Do you think it is possible for a Canon Lawyer and a Liturgical Theologian to actually coexist? Work together?"
You see, The Msgr. was a Canon Lawyer, and not just a Canon Lawyer, but a well known, well respected Canon Lawyer. Why he even served as President of the National Canon Law Society! And that is nothing to snicker at!
And me? Well, back in 1973 I managed to earn a Masters Degree in Liturgical Theology from the University of Notre Dame and from that point on, liturgy and liturgical theology became my personal unique trademark.
And if you could catch a glimpse into the inner workings of our theological life as Church, Canon Law and Liturgical Theology are often on opposite sides of the universe.
Stereotyping - Canon Lawyers are the Pharisees of today, wrapped around what the law does and does not allow.
Liturgists are the party on down, celebrate, let's throw caution to the wind and have a good time folk.
And remember here - these are only the stereotypes. But they are there and they do try and capture, at least somewhat, a certain dynamic reality.
And so I asked, "Can we coexist? Can we work together?"
And we both laughed at the question!
And so it began.
Back in 2011 a Canon Lawyer and a Liturgical Theologian began working together, ministering together and seeking to serve the faithful people of St. Hubert Parish.
And we respected each other and,  I would hope, always sought to put the people first.
And I do believe that the People of God were served.
In fact, from all of the words and hugs and tears today at the funeral, from all the familiar faces present to me, I truly felt like I was back again, among Family!
We worked together.
And we did it!
And we could do it!
Until he retired in 2017, we truly worked together.
Our differences did not get in the way of our concern for a greater good.
In fact, our differences strengthened our ability to work for that greater good.
We did it!
And if we could do it, I believe that is a lesson, a critical lesson for so many in so many various situations in our very real world today.
If Ricardo and Ronald(o), polar opposites, could work together, so can you!
Believe it!
Don't let differences divide!
Oh, and as an epilogue to this whole thing, as the brilliant homilist at today's Mass mentioned, the funeral for Msgr. Bass was taking place in the very place where he was ordained. From this place he was sent, his journey began. Now in this same place his mission, his journey here is completed.
Cleverly crafted - the choosing of that place!
Rick - that's stuff truly worthy of a Liturgist!

An Inconvenient Truth

I will warn you ahead of time - there are some of you who may really not like what I have to say in this blog. However, I do wish that you will bear with me, keep an open mind and allow yourself to receive a possible message of value and importance.
And the reason that this may be greeted with a degree of dislike (perhaps, to say the least!) is that this is a current very hot button issue. However, much as I would like to avoid it, I do also believe that I have a responsibility to speak.
The issue - and here it comes - is Racism!
We don't like the sound of that.
We don't want to deal with that.
We just want to shove it under some carpet and pretend -and I do mean PRETEND - it just does not exist. At least not for "Me."
And yet, how many times have we heard someone insist, "I am not racist!"
And how many times may we, ourselves, have made that declaration.
But do we even really know what racism is? What it looks like? What it sounds like? How it manifests itself?
We could be so very much better if only we could just dig down deep and discover and admit, it is there. It is real. And it is likely a part of every "me."
If we can face it as a reality, we can better deal with it.
I hear that word and remember the time, so many years ago now, when I actually met and shook hands with what had to be the very first Black person I had ever met. You know what I felt I had to do as quickly as possible after that handshake?
Wash my hands!
It is true and I confess it and I am still ashamed!
Nothing was said negatively. There were no negative signals outwardly exhibited. Nevertheless, there was something deep down inside, something that made me feel unclean. That is a manifestation of racism.
The thought of that experience still reminds me that, in spite of all my fine "liberal" talks and Christian upbringing, I was racist. But facing that gave me the power to deal with it.
Racism is an ugly, subtle and very hidden force that seeks to drive us. It is there and it is real and we can only begin to overcome it by actually admitting its existence.
And admitting its existence and its hold on us, we can move to conquering its force by learning what we can about its power, its history and its effects.
Knowledge is power.
Ignorance is the doorway to defeat.
What I am getting at here is that we need do way better in educating ourselves. We need to know and own our history. We need to know the tensions that may exist and the reasons why they may exist.
We do no favors either to ourselves or to our very diverse neighbors by avoiding the issue and we make no progress at all by denying the issue.
I have shared with you just one small, seemingly innocent, action and reaction I had, one that woke me to something dark within me, something I had to come to grips with and deal with.
What about you?
Can you look back at your days and years and find just one example that you might call out as being an indication that that darkness is present within you?
Do you dare?


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Sing a New Song . . .

Or maybe not!
And as I jump into this writing and reflection and as you read it, you just may find yourself tempted to print a copy, and then, annonymously (of course) leave that copy for your parish music minister to find. If so tempted, go right ahead! I dare you.
Anyhow, getting caught up on some reading, I find myself in the last issue of America Magazine. You know - that's the one with the Jesuit slant on the world. Good stuff nonetheless!
And a couple of items early on in my reading caught my attention, both dealing with our music and singing (or lack thereof) in our churches.
And I suspect these items caught my attention for a couple of reasons - one, because at my stage of life, I have found myself on the road and experiencing worship in various settings. I am getting a picture of what is and is not happening out there.
And secondly, as a liturgist I do have a strong interest in the quality of what is going on out there. I long to see the best for the People of God.
And with all that in mind, needless to say, our music and our singing is something that grabs my attention and stirs my concern.
So, while reading this particular America magazine, the first thing that caught my attention was a brief item about what may be our favorite songs and our least favorite songs.
And I got a surprise or two.
Now before I go on and share with you the article's findings - quick - what is your favorite Sunday morning, go to church hymn? and your least?
Now, how do yours compare with this?
Favorites - old, sung a whole lot.
On Eagle's Wings, You Are Mine, Lord, When You Came to the Seashore.
And a surprise - How Can I Keep from Singing!
And the reason given for that one is that it somehow captures the sentiment that, whatever is going on,  I just don't know why but I do know that You, God, are here!
And least favorites?
Well, Where Charity and Love Prevail, Amazing Grace and America, the Beautiful. Another unfavorite is Battle Hymn of the Republic!
Now, having that information, you can duke it out with what may agree and/or disagree with your choices. That's what survey said!
But then came a second item in the same magazine.
This one was by an 82 year old (my senior!) Jesuit and it has to do with how to get more people to sing at Mass.
And his basic premise is - stop adding new hymns!
Stick with the old tried and true.
Like when was the last time you sang "Holy God, We Praise Thy Name"?
In this article something very significant is stated. Namely, our concern should always be not that we add more hymns to our repertoire but rather that we put more people in our pews!
And he observes wisely, the vigor of our participation in our worship invites and encourages others to take notice. If we look and sound like we mean what we are saying and doing, that catches attention. And weak singing obviously discourages.
And what may cause weak singing?
Too much variety. Too much switching. Too much concern for music relevant to the day but irrelevant and unfamiliar to the Assembly.
My Jesuit friend tells of his days in parish work. He would limit the music selections to a total of 74 for the entire year. The music minister had to select 74 hymns, and that included the great seasons of Advent, Christmas, Lent and Easter. 74 and only 74 hymns would be used in the course of the year. And then, of these hymns, the same choices had to be used for at least six week straight!
After six weeks one hymn could be replaced.
The people came to know the hymns and know them well.
They could sing and sing with gusto!
And that is what mattered.
St. Augustine is said to have observed that when we sing, we pray twice.
So, we need to do what it takes to sing and to do so with force and vigor and faith.
What matters should be not that we have learned a new song but rather that we have truly prayed.
So, the old tried and true stuff just may be the better stuff.
We know it! We like it! We sing it!
And with that in mind, try asking your parish music minister, "How come we don't sing 'Holy God, We Praise Thy Name" anymore?
Stir up some trouble!

¡Hola! ¿cómo estás hoy?

Spanish!
Do you realize that this is the native language of the majority of Americans?
True!
Only in Brazil, Canada and the United States is an other language the dominant one.
All the rest of America, North, Central and South all speak Spanish.
I started some reflecting on this as the last evening's First (half) Democratic Debate unfolded. Yes, I did watch - although I only lasted  for the first hour. When you are 80, bedtime can come earlier and so I defer the second hour to the youth of our country. Besides, we have a year and a half to go of this stuff. Can't take too big a dose this early on.
Anyhow, back to the matter at hand - the Spanish language.
Anyone who watched the debate had to note that at times some of the candidates did at least part of their response in Spanish. One of the moderators also at times questioned in Spanish.
Of course a part of that just may have been that this was taking place in Miami where a great majority of citizens are Spanish speaking.
Nevertheless, this also drew the attention to the fact that we have a sizable population who understand Spanish and can be at home with it. They are not to be forgotten or ignored. They are part and parcel of the United States.
Now I know that some folks may take offense when anything other than English is used in situations like these. There seems to be a move afoot that claims we should all speak English all the time. Some, especially these days, tend to forget that we really are a nation of immigrants. Fact is that likely, our ancestors spoke a language other than English when they came to the United States and also likely, they continued to speak that language even as they gradually learned English.
My roots on my mother's side were Slovak and grandma and grandpa spoke it as did at least their older children. Out home parish was Slovak and it was not unusual to sing and pray in Slovak. Maybe we youngsters did not understand it or even try to (shame on us!) but we did it and besides, we also back then prayed in Latin as well!
We were not alone. Italians, Germans, Japanese, Vietnamese, and so many others likewise retained the linguistic ties to their roots.
Even today I often enough encounter folks shopping in the aisles of our grocery stores and speaking to each other in mid-Eastern languages. I hear folks from places like India publicly using their native tongues.
We are a nation of many languages and considering our place in the big picture of Spanish America, it should come as no surprise that we hear that language in our land. A significant portion of the population of the United States as well as a significant number of Catholics among us, while they may speak and understand English, still speak, understand and are at home with Spanish.
I see this as a reflection of the greatness of the United States.
Matter of fact, I believe that I have been inspired and motivated by hearing those speakers last evening move so smoothly between English and Spanish, I have decided to give learning some Spanish a try.
At my age there is little chance of being assigned to a Spanish speaking community. Nevertheless, I just might, somewhere along the line, be able to minister to someone somehow. For whatever reason, I am going to give some Spanish a try.
And, if nothing else, I can always just show off!
So, on to some Spanish sessions and for now
¡Adios!

And just like that . . .

BOOM! And just like that it is summer and BOOM again and just like that the days that have been growing "longer" and now beginning to shrink and BOOM still again and it is the Fourth of July and suddenly Labor Day and then another BOOM! and just like that there is a nip in the air and football is on the scene and those really are pumpkins outside of that Kroger store.
And BOOM! and BOOM! and BOOM! again!
How quickly the days slide right on by.
Just seconds ago, or so it seems, those leaves were beginning to appear on the trees and buds were forming. And just like that, BOOM! fully leafed, buds to blossoms and now all gone. And it is summer. What happened to Springtime? and April? and that whole, seven weeks long Easter Season?
It seems impossible now to even remember those days back so many eons ago when the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas seemed like an eternity, a stretch that would just never end. That's the way it seemed when we were young.
How is it that as we get older, the days seem to move more quickly?
Oh, those who know will tell us that it all has to do with how many days we have ahead in life and how many are now already spent. Somehow that is what creates the illusion, and it is an illusion because every day has the same number of seconds, minutes and hours, that time is moving more quickly.
Back in college at Orchard Lake St. Mary's where, again back then, we studied Polish, we learned a traditional Polish song, Jak szybko mijają chwile. Translation: How Quickly the Time Does Pass.
Traditionally, this is sung at celebrations, especially birthdays and anniversaries.
But back in those college days, who would have truly grasped the full truthfulness of this.
As I feel the days so swiftly whizzing by I wonder: How do we ever convince the young of how precious each moment, each day truly is?
They won't believe it.
They have all the time in the world. Or so they think.
And then BOOM!
All I can do, all you can do, all any of us who now understand can really do is to embrace each moment, welcome every opportunity and treat as precious and sacred the time we now have.
I did a Google to capture the words of that old Polish song so that I could share a translation with you. What I found was not just the words of the song but some comments that followed. A couple that really caught my attention and also told me that I am not alone in feeling that BOOM! I share with you:

One commented on how: "As the years go by the words to this song bear more and more meaning for me. Sadly, also, there are less and less people to sing it with and slowly its message is coming true."

Another said this: "This song is so beautiful but sad. I remember the day that my Aunt Helen could no longer sing it because of all the sad memories. Such is life."

The memories really do not have to be sad. The sadness comes from the richness and beauty of memories passed, times that have passed. We can and should create wondrous memories to someday be cherished before the next BOOM! comes.


Here is the translation of that song:

How swiftly moments are passing, how swiftly time goes by.

A year, a day, a moment from now, we’ll not be here you or I,

A year, a day, a moment from now, we’ll not be here you or I,

So while we still are youthful and spring is drawing near,

At least for this brief moment may our eyes shed no tear,

At least for this brief moment may our eyes shed no tear.

And here is the song:

Jak szybko mijają chwile

Pentecost People

That's my dad on the afternoon of Pentecost Sunday at St. Margaret of Scotland Church. I cannot give the exact year other than to suggest 1993 as most likely. I was still rather fresh, brand new at the parish in 1992, so I am going to rule those years out. As to 1995, well, that was the year Dad passed away and that journey of his began right around Pentecost Sunday that year. Actually, the year doesn't matter.
What matters is that it is clearly Pentecost Sunday. I can tell by the array of red geraniums around the baptismal font.
From my recollection  it was back then that we introduced this idea. Bring a red geranium plant on Pentecost Sunday and after Mass they will be planted around the grounds of the parish. Nowadays many churches have adopted this idea and on Pentecost Sunday you can see numerous folk headed to church bearing their geranium plants. Then as summer progresses, drive around your neighborhood and check out the local church grounds and you may see red geraniums flowering in abundance.
Red geraniums, wearing red on Pentecost Sunday are sorts of little things to remind us of a big thing!
Those with all that red are by that very color proclaiming that, "We are a Pentecost People!"
Those red geraniums flowering on the grounds of so many churches are likewise proclaiming, "Here is the gathering place of a Pentecost People."
"You can find Pentecost People here!"
Or you should!
I am afraid that many, far too many who should see themselves as Pentecost People really do not.
Pentecost People are those who are filled by the Holy Spirit, moved by the Holy Spirit, and led into action by the Holy Spirit.
And wearing red while sitting back is awfully easy and very comfortable.
But look at the story of that first Pentecost.
The Spirit came and those filled with the Spirit went out into the streets, no, make that rushed out into the streets making something happen, beginning to transform the world in which they lived.
The Spirit will cause us to disturb the status quo.
And therefore that's a Pentecost People - those who do not just sit around waiting for something but those who actually make something happen!
My dad was a Pentecost Person.
Deeply involved in his parish even before Vatican II. I can remember many an early Saturday morning when he would get me into the car and we would drive down to Eastern Market to beg fresh produce for the Sisters who staffed our school. Just one little thing to make something better.
He was also an usher. He was involved in number of church organizations. He was definitely not one to sit back, waiting for something to happen.
In his later years, and I am talking here about his 70's and 80's, he was lector, Eucharistic Minister, regularly spending time visiting the homebound on his way home from church. He became a Stephen Minister, a trained bereavement minister, a Third Order Franciscan. A take your breath away kind of person.
That's a Pentecost Person!
Mom was right there along with Dad.
Matter of fact, I was surrounded by family who knew the importance of being Pentecost People. In one way or other, not always dramatically, they were involved and doing.
In a previous blog I mentioned my Uncle Bill and Aunt Agnes, both active in promoting the message of Divine Mercy. That was just one way in which they let the Spirit move them.
I think of two other of my aunts - Pauline and Catherine.
Some might consider what they did not very "churchy." But living under the guidance and power of the Spirit empowered then to do what they did.
Both were widowed early in life. Both were left with young children. In those days there simply were no mega-life insurance policies. So, while working to raise their children properly, they went back to jobs and work, putting in full days on the job and coming home to clean house, fix dinner and do laundry. And add to that helping with homework, taking time to pray with their children and providing dedicated "Mom" time. Unrelentingly they devoted themselves to doing the best job possible in caring for those children whom God had gifted to them.
As I think back on the parishes in which I have served over some 55 years, I can recall many, so very many Pentecost People. They were the ones who brought life not just to their parishes but to their families, to their jobs, to their neighborhoods.
They made a difference.
Being Church was not just saying some prayers, fitting in time for Mass on Sunday and adhering to some certain code of conduct. Not for those truly Spirit filled people.
It was about being Pentecost People.
That is who God wants us to be.
And just try and imagine what this world would be like if those who should be Pentecost People really tried to be.
So go ahead and wear red on Pentecost, carry a red geranium to church as well.
But more critical is how you answer the question, "Am I truly a Pentecost Person?"

May the Spirit shake your world!

Treats!

Take a good look at that package!

Dog Treats - those words stand out loudly and clearly.

But look again, above and below and you will see that these treats are produced by Omaha Steaks. I suspect most of you are at least somewhat familiar with Omaha Steaks. They are the ones who deal in seriously premium cuts of meat and related edibles.

These treats are all natural and contain premium contents.

Shall we say that these treats are the Cadillac of dog treats? Or BMW? or Mercedes? 

Something like that, right?

Anyhow, some months ago I place an order for some items for my freezer from Omaha Steaks. When the items were totaled up, I still needed some small purchase to qualify for free shipping. Paying for shipping was more expensive. Solution? Buy something else and rather than spend on the shipping, get something more for yourself.

The only problem with that was that I did not need more. What I had already ordered would qualify for filling my freezer. However, that is when I noticed the premium dog treats. Having a dog, I decided this was the answer. 

Dog gets treats and I get free shipping.

When the shipment arrived, I tucked those treats away for "A Special Occasion." Dog had plenty of other treats to work on.

And then came the last few weeks.

I began to realize that these just may be the last days for Dusty.

And he had all those premium treats.

Waiting for "A Special Occasion."

If he doesn't get them now, he may never get them!

Well, in the time he had left, he got a few but plenty got left behind.

"A Special Occasion."

How many of us do that?

I know that I do.

I can look on that shelf and see those special and expensive bottles of scotch that have been given me over the years.

There they are, waiting for "A Special Occasion."

When Dad passed away, he left behind some boxes of shirts, still unused, still waiting for "A Special Occasion."

Some years back I was laid up after surgery and a priest was assigned to temporarily serve the parish. One evening he asked if I would enjoy a glass of wine. I accepted. He poured a fine wine. In fact I thought I recognized it. So I asked and he gave me the name of the wine. He had opened the bottle of wine I had bought some time back and was saving for Easter Dinner! 

With an assortment to choose from, he had chosen the one premium bottle!

So much for that "Special Occasion."

Those left behind premium dog treats are now serving as a challenge to me.

Can I start to see every day as "A Special Occasion?"

I have waited through retirement, turning 70, reaching my 50th Anniversary and turning 80. Somehow, up until now that "Special Occasion" has not arrived.

Those unenjoyed premium dog treats now remind me to realize that, if I wait long enough, that "Special Occasion" will be my funeral!

And that will be someone else' s "Special Occasion."

It's time to believe that, because my heart is beating, I am breathing, the sun is shining, there are so many good people in my life today, this is "A Special Occasion."

Now is the time to recognize the blessings of the Present Moment and celebrate.